by Amy Cross
Suddenly she heard a clicking sound, accompanied by a flash.
Turning, she saw to her horror that Donald had just taken a photo of her as she sorted through the orders.
“What in heaven's name are you doing?” she asked.
“Documenting the moment,” he said with a smile.
“Oh, for God's sake...”
“I'm really getting into this photography lark,” he replied, moving his chair back and framing another shot. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, you know.” With that, he took another photo. “Do you want to know something?” he continued. “You, Mary Heaton, are sexier sitting there in your shirt with your hair pinned back and surrounded by envelopes than most of the other girls are when they're naked with their legs wide open.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she asked with a frown.
“It is, actually, so take it as one.”
“Stop it,” she muttered, opening another envelope and taking a look at the cheque. “This one's for a hundred pounds,” she said, holding it up for him to see. “How about that?”
He took another photo.
“Donald,” she sighed, “please try to -”
“Carol was right,” he said, interrupting her, “we should think about having a baby.”
“When the time is appropriate.”
“The time might never be appropriate. Let's just dive in and do it. We'll manage, we always do. I mean, all sorts of idiots raise kids, I'm sure we can manage.”
“I don't know if -”
Before she could finish, she was almost blinded by the flash as her husband took yet another photo.
“Don -”
“Show a little cleavage,” he continued. “Go on, just undo one button.”
She shook her head as she focused on getting back to work.
“So I'm allowed to take photos of random naked girls all day, but not even one of my wife?”
“That's about the gist of it,” she muttered. “This is a business, Don, not some kind of titillation exercise that just so happens to earn us a few bob.”
“One button.”
She shook her head.
“Just one. Come on, I'm negotiating in good faith here...”
Sighing, she turned to him.
“Would it shut you up,” she asked finally, “if I just took my blouse off and let you get what you want?”
“Might,” he said with a smile. “Worth a try, at least.”
For a moment, she actually considered acquiescing to his oh-so-obvious desire before a wave of common sense washed over her.
“Well tough,” she told him, “because I'm not doing it. What kind of a woman do you think I am?”
“A pornographer?”
She glowered at him.
“Mary, you -”
“I am most certainly not a pornographer,” she replied, “I'm simply a pornographer's wife, and I occasionally help out with...” Sighing, she sat back. “Oh, that's bollocks, isn't it? I'm up to my neck in this, just like you.”
“Tell me you don't enjoy it just a little bit.”
“I don't enjoy it at all.”
“Liar.” He paused, as if he was waiting for her to change her mind. “You're not jealous, are you?”
“Of what?”
“My success.”
At this, she turned to him.
“I mean, look at me,” he continued, holding up several of the envelopes. “People are mailing me cheques every day, and all I have to do is shove a few smutty photos in the post for them. I know it must be hard for you sometimes, given that you don't work -”
“You don't think I work?”
“Well, I suppose you help out -”
“I think I need to take a bath,” she replied, getting to her feet. “You'll finish up with all these orders, won't you? Ta.”
“You're not annoyed at me, are you?”
“Of course not,” she said, forcing herself to hold back from giving him both barrels of her true opinion. “I'm just tired, and perhaps I'm distracting you by talking while you're trying to get this done, so...” She paused for a moment. “I won't be able to help you with that shoot tomorrow after all, I have to go out.”
“Out where?”
“Just to run a few errands. I'm sure you'll manage perfectly well without me.”
“Is this some kind of punishment?”
“Oh, grow up,” she replied, heading out of the room.
“Mary!” he called after her.
“I'm fine,” she said, stopping and looking back at him. “Just get on with processing all those bloody orders, okay? You've got an empire of smut to keep building, and lots of very anxious customers waiting to get shots of breasts in the mail. Don't want to keep them waiting, do we?”
With that, she made her way along to the bathroom, slamming the door as she went.
TODAY
“So what can be done?” Mary asked as she stood at the desk in the local police station. “This is an outrage!”
“Do you have proof that it was this Tom chap who posted the photos?” the sergeant asked.
“Who else could it have been?”
“I'm really not sure there's much we can help you with,” he continued with a sigh. “What you need to do is contact the websites where the photos of your daughter are currently being hosted -”
“That's not enough,” she hissed, keeping her voice low so that no-one nearby could hear her. “The photos have to come down right now! Those websites are located all over the world!”
“Then I really can't help you.”
“What about pressing criminal charges against the person who put them up in the first place?”
“In order to consider that, your daughter would need to come down here herself and make a complaint.”
“She's in bed, sobbing her eyes out!”
“She's the one who'd have to come in and speak to us.”
“She won't,” Mary replied. “I've told her she should do something, but she's too embarrassed. This isn't right!”
“I sympathize, but...” He paused. “This isn't the first case I've dealt with where someone's done this,” he said finally, “and all you can do is help your daughter to get past the initial shock. As time goes by, she'll come to realize that life goes on.”
