Owning Jacob - SA (23 page)

A light drizzle had started by the time he reached his den, so he set up the camera and lens in their weatherproof jackets. It was cold and wet in the trees, a prelude to the final closedown of winter. Ben was shivering, but he stil felt a buzz of anticipation as he focused on the house. Sandra was in her bathrobe in the kitchen, partial y screened by the reflection of the garden on the window. Ben fitted a polarising filter on to the lens and the glass turned transparent. It was a new acquisition, expensive, but worth it for how much glare it cut out With that attached to the lens he could see into the house much more clearly.

He delved in his bag again and took out the compact cassette recorder and tie-dip microphone he'd bought from the electronics shop on the way. He connected them and placed the microphone against the earpiece of his mobile phone. He'd tested the set-up earlier to check that it picked up both his voice and that of whoever he was cal ing. The sound quality wasn't wonderful, but he didn't need high fidelity. Just proof.

He glanced around to make sure that the woods were empty. The last thing he wanted was some local with a dog overhearing him. Satisfied, he looked through the viewfinder again.

Sandra Kale was stil in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette.

Mounted on the wal a few feet from her was a telephone. Ben had seen her answer it occasional y, although she never seemed to cal anyone herself. It was at the far end of the room, but with the new filter on the lens he could see it clearly. Stil looking dirough the camera, he set the tape recorder running and dial ed the Kales' number.

The ringing tone in his mobile coincided with an irritated glance towards the telephone from Sandra. She pushed back her chair and went to answer it.

'Hel o?' The thin reproduction of her voice was synchronised with the mime of her lips. In the background he could hear the tinny jangle of a radio. It surprised him. He'd taken for granted that the kitchen would be as silent for her as it appeared to him. He glanced at the tape recorder to make sure it was running.

'It's Ben Murray,' he said. 'I thought I'd remind you that it's my contact day this weekend.' The microphone pressed against his ear like a cold button.

It was a compromise solution he'd reached a few days earlier. He had at least to try to claim his contact rights, but he knew there was nothing to be gained by another mano a tnano confrontation with Kale. This way he could prove he had made the attempt, and perhaps record Sandra saying something incriminating. The cancel ed shoot was a bonus that gave him the opportunity to see her reaction as wel as hear it.

He tried to disregard the accusing voice that sneered he was only avoiding Kale because he was afraid of him.

'So is it okay for me to come and col ect Jacob on Sunday morning?' he prompted.

An exasperated sigh came down the phone. In the viewfinder he saw her chest rise and fal in time to it. 'Are you thick, or what?'

'I'm entitled to contact every fourth Sunday. That's this weekend.' Ben watched her draw on the cigarette and shoot out an angry line of smoke. The bathrobe gaped loosely. 'Big deal.'

You wouldn't let me take him last time. Are you tel ing me I can't again?' He'd wanted to spel it out for the tape recorder, but either she was natural y wary or something in his tone alerted her. Her voice became more cautious. 'Like I told the social worker, you were drunk and late. You weren't fit to have him.'

'I was on time, stone cold sober, and your husband threatened me. You were there, you know that.' He took a hold of his temper. 'Wil you let me see Jacob on Sunday or not?' There was a minute pause. He could see her chewing her lip. 'He's got a cold.'

'Cold?'

"Yeah, that's right, cold. Might even be flu. You know what flu is, don't you?'

'So you're saying I can't see him?' Tve told you, he's not wel . He's in bed.' He'd watched Jacob in the garden the evening before. There had been no sign of a cold then. 'Have you sent for a doctor?' She took a last draw on the cigarette and turned around to stub it out in something behind her. 'Not yet. We'l have to see how he goes on.' She leaned against the wal , her back stil to the window. Turn round.

ŒWhat?' she said.

Ben realised he'd muttered out loud. But she'd moved to face the window again. He could see her frowning, one hand cupping the elbow of the arm that held the phone. 'Nothing.

So when can I see him?'

'How do I know? I'm not psychic. You never know how long kids are going to have something for, do you?' Ben swal owed his anger. 'Perhaps I should speak to your husband.' She glanced out of the window. At the scrap pile. 'He's at work.'

I know. 'I'l cal when he gets back.'

