by Kirsty Ferry
Becky couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I wouldn’t even try!’ she exclaimed.
‘Then that’s the difference between us,’ said Jon. ‘I’m trying to learn this, and you won’t even give my music a go.’
‘Forget it!’ said Becky, pushing him good-naturedly. ‘Face it, you’re useless.’
He opened his mouth to retaliate, but at that moment the bell rung above the shop door and he turned his attention to his potential customer. Becky turned with him and saw a middle-aged lady standing there, with a tall, thin man. The man looked vaguely uncomfortable; the woman excited.
‘What a lovely little place!’ said the lady, looking around her in delight. ‘We’re here for Goth Weekend, but you probably know that already. And because we want to feel properly part of it, I think I’d like a photo of me and my husband dressed up.’
‘Certainly,’ said Jon. ‘Come with me and I’ll show you some of the clothes we have here. You can really look the part,’ he said. ‘This is my assistant, Becky. She’ll help us choose something, won’t you, Becky?’
Becky stood up to follow them towards the clothes and Jon turned, winking at her over his shoulder. Yep, he had really meant she was going to be his assistant today, hadn’t he? Before she knew it, she was the receptacle for swathes of black lace as the lady picked and discarded dress after dress after dress, piling them all up in Becky’s arms as she rejected them. Becky slowly disappeared under the clothes and before long she couldn’t even see above the pile and amused herself by wondering what the woman would eventually choose. At length, someone, probably Jon, lifted the pile of clothes out of her arms and she was faced with the lady, holding up some Goth version of a twee little milkmaid’s outfit and smiling.
Becky couldn’t help it. She shook her head. ‘Oh no. No. I think you’d look much better in something less … frilly,’ she said. ‘I’m sure we have something that will look better. I mean, something that’s a little more special and a hundred people haven’t already worn this weekend.’
She rummaged through the racks of clothes and eventually pulled out a more flattering Victorian-style day dress. She handed it to the lady and watched as she wriggled into it, her husband tugging at the Velcro backing, trying to make the edges meet. Becky was pleased to see that the new dress nipped the lady in where it should nip her in and emphasised more of her hourglass shape. Yes, much better than a Goth milkmaid would have been, she thought. The husband himself was dressed as if he was going to the opera, even down to the monocle and the top hat. He looked extremely uncomfortable as they made their way out of the dressing room into the photograph area. Jon moved them around until he was happy with their positions and disappeared behind the camera as he took the shot.
Eventually, he was satisfied, and the couple changed back into modern-day tourists.
Jon fussed at the camera, sorting the plates out and heading over to his workstation in the tiny darkroom to develop the picture. He always tried, he had explained to the couple, to stay faithful to the old traditions – no digital imagery in here. Becky snuck into the darkroom. She peered over Jon’s shoulder and then tapped him on the back. He turned, scowling at her for interrupting his work. She held up the finger spelling sheet and indicated he should hold it under the low light. Then she lifted her hands up and very slowly spelled out Y.O.U. W.O.R.K. M.A.G.I.C. She grinned at him and slipped out of the darkroom, taking the sheet with her, just in time to see the couple heading back towards the front of the shop. She moved behind the desk and smiled at them, pushing the finger spelling sheet under the counter.
‘He won’t be long,’ she said. ‘Do you want to pay now and wait, or pay now and come back later?’
‘Oh, we’ll wait!’ said the lady. ‘All the better to see these fabulous photographs. I say, Brian, have you seen this one? No? Well, pay the lady and then come and see it.’ She walked over to the wall and studied a photograph that was mounted and framed in the centre. ‘Oh my!’ she said. She turned to Becky and smiled. ‘You are a beautiful model, my dear. How fabulous is that dress? Now, I wish I had seen that one today. I would have liked that one.’
Becky, clutching some notes from Brian, didn’t quite understand.
She came out from behind the till and stood by the lady. ‘Excuse me? What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘It’s you!’ said the lady. ‘You look fabulous.’ She pointed a beautifully manicured forefinger, heavy with rings, towards the picture.
