The Full Legacy Page 6

  ‘No,’ I said firmly.

  Kay quite clearly didn’t believe me. ‘Well, I hope you haven’t fallen for one of the customers. That kind of thing could get you in ‘The News of the World’ you know.’

  ‘You’re not kidding,’ I said. ‘Especially as my first one this morning’s a French poodle!’

  I hunted around in my bag to see if I could find money to lend her. I managed ten pounds in a fiver and five pound coins. It left me with the grand total of sixty nine pence in loose change. I figured I’d better go to the cash point on my way into work.

  ‘I want it back tonight,’ I said.

  ‘Okay,’ she retorted quickly. ‘You’re coming back tonight then, are you?’

  ‘Yes Kay... Unless the dog invites me along to a swanky dinner at the Kennel Club, of course. And just for the record... that message from Georgie... what exactly did she mean when she said she understood about Saturday?’

  Kay raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. ‘That wasn’t me,’ she said. ‘It was Mary. She’d been fretting about you being late for the film and, basically, Georgie muttered something about how, as far as she could see, you had the manners of a warthog... Just dumping her on Saturday night and then snogging Turner’s face off in plain view, and Mary jumped to your defence and told her how lovely you are and what a sweet, kind, considerate, saintly kind of a person you are normally.... And how she should give you a second chance because you’d obviously been totally off your head on Ros’s vol-au-vents that evening and wouldn’t normally look twice at a horrid little slapper like Turner.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Right!’ I made a mental note yet again that I really must phone Mary.... Georgie too, if only out of politeness.

  ‘And then...’ Kay added. ‘I just happened to add that you’d sworn to me that you’d come to your senses on the way home and nothing had happened anyway... Because, of course, we all know that such a sweet, kind, saintly person would never lie to her friends about anything like that!’

  My pillow just missed her grinning face as she ducked out of the door.

  It was a shock to feel so good. I realised I was smiling as I pulled the clothes over my freshly bathed skin.

  ‘Gill,’ I said to myself. ‘You’re not bad.’

  Spontaneously, I blew a kiss at my reflection in the mirror and bounced off down the road towards the studio.

  There must have been something about me that day. Even Justin, the chief stylist, risked his ‘too cool for school’ reputation with a wolf whistle as I ran the gauntlet of Michelle’s assistants.

  The boss followed me through the louvres into my lair.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘You’re still looking pale, but it’s really starting to suit you. I reckon you must be growing into your looks. At this rate, you’re going to be stunning by the time you’re fifty.’

  I grinned. ‘Well thank you ma’am for that back handed compliment.’

  I knew why everybody thought I looked great. It was because I still couldn’t stop smiling and they just weren’t used to it. Maybe Turner was going to be good for me after all.

  My good humour was great for business too. Even the dog turned positively Crufts-like under my direction. The owner left glittering with good will. ‘I’ll tell all my friends,’ I heard her say at the door. Of course, she hadn’t seen the proofs yet. Even so, Michelle was proud of me.

  ‘You were brilliant!’ she said. ‘Look Gill, you’re not on anything, are you?’

  ‘Michelle, how long have you known me?’ (Presumably the mushrooms must have worked their way out of my system by now).

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’m just not used to seeing you so...’

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘Well.... yes, now you come to mention it.’

  The truth was that I couldn’t wait to see Turner. By 3pm my heart was banging like a piston. I could hardly breathe when I heard Michelle greet her at the front of the shop.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Shaw. Do come in!’

  The wonderful sound of high heels on lino...

  My smile radiated from my whole hyper-charged body as Michelle led her through the louvres. I stood to greet her, trying hard to stay composed... And then... it wasn’t her!

  I could barely rein in the shock as my brain registered the twenty-something, slightly chubby housewife in front of me. I struggled to hold my smile against its threatened collapse and found, to my horror, that I was fighting back tears. I’d never wished more fulsomely that I’d inherited my mother’s acting abilities. I was just rubbish at it though... always had been. I went through all the motions, and fooled no-one.

