Kit: The Smile in the Sample Layout

Celia liked the photograph of Nell and me laughing over the books.

She liked it so much that she moved it onto the cover of the sample layout before asking either of us. The software made the change in a second. I watched our faces become larger than the information beneath them and felt a familiar discomfort arrive before I could decide whether it was fair.

“Warm,” she said. “Approachable. Exactly the tone.”

Nell leaned forward. “It's a guide, not a brochure about us.”

I looked at her. She was studying the screen, frowning slightly.

“People connect with people,” Celia said.

“Yes. But they also need to know what the thing is for.”

Jo sat beside the projector, reading the draft pages we had brought. She asked Celia to put the original cover back so we could compare. I appreciated the word compare. It did not make either person into the unreasonable one before we had discussed the choice.

We were in the second week of the project. The first routes were tested, the library outing had a draft spread and the practical notes had already become more detailed than the space available. Nell had cut her first description by a third without being asked, which I regarded as a significant act of personal development.

Celia wanted the guide to feel positive. The festival's printing partner, a local business group called Bright Marden, wanted the same thing, though their idea of positive seemed to involve more photographs of shopping bags.

“We should be careful not to emphasise obstacles,” Celia said, pointing to the route notes.

“We're not emphasising them,” I replied. “We're describing them.”

“Of course. But opening with steps and uneven ground may put people off.”

“It may help them choose a different route,” Nell said.

There was a brief silence. Jo turned a page.

“The brief is useful information for young people,” she said. “That includes what might make an outing unsuitable. We can keep the tone welcoming without removing the facts.”

Celia nodded, though I could tell she had not entirely accepted the distinction.

Then we reached the photographs. The harbour, the library, the lower terrace, Nell's hands holding the thermos. Celia liked that one too.

“Lovely couple activity,” she said.

Nell's pen stopped.

“It's also a friend activity,” I said.

“Absolutely. I just mean the two of you demonstrate it beautifully.”

The two of us sat very still while Jo adjusted the projector cable for no apparent reason.

Celia suggested a short promotional piece: Nell and Kit test twelve perfect dates in Marden. It was concise, easy to share and wrong in several ways at once. I could feel Nell preparing a response, the way she gathered breath before disagreeing with a teacher.

“They aren't perfect,” she said. “Some aren't dates. And we don't want people to think they need a partner to use the guide.”

“It's a hook,” Celia replied.

“A hook can still be accurate.”

I almost smiled. This was the Nell I liked most: not the one performing cleverness, but the one who could hear when a sentence had begun bending the thing it described.

We agreed on a different promotional line. Twelve low-cost ways to spend time in Marden, tested by local teenagers. Less sparkling, more true. Celia accepted it after Jo pointed out that the photographs could provide the warmth without the copy inventing a relationship.

After the meeting, Nell and I stayed to collect the papers. She stacked them according to a system I had begun to understand and still occasionally disrupted for entertainment.

“Thanks,” I said.

“For what?”

“The cover. The date thing.”

She looked up. “I didn't think you'd want them making assumptions.”

“I don't mind people knowing I'm gay, Nell.”

“I know. That wasn't—”

“I know it wasn't. I mean I don't want you worrying as though saying the word date would damage me.”

She set down the papers.

“I was worrying that they'd turn the work into a story about us that we hadn't agreed to tell.”

That was a better answer than I had prepared for.

“All right,” I said.

“And I don't mind people knowing I'm bi. They've had years to recover from Meg at the summer dance.”

I remembered Meg. I remembered seeing them together and deciding, with the magnificent logic of a hurt fifteen-year-old, that Nell being able to like girls somehow made her not liking me more personal.

“I wasn't worried about that,” I said.

“Good.”

We carried the boxes of sample paper back to the project room. Nell held the door with her foot while I manoeuvred the larger box through. Our hands met briefly on the edge when she helped lift it onto the table.

“Henry's music night is Saturday?” I asked, because apparently I had decided to test my own ability to remain normal.

“Yes.”

“Have a good time.”

She looked at me for a moment.

“Thanks.”

I turned to the photographs before she could see how much effort the two words had cost.

That evening, I changed the sample cover. Not to the laughing picture. To the view of the harbour route, with room for the title and both our names. Inside, on the library spread, I kept the photograph of us exactly where it belonged: two people actually enjoying an afternoon, without a caption telling them what it had to mean.