“Life goes on? Is that the best you can do? Am I supposed to go back to my distraught child and tell her not to worry about those vile images, because life goes on?”
“In the circumstances, it might be the only option.”
Sighing, Mary looked over at the door for a moment. She felt incandescent with rage, but at the same time she was starting to realize that there was nothing the police could do to help and the sense of helplessness was growing stronger by the second. Pursuing the matter further would clearly just cause more embarrassment for Sarah, with a very slender chance of making her tormentor pay.
“What was the other thing?” the sergeant asked.
She turned to him.
“When you came in a few minutes ago,” he continued, “you said there were two matters you wanted to talk to me about. What's the other one?”
“I...” Realizing that telling him about the threatening letters would most likely be just as pointless and humiliating, she took her gloves from her bag. “Nothing,” she said finally. “It's nothing. I'm sure you've done everything in your power, I shan't bother you any longer.”
“Are you alright, Mrs. Heaton?”
“No,” she replied, turning and heading to the door, “I'm not.”
“If your daughter would like to come down and make a complaint personally,” he called after her, “she's most welcome to do so. We can always -”
“I doubt she will,” Mary replied, ignoring his reply as she stepped out into the village square and took a deep breath. She'd known that a visit to the police would be a long-shot, but there had just been a part of her that saw no other option. The police were supposed to protect people against such dreadful things, and sh
e'd clung to that hope right up until the moment she'd registered the sergeant's bored tone and his desire to turn her around and get her out of the station as quickly as possible.
Spotting movement over on the other side of the square, she saw the postman slipping some letters into her mailbox and her heart immediately skipped a beat.
“Let's see what you have for me this morning, shall we?” she muttered to herself, slipping her hands into her gloves before making her away across the square. Every step felt leaden and slow, and she couldn't help wondering if somehow her neighbours had already begun to suspect that something was amiss. Still, as she reached the mailbox she felt surprisingly strong, as if deep down she knew that there was no need to panic. She wasn't scared. Instead, she was angry.
Opening the mailbox, she pulled out a handful of letters and found, just as she'd expected, that one was a white envelope with the by-now-familiar Dalston postmark.
“Lovely,” she whispered, opening the white envelope as she made her way to the front door, “what treat do you have in store for me this time?”
“Morning, Mary!” Gladys Peabody called out from the next garden along.
“Morning!” Mary replied, forcing a smile and waving at the woman before opening her front door and stepping inside. With the envelope finally open, she found that this time there were only two photographs. Pulling them out and turning them around to take a look, she -
She froze in horror.
“Oh no,” she whispered as she stared at the images. “Please, Donald, no...”
THIRTY YEARS AGO
“Will you just calm down?” Donald was shouting as Mary entered the flat. “For God's sake, just sit still for a moment.”
She stopped, listening to what sounded like someone bumping into furniture in the front room.
“You're going to hurt yourself!” Donald insisted.
“What's going on?” Mary called through to him.
“Thank God! Mary, get in here!”
Hurriedly removing her shoes and coat, Mary pushed the door shut before hurrying through to the front room, where she found Donald in one corner with a stark-naked Sarah advancing as if she was trying to climb onto him.
“What are you doing?” Mary shouted.
“She's gone nuts!” he shouted back at her.
“Hey, Mrs. H,” Sarah said, obviously drunk as she turned and stumbled toward Mary. “Why don't you join in? Two girls for the price of -”
Before she could finish, she tripped over the edge of the sofa and dropped to the floor.
“Oh Christ,” Mary muttered.
“She was drunk when she turned up for the shoot,” Donald explained, straightening his shirt. “I thought I could -”
“What, you thought you could still take photos?” Mary asked, reaching down and helping Sarah up before manoeuvring her onto the sofa. “Bring me a sheet or something.”
“Why?”
“To cover the poor girl up!”
As Donald went to fetch a sheet from the bedroom, Mary sat on the edge of the sofa and gently held Sarah down, even though she was trying to get up.
“How often do you drink?” she asked with a frown. “Sarah, do you have a problem?”
“No problem,” Sarah slurred, clearly unable to even focus properly, “I just thought it'd be fun to have some wine before I came! I did all the colours... Red and white and pink!” Reaching her arms back behind her head, she jutted her breasts toward Mary. “Don't you think I look hot today?”
“I think you look drunk,” Mary replied, “and I certainly don't -”
Suddenly there was a flash next to her, accompanied by the whine of the camera, and she turned to see Donald standing in the doorway with the camera raised.
“What the hell are you doing?” she shouted, getting to her feet and grabbing the sheet he'd brought.
“Thought I might as well get another shot,” he replied, “that's all. At least try to get something out of the session.”
“The poor girl,” Mary muttered, placing the sheet over Sarah, who was now starting to pass out.
