When they pulled into Baker Street, Audrey said, ‘We’re back where we began, at the photo booth.’
As they got off the bus, his arm was still around her shoulder, and her skin tingled at the prospect of where this was going and how. They got to the booth and climbed in, both giddy with laughter, drawing the curtain behind them. Fred found change in his pocket and she sat on his lap. As the flash went off, she kissed him, a proper full kiss, his lips soft and hot, his tongue meeting hers, the flash of light from the photo booth scorching the feeling onto her lips. The flashes stopped, but the kiss continued, hungry and urgent, and she felt the tinderbox of tension between them explode. She had never been kissed like this, never felt a kiss in every atom of her body. They heard the whirl of the booth, and the photos hit the slot.
‘Did you feel that?’ he asked, breathless, his pupils wide.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘I think this booth might be magic.’
Outside, they collected the photos and huddled together to see. In the first three photos, most of her face was obscured by his, but in the final image you could see their lips meet, and Audrey blushed at the rawness of the image.
‘You keep them,’ he said.
‘You don’t want them?’ she asked, challenging him with her eyes. She hadn’t even asked where he lived, she knew so little about him, and yet she felt she already knew everything important.
He looked at her and then started, as though suddenly remembering something,
‘Shit. What time is it?’ He pulled out his phone and looked at the blank screen. ‘I’m out of battery. Fuck, I have to be somewhere. You just pulled me into a different space-time continuum, Audrey. I completely forgot where I was supposed to be today.’
‘Go, if you need to.’ She couldn’t hide her disappointment. How could he leave, now?
‘I don’t want to go anywhere.’ He frowned, glancing at the large clock on the opposite wall. ‘But it’s my mum’s birthday; we’re throwing her a surprise dinner, and she’s going to be there in... fifteen minutes.’
‘Go, go.’ Audrey laughed, satisfied with his excuse. ‘Of course you must go.’
She carefully tore the strip of photos in two and handed him the top two. ‘Write your number on the back,’ she commanded, a newfound confidence in her stance and tone.
He pulled a fountain pen from his bag and wrote his number on the back of her half. Then she wrote her number on his. She gave him her home number, in Fulham; it was safer than the broken mobile currently drying in a bag of rice.
‘I don’t want to wait to call you,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to be cool about this.’
She smiled, her cheeks aching with pleasure. ‘Let’s not wait then. Let’s meet here tomorrow.’
His eyes lit up at the idea. ‘Okay, here, at our booth, first thing. I’ll bring breakfast,’ he said.
Audrey blinked, remembering she couldn’t make tomorrow morning. ‘I have to meet my mum’s fiancé in the morning, a peace keeping mission. Can we say one o’clock?’
‘I’ll be here,’ he said, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Don’t make any plans for the rest of the day, or for the rest of your life.’ He said the last part lightly, as though he wasn’t serious, but something in his eyes told her he might be.
‘Go, go you’re going to be late for your mum!’ She laughed, pushing him towards the tube.
He leant in to take her arms now, looking down into her eyes. ‘I found you. I found you.’
She nodded. ‘You found me.’
He kissed her again, and Audrey wanted to follow him, to say she would walk him to his dinner, anything to spend another minute by his side, but he squeezed her arm, and said ‘Tomorrow’, and then disappeared into the crowd.
She did not see him again for another six years.