Becky stared, astonished. It was the photograph of her from yesterday when she had bent over the writing slope. It looked as amazing as Jon had said. She was pleased her hair was falling across the side of her face and not tied up – it was much better, in her opinion.
Nervously, she tucked the accursed hair behind her ear again, then fluffed it back out as she peered closer at the picture. ‘It looks really old-fashioned, doesn’t it?’ she said. ‘I truly hadn’t seen that on the wall until today.’
‘He’s a talented man,’ said the lady. She smiled at Becky, genuine warmth in her expression. ‘You’re a lucky girl.’
Becky couldn’t help but laugh. She began to shake her head, ready to deny it and give her the ‘oh, we’re old friends’ routine, until she thought better of it. The lady obviously loved the idea that they were together. Why spoil it for her?
Instead, she smiled graciously and pointed randomly to another wall. ‘There’s some nice ones over there as well,’ she said, not knowing if there were or weren’t. ‘Just have a look around, he won’t be long.’
She put the money into Jon’s till – the drawer was left indiscreetly open, it had to be said – retrieved the finger spelling sheet and took up her position beside the writing slope again. She piled the papers up in front of her, placing the music score on the top, as she deemed that the least likely to generate questions. She waited for Jon to come out from the darkroom, and watched the customers enjoy the gallery.
At length, Jon emerged and held out the photograph to the couple.
‘Oh my, that’s wonderful,’ said the lady. ‘I look so … vintage! Well, we paid your girl over there – your best model in my opinion – and we just love your studio. We’ll be coming back next year, I’m sure. We might even wear our own costumes next time!’
Becky smiled as Jon thanked the couple and escorted them out of the studio, the lady still singing his praises. He bid them farewell at the door and turned to Becky.
He leaned against the door and smiled. ‘So long as she’s happy, eh? Thanks for taking payment, by the way.’
‘My pleasure,’ said Becky. ‘I didn’t know you’d framed that photograph from yesterday.’ She stood up and walked over to it again. ‘You should have told me.’
‘Ah well,’ said Jon, flushing slightly. ‘I did it after you’d left. It came out really well. I wanted to put it on display.’
‘It’s nice,’ said Becky. ‘It doesn’t look like me, though.’
‘Yes it does,’ said Jon. ‘You can have it if you want. I can always do a copy for myself. But I’ve got the other one done as well.’ He reached over to the table next to him and picked up another framed portrait. It was the serious one that Becky had sat for yesterday, the one she had posed so carefully for.
She took it from him and studied it. Never in her whole life had she ever thought that she looked like the girl in this photograph. The dress fitted perfectly and her hair fell down past her shoulders. Normally it was straight, but somehow this picture had captured a wave to it that framed a heart-shaped face she didn’t think she possessed. But it was her eyes that held her attention. They looked out of the picture, entirely focused on the photographer, a slight frown of concentration behind them. She studied the picture, thinking how unlike her own eyes they seemed to be and yet they looked oddly familiar.
‘I have eyes like Lady Eleanor’s,’ she said suddenly. ‘They’ve got the same expressi
on in them. Look!’ She thrust the picture at Jon, pointing at her face. ‘I’m not her, but I look like her across the eyes.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Jon, taking the picture from her. He studied it himself and shook his head. ‘No you don’t. It’s the dress and the lighting. That’s what makes it look like the painting, I’m sure.’
‘Can’t you see it?’ she persisted. ‘It’s her, looking out of that picture. It’s not me.’
‘Ridiculous!’ said Jon. ‘No, it’s you. It’s exactly how you looked yesterday.’
‘I might have looked like that, but I don’t look like that!’ said Becky.
‘Yes you do!’ argued Jon. ‘The camera never lies.’
‘Yes it bloody does!’ said Becky. She was willing to argue more, but the bell above the door dinged again and a small, dainty girl walked in. Her bobbed hair was dyed jet black and she wore leggings and a long, geometrically patterned tunic. Her mismatched blue and green eyes were thickly lined with kohl and framed with hugely long lashes, but her lips were a pale pink and the entire look owed more to Mary Quant and the 1960s than to Whitby in the twenty-first century.
