The Cutting Room by Louise Welsh Page B

are
    you here??
    ‘From the look of the pictures it happened a long time ago.
    Mid-nineteen-forties or thereabouts.’
    `Aye, but even so, murder’s murder. There’s maybe
    someone still alive wonders what happened to their sister,
    their mother. There’s records for that kind of thing; missing persons.
    Derek broke in. `Rilke’s got a photo of the guy. I thought
    you might recognise him.’
    `Even if I did, what could I tell you?’ AnneMarie poured herself some more tea from the large, brown pot on the table.
    `I never talk to the clients. I’m the muse, untouchable and
    silent. I’d lose my power over them if I spoke. I’m a fantasy object. The minute they realise I’m a real girl I’ve blown it.’
    `Have you never spoken to any of them?’
    She made a pained face. `Once or twice, but not if I can
    help it.’ `
    Chris spoke through a mouthful of cake. `That’s what I’m
    here for. Make sure everyone behaves themselves.’ He wagged
    his finger in mock admonition. `No touching the muse. No
    shouting or whistling.’
     
    AnneMarie smiled. `I think they prefer it like that anyway. Most of them are frightened wee mice. That’s why they’re here and not at the lap dancing or some legit camera club.
    They take their photographs, then go home and get their
    rocks off in private.’
    Derek looked disgruntled. I wondered if he was unhappy
    about letting me down. It was a pleasing thought. AnneMarie reached over and patted his hand.
    `Sorry to disappoint you, Deke.’
    Will you have a look at his photographs anyway?’
     
    `Derek’ - he was pushing her too hard - `maybe I should
    head off. I’ve to be somewhere later this evening, anyway.
    Thanks a lot, AnneMarie, for the tea and cake.’
    `No, wait a moment, unless you’re in a heury?’
    I shook my head.
    `It wouldn’t do me any harm to look at a picture of the
    man, I suppose. He’s not standing next to a dead body, is
    he?’
    `No.’
    `Well that’s all right, then. I’m a bit squeamish.’
    I warned AnneMarie of the nature of the McKindless
    portraits before passing them to her. She studied them briefly, twisting her face in disgust, then passed them to Chris with a significant look.
    `Oh yes.’ Chris nodded. He didn’t seem to notice that
    AnneMarie’s face had gone the colour of cold porridge. `I
    remember him. This was taken a while ago, eh? But it’s him
    for sure.’
    AnneMarie pulled her fingers through her hair. `He had
    the wrong idea.’ She took a thin strand in her mouth and
    chewed on it gently.
    Chris straightened in his seat. `I put him straight. AnneMarie, there’s cake left if you’re hungry.’
    `It helps me think. Do you want to tell him about it or will I?’
    Chris sipped his tea. `There’s nothing much to tell, is
    there? It happened. It’s inevitable. You’ve been warned often enough. Anyway,’ he addressed himself to Derek and I, `this
    bloke came a few times, no problem. Then he asked if he
    could photograph AnneMarie in private, on his own. He
    asked me because I’m the front of house. Like AnneMarie
    said, she never talks to them. Well, I told him no and he went
    away peaceful enough. That’s all there is to it. He tried his luck and didn’t get anywhere. The only strange thing was the amount of money he offered. It was a lot.’
    `How much?’
    `Let’s just say too much just to photograph someone and
    enough to tempt madam here.’
    AnneMarie looked defiant. `I only said that perhaps you
    could be in the next room.’
    `He didn’t want that. The man was quite specific. He
    wanted to photograph you, alone in the house. He specifically stated alone. Aye, that’d be right. I told him to sling his
    hook.’
    AnneMarie looked down at her cup. `You think you know
    everything, Christian, but I’m not stupid. I’ve looked after myself for a long time now.’
    `I’m not denying that, but part of the reason you do okay is because you’re a bright girl.’
    She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. `I’m