The Full Legacy (5 page)

I turned on the fan to try to circulate some air before my first client arrived.

From the front of the shop, I could hear the smile in Michelle’s voice. ‘Mrs Rigby. Do come through.’

I ran my hands down my white T-shirt to get the sweat off them for the professional handshake, and found myself remembering Saturday night as I stood to greet the sixty year old who came uncertainly through the louvres in Michelle’s wake. I sized her up quickly. She looked more nervous even than
I
was, and she had a beautiful bone structure.

‘Mrs Rigby,’ I said. ‘I’m delighted to meet you.’

I had a special way of observing my clients. It sounds corny, when I put it into words, but to get the right effect, I knew that my camera had to record them with a new lover’s eye – accentuating the best points, oblivious to the flaws; creating an image as close to perfect as possible through the use of light and shade. I think every time I photograph a woman I become, just a little, in love with her. Maybe that was one of the many reasons I’d been able to go so long without the real thing.

Mrs Rigby was beautifully dressed. There was an echo of the East End in her accent still, though I had a sense that she’d left that life behind long ago. Her clothes had the look of The House of Fraser, or some little independent dress shop on her local High Street. Her hair was short and dyed a silvery blonde. She was very slightly overweight, with the faintest hint of a menopausal spare tyre round her middle and a bit of sagginess under her chin. Even so, she could easily be ten years younger than she was.

The practicalities always scared me. Clients were well primed by Michelle when they phoned, but even so, there was a lot for me to get through. Reaching an agreement about settings, and trying to get them in keeping with whatever outfits the client has brought.... There’s no point in going for white satin sheets for instance, if they’ve turned up with leather bondage gear and a whip... though it’s amazing how many clients want you to try.

Mrs Rigby – ‘Dot’ – had brought two outfits – a red and black basque and a soft silk dressing gown in cream, both of which had been gifts from Mr Rigby on their fortieth wedding anniversary, along with a beautiful pearl necklace, that I saw instantly would create a perfect Hollywood style image with one of the silver fox fun-furs we kept at the studio.

‘Do you think I’ll be okay?’ she asked, when we’d finished sorting it all out.

I smiled and reached out to shake her hand again.

‘You’ll be
brilliant!’
I said. I knew she was shy and scared of looking daft, but there was a racy side to her too. I’d seen it in the shine of her eyes when she’d shown me the basque.

Michelle took this as her cue and swept her off towards the make-up and changing room while I set up the studio, stretching cheesecloth over my lens and changing the studio floor space into a setting to do my client proud. First of all, I went for a chair and mirror with a plain black background. I normally advise people to go for the least revealing costumes first, but Dot had been keen to start off with the basque. I knew the lighting needed to be subtle. I wanted sexy, not Rocky Horror – lots of shade to counteract the brashness of the costume.

When the studio was ready, I tried to get my breath back, waiting. This was always the worst bit. Like standing there on stage in that awful tree costume knowing that the time when I would have to speak was getting closer and closer. The stylists up front had been primed to turn down Radio One. The studio was quiet. I could hear my heart beating.

Then Michelle let my client in.

I barely recognised her.

She’d been transformed into a scarlet temptress.

She looked pleased with herself already.

‘Wow!’ I exclaimed involuntarily.

Michelle giggled and Mrs Rigby smiled at me in a way that was unmistakably flirtatious. I ducked behind my camera to hide my blushes.

‘I’ll put some music on shall I?’ Michelle suggested. ‘It helps sometimes to set the mood... How about something sultry like Ravel’s Bolero?’

Mrs Rigby stood in front of the chair and swung her high-heeled foot up onto it. She had the legs of Betty Grable. ‘I’d prefer Tom Jones,’ she said. ‘There’s a tape in my bag if you’d like to get it... And now my love...’ This was directed at me, already shooting fast to make sure I didn’t lose the pose. ‘How do you think you’d like me?’

Lunchtime, Michelle cavorted through the doors grinding her hips.
‘It’s not un-ewe-sual to have
lunch
at lu-unch time...’

I’d just finished taking down the final set, an old fashioned street lamp against matt black. The one I knew would make Mrs Rigby look like a Hollywood icon. I looked up.