'He works late,' she said, and Ben knew that he'd just lost any chance of getting Kale on the phone. She would make sure she answered it first in future.

Oddly, though, he didn't get any real sense of antagonism from her. He looked at her, bare-legged in the short robe. She was twirling the telephone wire as she waited for him to speak, unaware that he was watching her.

What colour underwear are you wearing? The question popped into his head without warning, and he had to bite back a bubble of laughter. But at the same time it disturbed him.

You stil there?' she asked

ŒYes.' There was a pause. She seemed to be almost smiling as she bit on her thumbnail. He wondered why she didn't put the phone down. Come to that, he wondered why he didn't either.

'Got anything else you'd like to ask?' she said, and although there was no mistaking the mockery there seemed something flirtatious about it. The high he'd felt a moment earlier was replaced by uncertainty.He blew on his fingers. It was bitterly cold. He took the Thermos flask out of his bag and poured himself a cup of coffee. He'd made it on the off-chance that he'd be able to go to Tunford before it got dark if the shoot finished early.

He was glad of it now. Through the steam rising from the plastic cup he saw the tiny figure of Sandra Kale go into the garden. He dug into his bag for a Mars bar. The next time he looked she was walking away from the fence at the bottom.

The steam flattened and dispersed as he blew on the coffee. He took a sip and winced when it burned his mouth.

The liquid scalded al the way down his diroat. He hissed, sucking in cold air to soothe it He took another sip, more careful this time, and when he lowered the cup a man was in the Kales' garden.

'Shit,' he said, spil ing coffee down his front. He threw the cup to one side and dropped the Mars bar. By the time he was at the camera the man was already going into the house. Ben fired off half a film on motor drive but he knew he hadn't caught him. With the polarising filter stil on, Christ knew what the shots would turn out like anyway. Tuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!' Sandra Kale was already leading the man out of the kitchen. Ben raised the camera to the bedroom, focused and waited. 'Come on. Come ml' The bedroom door opened and she appeared.

The man fol owed her. Ben switched off the camera motor and took two shots as they entered the bedroom. He watched as they spoke.

With the window glare reduced by the filter, he could make out quite a lot of detail. The man seemed tal in comparison to Sandra - dark hair, medium build. Ben put him in his late thirties. He was grinning as he moved towards her. She stepped back and said something, unsmiling. The man's grin faded. He spoke and went towards her again, but she shook her head. He shrugged, reluctantly nodded.

Now Sandra smiled and went to him. He was stil frowning, but only until she reached out and put her hand on his crotch.

CM.

She steered him towards the bed. He was smiling again as she sat on the edge and unbuckled his belt. She pul ed down his trousers. Click. He stood in front of her in his underpants.

She peeled them off. His erection sprang up in front of her face. She said something and they both laughed. Click. She stroked it with her hand, looking up at him al the while, and then bent and took it in her mouth.

Click. Clickclickclick.

Ben came to the end of the film. He cursed as it automatical y rewound, begrudging the few missed seconds.

He took it out, dropped it into his bag and swiftly instal ed a new one.

The man had stripped off the rest of his clothes. He had a paunch, Ben was obscurely glad to see. Sandra was also naked.

The striations he'd noticed before were livid on her white bel y.

They looked like stretch marks. She lay back on the bed. The man climbed on to it and knee-walked towards her. She opened her legs as he settled on top. There was some maneuvering, and then he began pumping his hips up and down. Sandra lifted her legs higher and wrapped them around him.

Ben changed film again.

He ran off most of another before the man stopped thrusting. He flopped on to the bed beside her. Sandra propped herself on one elbow, her back to the window. It formed a dean curve to her buttocks. The man sat up and reached for his trousers. He took out a packet of cigarettes, offered her one, and then lit them both.

"You diched bastard,' Ben grinned. Cigarettes finished, they dressed on separate sides of the bed. The man tucked in his shitt and picked up his jacket. Sandra put on a T-shirt. She watched, stil smoking, as the man took out his wal et and placed a couple of notes on the dressing table. She snapped something and the man laughed and added another to them.

Ben dosed his mouth and finished the rest of the film.

