Page 60 of The Typo

‘Does that sound sensible?’ I pressed, after she’d bustled away.

‘Not having cakes? I’m fine, but if you do want one, we can call her back over.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘Sorry, I’m wilfully misunderstanding you there. I’m being a coward, because I know I owe you an explanation, and I’m not sure where to start.’ He took a sip of hot chocolate and winced. ‘Ouch, I think I might leave that to cool for a bit. I’ve got too used to drinks chilling instantly. Anyway, I’m going off the point again. Sorry, I’m nervous.’

I nodded. His body language and tone screamed sincerity, but the voice of caution was still muttering away at the back of my mind.

Cameron carefully put his mug down and fixed me with a steady gaze. ‘First of all, I want to say sorry for my completely inadequate response to that email. You bared your soul in it but when it arrived, I’ll admit it completely threw me. I was shocked, and didn’t know how to react.’

I fought the automatic urge to apologise again. I’d done enough of that in the email.

‘Then I read it again, and again. You made yourself vulnerable putting everything out there like that, and I admired you even more for your openness. You said sorry a lot in your email, but I get it. I get you. What you said made me question a lot of stuff,’ he continued. ‘And it also made me examine my own behaviour, and I wasn’t proud of it.’

My stomach flipped over as I went from hope to trepidation. It was exactly as I’d feared. He’d always been too good to be true. He had been playing me and was about to admit it because he felt bad. It was only what I deserved, but it was so much harder to accept now that I’d met him.

Some of what was going through my mind must have shown in my expression because he pulled a face.

‘Sorry, I’m normally more together than this, but I spent most of the three flights getting here rehearsing what I’d say when I met you, then as soon as I saw you, all the words went flying out of my head. In a good way,’ he added, in a tone which made my pulse quicken, despite myself. He took a deep breath. ‘What was it that made you forward the Packwood Gallery email on to me? Of all the people who could fit the bill, why me?’

I frowned, wondering why we were going back over old territory. ‘As I said, I found your murmuration picture online, and it had your email address.’

‘So it was a practical thing really, wasn’t it? I was the most obvious option.’ I thought I detected a sadness in his expression.

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Your photo only appeared several pages into the Google results. But as soon as I saw the picture, it seemed obvious to me that you must be the photographer the gallery owner was trying to get hold of.’

Cameron let out a short laugh. ‘You’re probably the only person to think that way.’ He looked down, suddenly reluctant to meet my gaze. ‘What I was too cowardly to tell you via email was that I’m the real imposter. I’ve been sailing on an expedition ship around Antarctica since January. But it wasn’t as a professional photographer. I’m an HR professional by trade. They’d sent me out to review procedures on the ship and tighten things up. Yes, I love taking photographs, but until your email landed in my inbox, I’d always resigned myself to being nothing more than an amateur enthusiast. The images I’ve had published are few and far between. It was sheer fluke that you came across one.’

For a moment, I considered the easy option of saying goodbye now, before I risked any further hurt. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of. Cameron had taken me for a ride. Had he been laughing at my gullibility all along? I’d let myself get swept up in a fantasy, my loneliness making me particularly susceptible to his lies.

Then I caught myself. I was in no position to pass judgement about his choices given my own very similar behaviour. Cameron had already said he’d understood where I was coming from and that I didn’t need to apologise to him. But that didn’t put me under any obligation to return the favour. And I still wanted to know why he’d acted in the way he had. So, I remained silent and let him tell me the rest of the story in his own time.

Cameron seemed relieved that I hadn’t stormed out of the café yet. ‘When I got your first email assuming I was this accomplished photographer, I started a reply saying you’d got the wrong person. I knew immediately who it must have been intended for: Arlo Cameron, who’s ironically a bit of a hero of mine. He’s a legend in the photography world, I’ve never seen anything like his Outback landscapes series.’ He shook his head. ‘In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t come across his work when you were searching for the correct recipient.’

I shrugged. The mention of Outback photos did ring a bell, but they hadn’t stood out to me in the same way as Cameron’s murmuration picture had.

‘Why didn’t you reply and point out my mistake?’ I said. ‘Surely you must have realised I’d be in a better position to track down this Arlo bloke’s email address and make sure the message found its way to him?’