‘Jon!’ she shrieked, catching sight of him. ‘And Becky! My God, what a treat! I’ve missed you sooooo much!’ She threw what looked like a laptop case down on the table, slammed the door shut and quickly flicked the sign on the glass to ‘Closed’. She ran over to Jon, hugged him, then threw herself likewise at Becky.
‘Hey, Lissy!’ said Jon, laughing. ‘Good to see you too. Thanks for coming down.’
‘No problem,’ she replied. ‘And Becky! I couldn’t believe it when Jon told me he’d bumped into you – literally, by all accounts.’ She laughed at her own joke. ‘I meant to email you or text you but I got a little sidetracked. You know what it’s like. You know what I’m like.’
‘Yes, but what was he like?’ Becky replied. Lissy had never and apparently would never change. Unlike her brother, she looked exactly the same – only her make-up was more professional now and yes, her fingernails were to die for. Not to mention her clothes.
‘God, you know me too well,’ said Lissy, ‘but I’m not talking about him. He doesn’t deserve my time. But anyway, Jon said we’ve got quite a lot of interesting stuff going on.’
‘We have indeed.’ Becky grinned. ‘Starting with this.’ She indicated the writing slope. ‘Don’t let me down, Lissy.’
‘I never let anyone down. It’s just I’m useless at keeping in touch. But you know that anyway.’
She looked sidelong at the writing slope and Becky detected a hint of eagerness; Lissy was clearly raring to go. ‘So it’s definitely something to do with this?’ Lissy asked.
‘Definitely,’ said Becky. ‘We found some intriguing stuff inside it, and what we want to know is who owned the slope and what the contents mean. Did Jon tell you about Ella?’ she asked, feeling rather silly at even mentioning Ella.
‘He did,’ Lissy said with a nod, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be possessed by dead Victorians. ‘And you think she’s Lady Eleanor at Carrick Park?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Becky slowly. ‘It seems likely, but I don’t know for sure.’
‘We’ll find out,’ said Lissy. ‘There are certain things I can do to help us.’
Yes, Lissy had not changed. She was always so confident that she would triumph in whatever she did. And part of Becky marvelled at how easily she just railroaded in there and started chatting as if they’d only spoken yesterday. And seriously, lots of things had happened in between times – not all of it for general consumption – so it was probably just as easy to let Lissy talk at her and not ask too many questions about the past.
‘Lissy!’ Jon interrupted. ‘No funny stuff. We want facts.’
‘You’ll get facts,’ said Lissy. ‘My methods may be unconventional but they work. Now, let’s have a look at the slope. Jon says you managed to find the secret compartment. My brother spent ages looking for it, but he couldn’t find it. It’s so clever; it reminds me of a CD tray in a laptop.’
‘You knew where it was?’ asked Jon. ‘And you didn’t tell me?’
‘Of course I knew!’ said Lissy. ‘It was pretty obvious. But then, I guess I went to London just after that so I haven’t had a chance to show you. I did mean to, but then I forgot all about it.’ She turned to Becky. ‘I went to the V&A. Fantastic. It’s the costumes. I love them. But I found that dress in a programme from the British Museum. They had an art exhibition there and I saw the Lady Eleanor portrait and couldn’t resist her dress, so I sorted out a copy for my brother because he always likes to have unusual things here for special clients …’
Becky stared at Lissy fascinated, letting her ramble on. She had obviously never learned to stop for breath in the years since they’d last met up. Emails and texts were all very well, but Becky had forgotten what it was like to be with her in person.
‘… And then as I say I forgot all about that slope. I got it from an antiques shop, just down the road there. It’s a really nice shop, you can have a good old poke around it and they’ve always got something new. They said the slope had come to them from an auction and it was in really good condition …’
Becky looked at Jon, trying not to laugh as Lissy bent over the slope and began fiddling with one of the hinges, never ceasing in her monologue. Jon rolled his gaze heavenwards and made a helpless gesture with his hands.