‘People would run from you in terror at karaoke nights,’ I said.

Michelle lammed an enormous French stick in front of me. She always did this when it was her turn to get the food.

‘What
is
it?’ I peered inside.

‘Brie and Branston.’

It tasted like sawdust. I went to put the kettle on, wondering if I would have time to sneak out later and get a doughnut.

‘You could have told me she’d been a professional dancer,’ I called.

‘She never said. Anyway, she thought you were cute.’

‘I was gobsmacked!’

‘Well, maybe you should cultivate that open-mouthed look. It’s obviously
very
flattering... Oh, and the photos are for
Mr
Rigby – who’s rich as Croesus – so don’t screw up on the sales pitch, eh.’

‘No ma’am.’

I didn’t know where she got her energy from. Once she’d rumba’d back out of the doors, I cradled my black coffee in one hand and took Turner’s card out of my bag. A cold jolt hit me as I looked at it. My mind flashed back to the woods and Turner sliding down onto my fingers. Then the shadows began creeping in again at the periphery of my vision. I blinked and tried to focus on the card. I was utterly confused. I wanted her and I was scared of wanting her. Tension squirmed in my gut and I remembered the seat belt, slithering. I reached for the phone. Then I changed my mind.

And then Ros came swinging in through the doors and I was relieved that I hadn’t been caught in the middle of that particular phone call.

‘So
this
is your lair’ she said. ‘That hairdresser out there said you were free. Any chance of a coffee? I’m gasping.’

‘Yeah – sure, kettle’s just boiled.’ I was a bit nonplussed by her complete bypassing of formalities.

‘Oh God, is it instant...? Oh well... never mind, I’ll have tea. No sugar. I’ve got sweeteners.’

She stood over me while I made the tea then plinked an inordinate number of tiny sweetener tablets into her mug and stirred it for what felt like hours. I had the sense that she wanted to say something to me and couldn’t quite find the words.

I waited.

She was obviously out to lunch, in the regular sense, power dressed for whatever high-octane job she did in the City.

I figured she’d need to be back at her desk soon. But she didn’t seem to be in any hurry. She sniffed appreciatively at the lilies and took a bite of the dreaded french stick when I tore a chunk off and offered it to her.

‘Bit dry!’ she said, lifting the top to look for the filling.

I made a mental note to tell Michelle it wasn’t just me.

‘Good party on Saturday,’ I ventured.

‘Not bad... not bad.’ She took off her specs and gave them a good rub on her light grey pinstriped skirt. She was definitely trying to get round to telling me something difficult. I wondered if it was about Turner again.

‘How’ve you been since the party?’ she asked.

‘Okay.’ For some reason, I always felt mildly embarrassed if I wasn’t 100% healthy, like it was a sign of weakness or something. It was the kind of thing I could admit to Kay or Michelle, who I’d known for years, but not to superficial acquaintances like Ros.

She looked at me through narrowed eyes. ‘You don’t
look
okay to me,’ she said shrewdly. ‘You look a bit
grey
to me.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘
That?
Yes, I’ll be honest. I
have
been feeling a bit weird. It’s nothing though. Just the wrong time of the month... You know how it is.’

Ros cleared her throat. ‘I accidentally put magic mushrooms in the vol-au-vents,’ she said.

I stared at her, speechless.

‘Well, not
me
as such. It was Petra in fact.... my neighbour’s au pair. I borrowed her to help me prepare for the party. Didn’t realise what had happened until I had a friend round last night for omelettes and the mushrooms had gone.’

I shook my head in amazement. Words were finally starting to form themselves in the back of my throat. ‘You stupid sod,’ I said. And I was shocked by the force of my anger as it came crashing through my customary veneer of long-suffering politeness.

Ros had the good grace to look ashamed. ‘Can’t understand how it happened,’ she said. ‘I
told
the stupid girl to use the mushrooms out of the Sainsbury’s packet... I mean, they come in those little plastic boxes, don’t they? I’d have thought that even someone with the most minimal command of the English language could understand that.’

I was furious, not least because she was blaming the hired help. ‘You bloody idiot!’ I said. ‘I’ve had the spooks for the past two days and it’s all because you can’t keep your hallucinogens under control!’