  ‘You do think you’ll be able to work with me, don’t you?’ she asked when we’d discussed the details. Her voice was very small and frightened. ‘My husband did so much want me to do this. I told him it was silly.’

  I was furious with myself. I’d managed to commit the worst crime in my profession. I’d made her feel ugly.

  ‘You’ll be great,’ I said. ‘Michelle will see to your hair and make-up. I’ve just got a phone call to make, and then I’ll be setting up the studio.’

  Michelle stared at me as if I’d gone bonkers. She took Mrs Shaw gently by the arm. ‘Nerves!’ she whispered, deliberately loud enough for me to hear. ‘She’s like this before every session. You mustn’t take it personally. Brilliant photographer but totally gaga, I’m afraid... It’s the artistic temperament you know.’

  I knew she was irritated with me and I didn’t blame her. I was furious with myself. Shaking, I rifled through my Filofax until I came to Suzanne’s work number. Thankfully she didn’t answer.

  ‘Hello,’ my voice was shaking so much I could barely form words. ‘Could I speak to Turner Shaw please?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Shaw is about to go into a meeting.’

  ‘Well, if you could catch her before she goes in.’

  ‘Is it urgent?’

  ‘Yes.’ What was I thinking? If she came to the phone now she’d think I’d totally lost the plot.

  ‘I’ll try. Please hold.’

  A long pause. Then Turner’s voice, velvet and low.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello. It’s Gill.’

  ‘Gill?’

  ‘From the party. Last Saturday.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. Gill – look – I’m sorry, you’ve caught me at a bad time. Can I phone you? Tomorrow sometime, at home?’

  ‘Yeah – yes.’ Tears were log-jamming in my throat. I felt like a kid, forced to wait, wanting it now.

  ‘I don’t think I have your number.’

  ‘No.’ I recited it to her and she noted it – repeating the digits back to me.

  ‘I will ring back,’ she said. ‘Thank you for calling.’

  I collapsed in my seat. She’d barely even recognised me. But she was at work and I had waited six days.

  I could have wrecked the studio, I felt so wound up.

  I didn’t though. I had a client to make amends to.

  Now that I’d made the phone call, I did it admirably.

  ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’

  The relieved Mrs Shaw had gone. Even Michelle looked exhausted now. She massaged her temples.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I said. ‘I’m just a bit on edge. I met someone at the weekend and I’m not sure how it’s going to work out.’

  Michelle stared at me. ‘Glory hallelujah... Is it a boy or a girl?’

  ‘A girl, of course!’ Well, a woman actually, but there was no way I was ever going to get Michelle using politically correct language....

  ‘No “of course” about it chuck. I mean, just look at Tom Robinson... Anyway, I bet she was supposed to be phoning you this afternoon, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Kind of, I thought she’d be in touch, one way or another. It was a misunderstanding.’

  ‘And now you’ve rung her and it’s all sorted?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hope so. She’s going to ring me tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s she like?’

 
; Good question. I hesitated... ‘I don’t know actually. She’s a bit mysterious.’

  ‘Ri...i..ght?’

  ‘She’s dark, nice looking. Probably about thirty-ish.’

  ‘And?’ Michelle made winding up motions. ‘For goodness sake Gill, it’s like trying to get blood out of a stone getting you to talk in sentences.’

  ‘She’s married.’

  ‘Gill – you’re a fuck head!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Well, don’t come running to me when she decides to stay with her husband.’

  I could see her point. After everything I’d been through with Corinne why on earth would I get myself involved in this?

  She wasn’t about to get all moral about it though, which was a relief. She was looking at her watch instead and already thinking about her own family. ‘God, I hope David’s fed the kids,’ she yawned. ‘I’m knackered.’

  Secretly, and much as I loved them and my role as their honorary auntie, I thought Michelle mollycoddled her children. By the time I was nine, the same age as Kirstie, her youngest, I was perfectly capable of opening a tin and sticking a bit of bread in the toaster. I knew better than to say it though.