I I I

By the time they came downstairs he had changed it. Like the last time, Sandra came out first before signal ing for the man to fol ow. She locked the gate behind him but didn't go back into the house. She looked up at the hil that Ben was on, and for a moment he was convinced she was going to stare straight at him, acknowledge his presence. But her gaze came nowhere near.

Her cheeks hol owed as she sucked cigarette smoke deep into her lungs. Her expression was tight and unforgiving as she stared at the car wreckage. Abruptly, she seized the nearest piece of scrap and tugged at it, A distant clatter carried to Ben on the wind as it came free. She flung it aside and began tearing at the rest of it, but soon stopped with a grimace of pain.

She examined her palm, then began sucking it. The fit seemed to have exhausted itself. She looked listlessly at what she had done and passed her injured hand tiredly across her eyes, leaving a smear of blood. She took a last, defeated drag of the cigarette which she'd held throughout.

Flicking it away in a trail of sparks, she turned and went back into the house.

The darkroom was ful of wet eight-by-ten prints. In the dim red light they hung from the drying line like surrealist washing.

His darkroom at home wasn't as wel air-conditioned as the one at the studio, and he could taste the pungency of the developing chemicals at the back of his throat. Ben clipped the last print up and turned the fan higher as he studied the results. He was pleased with how wel the new lens was working with the Nikon. Although the photographs of the bedroom were grainy, that was only to be expected. Even with the filter he could hardly expect good definition shooting from light to dark through glass.

It was good enough, though.

He examined one of the dryer prints. In it Sandra Kale

sat on the bed, the man's penis disappearing into her mouth.

His lips were pursed in concentration, her face distorted as if she were mid-yawn. Both she and the bedroom were easily recognisable. Ben moved to another print. It showed the man putting the money on the dressing table, his wal et frozen on its way back to his pocket. Next to it was one of him leaving the house. His features were much clearer on that. Ben considered it for a moment, then undipped it and went over to a filing cabinet. He opened a drawer and flicked through the index tabs until he came to the photographs he had taken weeks earlier, as Sandra's visitor hurried away from the garden. Ben compared them with the stil -wet print he had just developed and gave an incredulous laugh. He hadn't been sure before, but there wasn't any doubt.

It was two different men.

"You can answer me any time today if you feel like it.' Ben looked up from the reflector and stand he was dismantling.

Zoe was waiting in front of him, a heavy tripod clutched in her arms, her face patiently exasperated. 'What?' She sighed and rol ed her eyes. 'I said shal I put this in the car?'

'Oh, right. Yeah, please.' Zoe continued to look expectantly at him. 'And do I et the car keys as wel ?' she said in answer to his obvious icomprehension. 'Or am I supposed to smash a window?' He fished in his pocket and gave them to her. 'Sorry. I

'isn't thinking.'

'Tel me about it,' she grumbled, walking away.

Ben rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt gritty and ired. The shoot had been for an advertising campaign for a ew range of jeans 'to wear anywhere', as the ad would claim.

"hey had been trying to find the right location for it since L-ly after Sarah had died, and only recently settled on a inth-century chapel in Sussex with beautiful stained-glass ows behind the altar. A mock wedding had been set up, everyone in formal dress except the bride, who wore

Πi jeans and T-shirt with her veil. It should have been

;htforward enough, except that he'd left a box of filters J95

..1" he needed back at the house. It wouldn't have been so bad if he could have sent Zoe, but the box was in the darkroom, and the darkroom was ful of prints of Sandra Kale. So he'd had to make the trip himself, leaving behind a chapel ful of waiting models, make-up people and an apoplectic art director.

By the time he got back the man - who Ben usual y got on wel with - was almost cross-eyed with frustration and Zoe was seething because she'd had to stay and bear the brunt of it.

The shoot had run on til late at night. Ben had silently blessed the fact that they were using artificial lights to simulate the sun shining through the stained-glass windows, and so could continue when it was dark. Afterwards he and Zoe had stayed to clear up, but when Zoe had only just managed to catch the tripod and camera he'd knocked over, he decided enough was enough and cal ed it a day. Only the rector had another set of keys, so Ben had broken his usual rule of not leaving equipment untended, locked the big wooden doors on the mess and driven back to the hotel.