‘And they said that some of these pieces are really clever, because you find the compartment by lifting the bit up between the inkwells, but nobody ever gets the one from the hinge. They sold it with all the contents intact, they said there was nothing of any value in it, so I managed to get the whole lot for such a bargain price—’
‘Hang on!’ Jon interrupted. ‘There are two compartments?’
‘Yes, didn’t I just say it was like a CD tray?’ said Lissy, frowning at him. ‘You weren’t listening to me. You never listen to me.’
‘Lissy, shut up,’ said Jon. ‘Show me the damn CD tray.’
‘Okay, don’t get annoyed,’ said Lissy indignantly. ‘Here it is. See? A CD tray.’
She was right; the hinge she had been fiddling with was now standing at right angles to the base of the slope, and a drawer, exactly like a CD tray, had popped out from the side.
‘I don’t know if there’s anything in that bit, though,’ said Lissy. ‘I didn’t get a good chance to look at it.’ She hunkered down and peered in. ‘Oh yes. Look, there’s something. It’s all curled up though.’ She poked tiny little fingers tipped with bright blue nail varnish into the drawer and coaxed out a curled up piece of paper. There was a scuffle as both Jon and Becky dived for it at the same time. Jon won, snatching it out of Lissy’s hand.
‘Hey!’ cried Lissy. ‘Watch it!’
Jon carefully flattened the paper out. His eyes widened and his mouth formed a silent ‘Oh!’ as he apparently realised what it was.
‘It’s a photograph,’ he said, when he had recovered the power of speech. ‘A genuine photograph.’ He swore under his breath and stared at the picture. ‘It’s not a professional one. It’s a bit blurred, not very well preserved and a bit cracked. But nevertheless …’ He laid it down on the table and the girls crowded around him.
Becky looked at the photograph in wonderment; a man and a woman were facing each other in front of a fireplace and it was, clearly, unprofessional. It had been taken at an odd angle whereby it didn’t exactly centre the people, and they definitely weren’t posing for it. In fact, the more she looked at it, the more Becky thought they hadn’t even been aware that it was being taken at all. There must have been a flash involved, as there was a streak of light reflected on the girl’s hair, which gave a kind of halo effect and left part of the man’s face in shadow. Even so, Becky could see the look of total adoration on the man’s face and the girl’s face, upt
urned to his, mirrored his feelings. Becky noticed the girl’s hands and arms were blurred – she must have been trying to drive home a point, using them to make herself clear. Whatever it was they were talking about, the man was smiling at her and leaving the conversation to her.
‘Beautiful,’ said Becky. ‘It’s such a natural photograph of them. I wonder where … oh!’ She leaned forward and peered at the picture. ‘Jon, have you got a magnifying glass. Something I can use …’
There was that queer feeling again – Becky’s reality was slipping away and this time, Lissy seemed to feel it too. At exactly the same time, they looked at each other and Lissy’s face drained of colour. She stared at Becky, and an expression of pure fear came over her.
‘I … can’t …’ she managed.
‘It’s all right,’ Becky said slowly, taking the girl’s hands in hers. ‘It’s all right. Look at me. It’s all right. It’ll pass.’
Within a few seconds, Lissy’s colour returned and her face relaxed. ‘That was horrible,’ she whispered. ‘God, that was horrible. I’ve never …’
‘You get used to it,’ said Becky. ‘It’s her. Did you feel her?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Lissy. She looked all of a sudden very scared. ‘Is that what she does?’
Becky nodded. ‘Yes. This is part of the reason why I want a magnifying glass. Jon?’ She turned and saw Jon looking at them, as white as Lissy had been moments earlier. ‘Jon? Are you okay? She didn’t get you as well, did she?’
‘No,’ said Jon, sitting down on the table. He looked at Becky and shook his head in disbelief. ‘But Adam did.’
JON
‘You’re kidding?’ exclaimed Lissy. ‘There was somebody else here with us? Adam?’
‘I’m not kidding,’ said Jon. ‘God, I need a coffee.’ He put his head in his hands and shook it. ‘It was like he was right in my head. I swear I heard a voice, something like “I’m Adam, I’m with her.”’ He looked up at the girls; his sister was staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes and Becky’s brow was creased with that little furrow he realised he found so endearing.