  ‘You get off,’ I said glumly. ‘I’ll finish clearing up here.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thanks love,’ she smiled through her exhaustion. ‘Look... you know I’m only looking out for you don’t you?’

  ‘Yes... I know.’

  ‘If you must keep seeing her, please be careful. Don’t get in too deep.’

  Too late!

  ‘I’m a big girl,’ I said. ‘I can look after myself.’

  Michelle scoffed. ‘Yeah, right!’ she said. ‘I wish I had a tenner for every time I’ve heard that one.’

  She was right, of course, about Turner. She was going to hurt me and I knew it. I kicked myself all round the studio as I packed up for the night.

  I was just setting the burglar alarm when the phone rang. I wondered whether to ignore it, but then I figured it might be important.

  ‘Gill?’ said the man’s voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘Vijay?’... Vijay worked at the lab... ‘You’re working late tonight, aren’t you?’

  He sounded edgy. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Look Gill, you know the job you brought in on Tuesday?... I think you’d better come round and take a look.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yeah – I think so.’

  There was something wrong, clearly. My stomach did a back flip.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’m just shutting up shop. I’ll be with you in about ten minutes.’

  He met me at the counter, nervously unbuttoning the cuffs of his cotton check shirt and rolling up the sleeves.

  ‘You know how busy we’ve been,’ he said. ‘I just got round to doing this batch.’

  Some distant radio growled ‘I’m Too Sexy for My Shirt.’ Normally this could have been his theme tune. Not tonight though. Tonight even his Armani Pour Homme was undertoned with sweat. I took a deep breath and waited to hear the bad news.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘You’d better see for yourself.’

  He handed me the contact sheets and I held up the first for a closer look as he shuffled from one foot to the other behind the counter, watching me.

  ‘But these are fine,’ I said. And they were – some of my best probably – Mrs Rigby looking wonderful, luminous, very beautiful.

  Vijay edged. ‘Yeah...’

  We flicked through the basque shots, red against black. Then the more demure poses with the dressing gown.

  ‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ I said. ‘She’s going to be delighted with these.’

  He handed over the next sheet and I noticed that his hand was shaking.

  ‘It’s these,’ he said, trying to warn me.

  ‘Holy shit!’ I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I stared at row upon row of the tiny pictures in disbelief. ‘But, this is impossible!’

  ‘I know... It’s like somebody managed to get between the light and your subject. I can’t figure it out. It isn’t the processing, I’m sure of that.’

  I could see that he thought my first instinct would be to blame him. But how could I? The image was too familiar. I recognised it from my dreams.

  He was still trying to make sense of it.

  ‘Maybe you caught Michelle on the way back from powdering the lady’s nose or something?’

  ‘No – it’s not Michelle.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a fault on the film then.’

  There was obviously an unspoken rule here. Never blame the photographer.

  ‘Yeah – maybe.’

  It could have been. I didn’t believe it though.

  In my head, a voice was whispering – God knows what – I couldn’t make out the words. I caught the answering scream deep in my throat. I was totally freaked out. Could drug induced hallucinations translate themselves onto film? Of course not! Not unless I’d double exposed the film in some way and set myself up to feel like this.

  Around me the whispering gained volume and suddenly I felt surrounded by hosts of people I couldn’t see, so close they could have touched me... The air juddered like water rippling over stone.

  Then I saw Vijay looking at me anxiously and I struggled to drag myself up through my fear.

  ‘How many?’ I croaked. ‘How many are affected?’

  ‘About half the last batch. We might be able to crop it out on some of them.’

  I didn’t want to look, but I forced myself to shuffle through the rest of the proofs. He was right, some, maybe could be retrieved.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said, more to myself than to Vijay.

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  I smiled shakily at him. ‘I’d better get a different batch of film in... Better safe than sorry, eh?’