‘Ssh!’ Ros glanced nervously at the louvre doors. ‘Somebody might hear.’

‘I don’t bloody care.’

‘Well, I think you’re being a bit unreasonable Gill.  I mean, I didn’t have to tell you, did I? And I didn’t ask you to guzzle half a plateful of the bloody things either.’

Bloody cheek!

‘I had
three
,’ I protested. ‘They were the only thing that didn’t have meat in them.’

Ros looked edgy. ‘Uh – well, they probably
did
actually. They do tend to be full of those funny little grubs.’

I groaned. ‘You really are the pits Ros. Why can’t you just stick to designer drugs like all your cronies. I bet
their
stuff doesn’t come crawling with wild life... Has anybody else been affected?’

‘It’s hard to tell.... Melissa maybe. She tried to jump out of the bedroom window in the early hours. Though she
has
been depressed. You know how moody those artistic types can be. Boring old farts... And Mary had that funny migrainy sort of thing. Apart from that, people were so busy doing their own thing it was hard to tell what contributed to what.’

My coffee was almost cold. I topped it up with water from the kettle and took a long deep slurp, realising, to my surprise, that I was actually, physically shaking.

I have a longstanding aversion to drugs of any kind. It comes from the days when Mum used to leave me with a babysitter whose nickname, we later discovered, was ‘The Purple Speed Queen’. The image of the only responsible adult around the place dancing for hours to the same Gene Pitney number, or perched on a chair gibbering about the ants crawling under her skin is indelibly printed on my psyche. I still have nightmares about it from time to time.

‘Anyway,’ said Ros. ‘No hard feelings, I hope. You’ll be right as rain once the flashbacks stop.’

Yes – well, I’d heard plenty of horror stories about
that
. I shook my head and thought murderous thoughts.

Ros kept talking, probably to prevent me voicing them. ‘Spoke to Turner this morning,’ she said brightly.

‘Oh, how is she?’

‘Fine – Hates mushrooms apparently. Bring her out in a rash... I noticed she took you home... How’s she in bed?’

‘Dunno.’

Ros slung her bag over her shoulder and tossed me an arch look.

‘Gill,’ she said. ‘You’re so fucking chivalrous. It would be worth letting you have your wicked way with me just to hear you defending my honour afterwards. Sorry again about the little mushroom mishap. Must dash... Love to Kay.’ Her lips came down hurriedly on my cheeks, her heels clattered away over Michelle’s lino floor and the entrance bell tinkled as she went out at the front of the shop.

I sank back in my chair feeling like I’d been battered by a mini hurricane.

Still, my fragile grip on reality had been re-affirmed. And angry as I was, I was also relieved that my altered state just might not be what I’d feared.

I ate the filling out of what was left of my sandwich, then went to the back door and fed the bread to the birds.

Salmonberries

Maybe people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw drinks parties...

Tuesday night, Suzanne and Mary had invited a few friends round for an early midweek takeaway and ‘Salmonberries’ on video. The date had been arranged for ages so I should have been better organised. Anyway, I wasn’t. I’d forgotten to block the evening out in my work diary and Michelle had sneaked in an extra session; a family shoot with a mum, a dad, two cute kiddies, and a Labrador puppy that looked like it had just waddled straight out of an Andrex advert. I got some great shots in the end but it was like trying to contain an oil spillage. If the kids weren’t putting sticky fingers on the furniture the dog was piddling on the floor and when the dog wasn’t piddling and the kids weren’t sticking to things, Dad was on a mobile phone the size of a brick talking to somebody at his warehouse who’d managed to set off the burglar alarm while he was trying to set it to go home.

By the time Michelle had dashed off to deal with her adolescent brood and I’d mopped the floor and cleaned chocolate off my camera, it was nearly nine o’clock and I’d really have preferred to go straight home and crash out in front of the TV.

It seemed rude though, when I’d promised to be there, so in the end I stopped off for a bottle of wine at the local branch of Oddbins and headed for Su and Mary’s on the faint off-chance that there’d still be an odd straggler or two hanging around for cocoa at the end of the evening.