Page 6 of The Cut
Max stared at her.
‘Video.’ She snorted. ‘Why?’
Max sipped his drink. ‘You know why.’
Karine paused, pursing her lips. ‘What’s the budget for post?’
‘Don’t you worry about that.’ Max glanced up as the scampi piccanti appetiser floated down on to the table.
‘It’ll be difficult to find any Hi8 film stock.’ Karine shook her head and dipped a shrimp into the sauce. ‘But I guess I can trawl eBay for some cassette tapes. I think I have an old Panasonic I can dig out from my kit.’27
‘No.’ Max was sharp, abrupt even. He checked himself, then lowered his voice. ‘There’s a very specific camera that I will need you to …’ He paused, eyes drifting to the middle distance.
Karine raised her glass to her lips. ‘To … what?’
‘To source.’
Karine took a long slow draught of her drink, draining the glass. ‘And where will I acquire this “very specific camera”?’ Her soft Danish precision accentuated his choice of words.
Max stared into Karine’s eyes, his face softening.
‘You’ll find it.’ His mouth curled into a smile. ‘I have every faith in you.’ He raised his glass to hers. The crystal chinked in a toast and glittered in the candlelight.
‘That’s why I hired you.’28
29
5
SEPTEMBER 1993
The old blue Ford Fiesta belongs to his dad. It hasn’t been driven much the last few years because his dad can’t leave the house. Ben hasn’t passed his test yet, and with his L-plates he’s supposed to drive under supervision. He sometimes puts an old shop dummy with his nan’s fur coat and hat on in the front seat, to fox the police. But Barton Mallet is a small village, and no one really cares. PC Davis has pulled him over a few times to rap his knuckles and tell him to stick to the farm roads. But Ben is a special case, what with everything going on at home, and Davis has his back.
The car pulls up slowly to the Maddocks’s farm. It’s about two miles out of the village in the middle of nowhere, on the road to the pretty cottages, past the dog rescue, on the corner of Sienna Lane. On summer days, when they disappear into the woods on their mountain bikes, the sound of dogs barking melds with the smell of manure from the dairy farm. The headlights of Ben’s car brush the dirt path and the hedgerows glow with an orange light as he slows down, crunching the gears and jump-stalling to a sudden stop. Now he’s here, he needs to figure out exactly what to say. Not to Annie, but to her father, John Maddock. He switches off the headlights and waits, steaming up the windscreen as he zips up his bomber jacket and tests his breath in the cup of his hand.
The Maddocks’s is a perfectly symmetrical white-rendered Georgian farmhouse with dark green moss tumbling down the bowing slate roof. It’s modest but rather beautiful in its own way. Lights are on in the ground-floor snug, where Ben can see two30silhouettes through the faded net curtains. The voice of a clarinet sings through the silence, then, joining in harmony, the deep melancholy vibrato of a cello. For a moment, Ben’s hand hovers over the car door handle. He is transfixed. Slowly, he winds down the window so he can hear the music. The hair on his forearm awakens as if roused by the sound. This melody is one of his dad’s favourites, but he can never remember the composer’s name. The harmonics rise to a mournful climax, hanging in the air for a second, before drifting up and out of the window, into the rustling leaves of the oak trees.
Can she see him waiting out here in the dark? The room upstairs is in shadow, but the shape of the girl is just visible, and as the curtains adjust, light from the landing spills across the wall behind her. Suddenly the music stops and a peal of laughter rings out, as Cat and Mark get up and move across the snug.
Ben turns to his lifeless passenger. ‘All right, Nan, I’m going in. Wish me luck.’ He opens the car door and crunches down the gravel path towards the house, his hands digging deep into his pockets.
John Maddock doesn’t like him at all; he is well aware of that. He’s also well aware that his dad is always late paying the Maddocks’s milk bill and has stopped leaving the generous Christmas box that his mum used to give. Lots of things stop after the mums have gone. As soon as he taps on the heavy iron knocker of the front door, the dogs will go mad and there’ll be no turning back. A little tap-tap on the window above him and Ben glances up to see Annie tugging on the old, over-painted sash window. The wood creaks and shudders as the tiniest crack opens, just enough to slide an arm through. Annie presses her face to the gap.
‘Don’t get stuck.’ Ben stifles a giggle as Annie attempts to wriggle her shoulders through. ‘Just whisper through the gap.’31
‘I can’t come out, Ben. Dad won’t let me.’ Annie keeps her voice down.
Ben’s shoulders sink. ‘Not even for half an hour?’
‘I have to study.’
‘How come baby sister’s allowed guests? I mean, I don’t know what they’re getting up to in there, but it doesn’t sound very homeworky.’
‘Orchestra practice. Mum’s really cross with me. I only got Ds for my maths and biology mocks.’
‘Just come down for ten minutes, then … we can listen to the radio in the car.’
‘I can’t believe you drove here, Ben. You know you’re not allowed.’