  Vijay smiled the broad smile of a reprieved man as he handed me a box from the shelf. ‘That’s on the house,’ he said. ‘Just in case it’s anything remotely to do with us.... Which, of course, I don’t think it is.... But anyway, I think you’ll be able to get enough together to make a reasonable presentation. The ones that aren’t shadowed are very good.’

  ‘Thank you!’ I felt bad accepting his kindness, but it felt like the right thing to do. I gathered up the sheets.

  Silence had fallen around me now, but it was a waiting silence. There was no reassurance in it.

  ‘Well, have a good weekend.’ He was eager to get home now his confession was out of the way.

  ‘Yeah, thanks... you too.’

  I felt horribly unsettled still, but I didn’t want him to see it. I wiped my clammy hands on my T-shirt and managed a smile as I turned to go.

  Then I spoilt it all by almost tripping over myself as I bolted out of the shop.

  Luke

  The ‘Mainline Drugs Project’ was located in the basement of a dilapidated Regency house at the end of a street not far from Kings Cross Station.

  I think I’d pissed off the young woman on reception by coming crashing in just five minutes before the end of their teatime drop-in session. She was a skinny little waif with a Motorhead T-shirt and a look of Chrissie Hynde. She straightened a stack of leaflets about heroin with grim determination and studiously avoided looking at me.

  ‘We’re just about to close,’ she said, flatly.

  ‘Well, actually...’ It’s hard talking to someone who won’t look at you.

  ‘It’s okay Jac. She’s a friend.’

  Thank goodness for that! I turned gratefully at the sound of Luke’s voice. He’d emerged from a warren of offices to my left and stood now, with his head on one side and a concerned look on his face that made me wonder if I looked as bad as I felt.

  ‘You look like shit!’ he said, confirming that one. ‘Come through to my office. I’ll get the kettle on....’ He touched my arm briefly to guide me ahead of him, then called back over his shoulder to his colleague.... ‘You might as well get off Jac. No point h
anging around now. Everybody else has gone. Just put the latch on. See you in the morning....’

  ‘Jeez!’ he muttered as soon as we were safely in his room. ‘That girl has got such an attitude problem.’ He rubbed his hand impatiently through his thick gingery blonde hair. ‘She knows half the junkies in London though. This place wouldn’t function without her.... Anyway, enough of my woes. Let me get you a drink. I’ve got tea, coffee, some herbal weirdness called Barley Cup that Jon swears by. Or do you fancy something stronger? I’ve got a bottle of half decent Malt in the filing cabinet for when it all gets too much.’

  Alcohol was tempting, but I didn’t think my stomach would take it.

  ‘I’ll have a cup of tea,’ I said. ‘Thank you. And thanks for being here. I needed to see a friendly face today.’

  I sat down in a stained blue bucket chair and looked around me as Luke filled the kettle at a sink in the corner. I’d never actually been here before. It was a fairly large room with a cheap veneer desk, a couple of filing cabinets and shelves stacked with box files. There were a couple of framed Mapplethorpe prints on the wall - Patti Smith - white shirt, black tie, looking really cute and knowing it; and one of the less risqué self portraits of the photographer with open necked shirt and slicked back, slightly thinning hair. The grimy window sill had a dying Busy Lizzie looking yearningly out onto the wall of the stairwell at the back of the building. The beige cord carpet was scuffed charcoal grey where clients had trekked dirt in from the pavement outside. And the room reeked of cigarette smoke, unwashed clothes and a very faint, but unmistakeable hint of vomit. I wondered how Luke worked there.

  ‘I know,’ he said, with a little grimace, reading my mind. He shared a tea bag between two mugs of boiling water and slopped in milk from the tiny fridge under the worktop beside the sink. ‘Not exactly Buckingham Palace, is it? Anyway...’ He handed me my mug and pulled a chair round to sit opposite me, holding me in the intense gaze of his pale blue eyes. ‘What the hell’s going on with you?’