“She's just drunk,” Donald told her.
“She's not just drunk,” Mary replied, “she's a drunk, there's a difference. She's an alcoholic.”
“Steady on -”
“She's got a problem,” Mary continued. “She's always had one, but at least she used to be able to show up sober. Now look at her, she can't even function.”
“I have to be naked,” Sarah slurred, trying to push the sheet away.
“You have to sleep,” Mary replied, stroking the side of her face. “Come on, Sarah, it's okay. You've been naked enough and -”
As the flash went off again, she turned and glared at her husband.
“If you take one more photo of this poor drunk girl, I'll...” Her voice trailed off as she realized that her anger was starting to crystallize as white-hot fury.
“Bet you they sell,” he replied, lowering the camera. “There's guys out there that don't mind the idea of a drunk girl being -”
“Oh, do shut up,” she snapped.
“What's the problem?”
“You!” she said, getting to her feet. “You're the problem!” Sighing, she made her way to the window before turning back to him. “I thought I could leave you alone to get on with things, and look at how it turned out.”
“I think I got some okay photos at first,” he replied, somewhat pathetically. “Why are you getting on your high horse, anyway? Drunk, sober, it's all the same. It's tits and pussy.”
“Sweet Lord,” Mary muttered, turning to look out the window for a moment. The street outside was mostly empty, lined with parked cars but devoid of people on the pavements. The scene seemed so normal, but at the same time it felt as if it was so far away. “What did I marry?” she whispered under her breath.
“Mary,” Donald said finally, “look, maybe I went a little far...”
“We have to stop,” she replied, turning to him. “Right now, right this instant, we have to stop the whole thing!”
“You're kidding!”
“It's getting out of hand!”
“One drunk girl, one time!”
“This is the second time she'd turned up drunk,” she continued. “She's a bloody liability!”
“Then we'll stop using her and stick to the other girls!”
“That'd be...” Pausing, Mary couldn't help but realize that on this point, at least, he might be right. Turning to look over at Sarah's sleeping form, she took a deep breath. “We can't have her involved anymore,” she said finally. “Absolutely not, Donald.”
“Shame to lose our very first girl,” he pointed out, “but... Okay, we'll cut her loose.” He waited for a moment. “But we'll continue for a little longer, yeah? The money side... We need a little more. There's a meeting of the local party soon, let's at least get to that so we know how much we've got to have squirrelled away. No point stopping now, not when we've come so far.”
“The longer it goes on,” Mary told him, “the bigger the risk that someone finds out.”
“No-one'll find out.”
“But -”
“I've made sure of that. You trust me, don't you?”
She stared at him, and for the first time she truly wasn't certain of her answer.
“Of course,” she lied. “Of course I do.”
“I'll get her back to her flat,” he continued, looking down at Sarah.
“No,” Mary told him, “I'll do that. You get another girl booked for tomorrow.”
“Not this afternoon?”
She shook her head. “I think we need some time to clear our heads. I'll put Sarah in the car and drive her home, and then I'll... I don't know, but just because we're not going to use her for photos for a while, I can't just abandon her. She needs help and she doesn't have any family.”
“That's not our problem,” Donald replied. “She has to sort out her own life.”
“The matter's not up for debate,” she told him. “You
don't have to have anything to do with it, but I shan't ditch the girl just because she's no use to us anymore. With the state she's in now, God only knows where she'll end up if no-one helps her.”
“We're not giving her money,” he said cautiously. “She's, what, early twenties? She's old enough to look after herself, and if she's got no-one to help her, that's because of bad choices she's made.”
“I'm going to help her,” Mary replied, biting her tongue to avoid telling him what she really thought of his attitude. “Irrespective of anything else, I'm going to make sure she's okay.”
***
“There we go,” Mary said as she finally lowered Sarah onto the bed, having driven her home to her flat. “Safe and sound, time to sleep off all the alcohol.”
“Done lee...” Sarah groaned, barely even opening her eyes as she lay on her back.
“I'm sorry?”
“Done lee.”
“Done what?”
“Done... lee v'mee...”
“Done?” Mary paused. “Don't leave you, is that what you're trying to say?”
“I don't want to be left,” Sarah whispered, finally opening her tear-filled eyes and staring up at Mary. “Did I do good today? Tell me if I did a...” She paused, letting several seconds elapse as if the effort of saying more was too much. “Did I do good?”
“You did fine,” Mary lied. “Listen, I really can't stay -”
“Don't leave me,” Sarah said again, reaching up to grab her hand but missing by miles. “I don't think... Donnie got many good photos... Maybe I should go back and do some more...”
“I don't think so,” Mary replied.
“I'll come tomorrow then...”
“I think maybe we should give it a rest for a little while,” Mary told her. “Just until you've managed to get yourself together, Sarah. Does that sound like a good idea?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows. “I'm together, I'm very together.”