‘That’s exactly what I should have done. But something made me hesitate. I clicked on the application for the Packwood Gallery out of curiosity. The form was straightforward enough, and the kind of pictures they were after were exactly the type that I love to take. The invitation to apply hadn’t been aimed at me, but it had found its way to me anyway, against massive odds. I started to wonder, what if I filled it out? As I’ve said before, I don’t usually believe in signs, but perhaps this was one right here, kicking me up the backside, telling me to have a go, and dare to believe that I have something to offer in the photography world.’

He drummed his fingers against the table top, clearly nervous about my reaction. I nodded slightly to acknowledge what he’d been saying, but tried to keep a neutral expression on my face. I needed to hear more from him.

‘I’d always dreamed about turning pro, but it seemed an impossible thing to achieve,’ he continued. ‘I’m a terrible perfectionist with a hard drive full of snaps I was always too afraid to share with anyone. I pretended I was fine with my safe, sensible corporate career. Getting the HR role on the ship was a huge change from my normally very dull office-based job. The assignment was basically in lieu of the pay rise they’d been promising me since I’d started there. I’d hoped that the change of scene and the adventure would be the key to the fulfilment I’d been searching for, but something was still missing. And when your email landed, I realised I knew exactly what that was. So, I took the leap, filled out the form and sent Pixie Packwood a link to my online portfolio. Then I went to George, the actual professional photographer on board, and asked to attend his seminars. He took me under his wing, treating me like his apprentice, pushing me out of my comfort zone. And with every click of the shutter, I learned more, and became even more determined to follow my true passion.’ He held my gaze. ‘Your email literally changed my world. And even better, I got to know you. But I’m ashamed that instead of being honest about my situation, I carried on letting you believe your initial assumption and acted like I was already the person I was trying to become. I’m truly sorry. It was wrong of me. I put on a front because I felt unworthy?—’

‘…and like if you didn’t talk yourself up, the other person wouldn’t be interested in you.’ I couldn’t help finishing his sentence. I knew exactly where he was coming from. We’d both made bad choices from a place of self-doubt. The key question now was whether we could get past that.

He nodded. ‘It doesn’t excuse my behaviour, but you should know that I had a pang of conscience about Arlo Cameron pretty much immediately. When we returned to Ushuaia the first time and I had access to better internet again, I managed to track down his agent’s email address and sent the Packwood Gallery email on to her. He should have had plenty of time to fill it out before the deadline.’

‘I’m glad he didn’t miss out,’ I said.

It was Cameron’s concern for the other photographer that made my mind up. I took my keyring out of my pocket and showed Cameron the inscription.

‘My friend Cass gave me this,’ I explained. ‘I’m keeping it close by because I need the reminder. Being brave is really hard. But I’m starting to realise it’s worth pushing through the discomfort.’ I spoke slowly, carefully searching for the right words. ‘I used to think everyone else was sorted and I was the only person messing up and wrestling with my choices. I’ve come to realise I was wrong about that. We’re all flawed and trying our best to follow the right path. Getting stuff wrong doesn’t make us bad. It makes us human. I understand why you did what you did. We’re both wonderfully imperfect, and I’m glad about that. And as long as you agree that in future, honesty is the best policy, I’d like to get to know the real you. Are you up for that?’

‘I am very up for that,’ he said. ‘And honesty all the way.’

I held my hand out. ‘In which case, let me introduce myself. I’m Amy Cameron. Until about an hour ago I worked in comms and marketing at the Edinburgh Variety, but I think I might have been fired. I’m an accomplished violinist—I’m in a folk group called the Drowsy Maggies—and I’d love to play for you. In fact, I’m hoping you’ll be my date for the ceilidh we’re doing next week. I’m sure the others will cover for a couple of songs, if you fancy dancing with me as well.’

Cameron took my hand in his and shook it. It felt good to have his fingers wrapped around mine.

‘Delighted to meet you, Amy. I can’t wait to dance with you, and hear you play live. I’ve listened multiple times to that recording you sent of you busking, and I’m in awe of your talent. I’m Cameron Armstrong. I worked in HR in the travel industry until about forty-eight hours ago, and now I’m a jobbing photographer with an upcoming show at the Packwood Gallery no less.’

---