Chapter 3
Nick gets the photos developed the very next day (including double copies for Diane). He thumbs through them with curiosity.
The first several are a random assortment of Gander ephemera: the tables of sandwiches in the cafeteria, the mountain of donated clothes, a couple of shots of his thumb right at the start when he'd still been working out how to use the bloody thing.
But then there are a few more scenic shots – the bar, a set of stairs and then finally…Diane.
Nick pulls out this particular photograph and tenderly runs his thumb over the face captured within. She's smiling up at him, her hands on the railing of the lookout and there's a quizzical expression on her face as if to say "buddy, are you sure you don't wanna get a photo of this view instead?"
He feels the need to hold her almost like a physical ache in his arms, his chest. He wished she were here. They speak on the phone every day now without fail, but it's not quite the same as having someone close. Hearing the voice of the woman you love is not quite the same as being able to take her in your arms and show her how you feel.
The thought took a while to register in Nick's mind, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised it's inherent truth.
He loved Diane.
She was all he could think about.
Glancing up at the clock, he did some quick calculations. Yes, she should be just about home from work now.
Grinning to himself and still fingering the photograph from Dover Fault, Nick went to the phone and dialled in Diane's number – now etched forever in his memory.
On the third ring she picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Diane, it's Nick"
"Oh Nick, I was hoping it would be you!"
Even after all their conversations, little comments like this gave him butterflies. He still couldn't quite believe his luck and that she felt the same way he did.
"I got some photos developed. From our trip" Nick said.
They had affectionately begun to refer to their detour in Gander as their first holiday as a couple and had laughingly swapped reviews of the town hotspots (Gander Academy cafeteria. Friendly service and an abundance of sandwiches, but a distinct lack of space in which to eat them. 3 ½ stars.)
"Oh, how did they turn out?" she asked.
"Well, they got better as I got on" he explained. "It took me a few goes to get the hang of the thing. But there are some good shots from our last day there. In fact, there's some I think you might like. I mean, you're in them, so you might like them. Well, one in particular. Anyway, I was wondering if you'd like me to send you a copy?"
"Yes please, oh that'd be lovely!" she exclaimed. "Oh, are you sure you don't mind? I mean you'd have to go back to the store and get extra copies"
"Already done" he smiled.
"Well aren't you thoughtful! Oh and you'd have to mail them all the way over here."
"Uh, yes… speaking of which, I'd better grab your address….that is, if you don't mind."
"Of course not, hun. You got a pen?"
He scrawled down her address, all the while smiling at the endearment.
"So tell me about this one particular photograph," she prompts. "What's so special about it?"
"Well, it's where I fell in love with you" he answers, the reply out of his mouth before he can stop to think about.
She gasps.
Oh lord. Oh no. That's far too soon… oh nice going, Marson, you'll scare her off. Way to ruin a good thing before it's even…
"I love you too."
What? He thinks, and then realises that the words didn't quite make it out loud.
"What?" he echoes.
"I love you too," she says and he can hear the smile in her voice. "I worried that it was too soon or too rash, that I was rushing into things but… you're wonderful and I love you."
Nick has to sit down, he's so giddy. The next hour passes in a whirlwind of delightful meaningless chatter, interspersed with frequent reassurances and declarations of love. Somehow, he doesn't think the novelty will wear off any time soon. They had both lost track of the time, until -
"Good heavens, Nick, shouldn't you be in bed? It's nearly two in the morning for you!"
Reluctantly, he has to admit that she's right. Early start tomorrow and all that.
They say their goodnights (once more signing off with "I love you" and the corresponding delighted giggle) and Nick is left clutching the photograph and a scrap of paper with her address.
Unable to sleep just yet, he taps the paper a few times as if debating something, before standing up and going in search of his suitcase. Pulling it out from under the bed, he sat down and began rummaging.
He'd unpacked from his trip (mostly…) but somewhere, buried deep within a side pocket was… haha! Found it! The conference he'd been supposed to attend in Dallas had provided its delegates with a travel brochure and a map of the wider Dallas area.
He opened it up and after a few minutes of searching, located what appeared to be Diane's street. It was strange, but it made him feel closer to her somehow, as if the map could somehow transport him to her.
Even just the knowledge that he could visit her one day was comforting. They had tentatively discussed the idea of meeting up for Christmas, but hadn't made any firm plans.
Nick toyed with the idea in his mind. Christmas at Diane's.
He pictured turning up on her doorstep, luggage in hand. Maybe some flowers or a bottle of wine. She'd invite him in – god, it would be good to see her.
He pictures holding her, giving her a kiss on the cheek and making her blush with delight at the flowers.
No, scrap that. He pictures sweeping her into his arms and kissing her passionately (because if you can't be dashing in your own damn fantasy, when can you, eh?).
He'd wrap his arms around her and pull her close to him, angling his head to deepen their kiss, her lips opening with a gasp, his tongue seeking, exploring.
He'd slowly back her up against the wall, the flowers lying forgotten in a heap by the door. He'd run his hands down her side, thumb skimming against her breast.
Christ, he can feel himself getting hard just at the thought of it.
Lying back against the pillows, he allows his hand to deftly undo his belt buckle and slip inside his trousers.
One hand circling around his length, his eyes catch sight of the picture of Diane, momentarily laid aside on his bedside table.
He draws in a shuddery breath and keeps going.
He imagines walking her upstairs….would she have an upstairs, do you think?...doesn't matter, Marson, focus…. and tumbling with her onto the bed, tugging at each other's clothing.
He imagines kissing his way down her neck and trailing between her breasts, unbuttoning her blouse as quickly as his trembling fingers can manage.
She rolls them over so that she is astride him and he can feel her heat pressed against him, making him ache with need for her.
He reaches up to stroke his thumb over her cheek.
"Diane" he whispers….
And then the phone rings.
Brought plummeting back to reality, Nick swears. Who the bloody hell could that be?
"Hello?" he asks, breathless.
"I know we just said goodbye, but…"
"Diane?" Nick lets out a strangled yelp.
Who the bloody hell indeed.
Oh help.