I find Archer on the front deck of the ferry, deep in conversation.
“Here’s your coffee,” I say as I glance over to the girl he is speaking to, she has a camera strapped around her neck which rests on her T-shirt that reads: ‘I have glitter for breakfast’.
I take a sip of the black coffee and try to restrain myself from scrunching up my face because of the bitter taste.
“Thank you, hun. Look who I’ve found here, Zody is not just a fellow Australian, but she lives in Teabrook around the corner from us. She’s travelling to photograph a wedding in Corfu.”
He turns to Zody and adds as a side note, “Helena is also a photographer.”
I extend my hand whilst shooting Archer a look of disapproval.
“Hi there, nice to meet you,” the girl says, holding out her hand. Her arm is decorated with thick black bangles. “Aw, look at the gorgeous baby,” she coos. She holds back her long brown hair and leans in closer to touch Marla’s cheek.
Archer does a stupid thing next.
“Would you like a coffee?” he asks. “Here, you can have mine,” he continues, not waiting for the girl’s reply.
“Oh no, thank you,” Zody says, shaking her head.
“Please take it,” Archer insists and forces it into the girl’s hand.
So eager to impress.
Stunned, Zody takes the cup and lifts it to her lips.
I am astounded; I watch Archer looking at her while she drinks the caustic fluid. He is awestruck by her. I have never witnessed such a ridiculous spectacle.
“How long are you staying in Corfu?” Archer asks.
“I’m back on the ferry tomorrow morning. I have one more wedding to photograph in Greece; then it’s back home to edit the pictures I’ve taken,” she explains almost bursting with pride.
“Look at the dolphins!” I exclaim pointing to the side of the ferry, so grateful for the sudden interruption. It seems that everyone on the ferry notices the dolphins at the same time and all the passengers head to one side of the boat. I stand back from the excited crowd and watch the dolphins glide in and out of the blue water. I can see Archer leaning over the railing; Zody is standing next to him, leaning over the edge pointing her expensive camera. I always thought he liked dolphins, evidently not. He doesn’t seem so interested in their performance in the water now. He is looking down at Zody, as she bends over the railing. If he could, he would scoop her hair up and hold it for her so it doesn’t get in her way while she is taking photos.
I walk back inside the ferry and find a seat; from here I can see Archer. The dolphins have swum away, and Archer has her full attention now. He says something that makes her throw her head back and laugh. Then her backpack is between her and him. She searches it, and again Archer is watching her intensely as if she is performing the most enjoyable of tasks. Then I watch as she gives Archer a card. He puts the card in his wallet. I see him walking back towards me. I turn my head, so he doesn’t see me looking at him.
Archer is happy when he sits on the seat next to me but does not say anything about taking the card from the girl. He does not say: “I thought we could have some family photos taken when we get back home. If you can call the photographer we just met to organise it.” Instead, he remarks: “Apparently there isn’t any phone reception on the island, make sure you don’t get lost.”
***
Remembering our first meeting causes my chest to tighten, and I feel the hot tears start to swell in my eyes. I bow my head, so no one can see me cry, then in the next moment, I decide I don’t care. My shoulders rock as I take great gasps of air. She has the career I’ve worked and struggled so hard to have, now she has robbed me of my security – otherwise known as my husband. I studied Visual Arts at University with a major in photography. I have the technical knowledge required to be a photographer. I didn’t just wake up one morning from a year of posting selfies on a blog to decide that, yes, today is the day I will tell the world I am a photographer. I wish I lived in the days where there was no social media, photographers knew how to use a camera, and they weren’t just hired because they had breast enlargements to show off.
I blame social media for the reason growing my photography business never worked out for me no matter how much effort and time I dedicated to it. Every month the enquiries from clients trickled in, and I would respond diligently and enthusiastically. Occasionally these inquiries would result in a booking. I always knew that the customers who’d chosen me to photograph their wedding did so because I had given them the lowest price.
Recently even these pitiful enquiries had slowed. So I join Zody on her life and photography adventures through her daily Instagram updates; yesterday I had felt her pain when she pricked her finger on a cactus. Every day she causes me pain to see her gloating about all the fantastic jobs she has booked and the next country she will be travelling to, and every day my misery grows.
I don’t want to kill her. I’m not a killer. I have a child. Who would look after Marla if I was sent to jail? No, I only want to scare her. Ruin her. So she is not so happy and satisfied. Her success is what I’m after, not her life.
My phone buzzes. “Good morning, Helena, this is Stingrays Day-Care, sorry to bother you, it seems Marla has a stomach bug, if you could please come and pick her up as soon as possible.”
“I will be there as soon as I can,” I answer.
Ugh, now I have to go back home to get my car and drive to Marla’s day-care. The park I’m standing in is located between day-care and home I can’t fetch her without the pram to bring her home in. If only I still carried Marla in a baby carrier like when she was little.
“Bye, ducks,” I whisper and begin making my way back home. At least I can walk past the café and have a sneak peek to see if Zody is still in there.
I cross the road and make my way between the high school kids who surely should be in class at this time.
I look inside the café and get a glimpse of brown hair and tan dress.
“Oye,” a tall skinny boy says sharply as we collide, then I stumble into a short girl with bleached hair.
“Hey watch it, lady,” the girl scowls, I glance at her face and smile apologetically. “What are you looking at? Why don’t you take a photo, it lasts longer,” she spits.
Zody
Taking two steps at a time I run up the stairs to my apartment, the client meeting with Lisa and Sam had taken longer than I had scheduled. And that woman, that woman! Stopping me to tell me that she knows about the threatening emails I’ve been receiving; it’s put my schedule into disarray. I wanted to say that I didn’t know what she was talking about, I wanted to say I hadn’t received any emails. But what if she did have some information. A surge of doubts about Archer floods my mind. The few times I’ve spoken to him he’s seemed gentle and sincere, but truthfully I don’t know him well at all. What if I was wrong about him and he was threatening his wife. What if he is cheating on her and wants her out of his life. And why was he following me this morning? I am not someone who willingly goes out of my way to help anyone (well at least I’m honest) but maybe going to talk to Helena today is the only opportunity for these emails to stop. I pick up the ominous email I’d printed earlier. I visualise where in town the police station is located and decide that, as it is 2:45 pm, there’s no time right now to visit the station to report the threatening message; I have a weekday ceremony to photograph.
I know that going to the police would be the wisest choice to make. They could trace the email address for me. I put the printed paper in my backpack and make a final decision to take it first to the source that might provide me with the inside information. I open my diary where Helena had written her address and use my phone to search up the location on Google maps. The navigation tells me that I can easily walk to her house in five minutes. Apparently, I have to cross the road, walk down the adjacent lane and past the primary school. I needn’t spend more than ten minutes talking about the email; I can easily reach the train station
at 3:45 pm and arrive at the ceremony location at 5 pm for a 5:30 pm start.
I whisk around my apartment picking up the equipment for today’s job, which I had prepared earlier. Following a strict procedure to be certain I have all my gear, I tick a checklist I have taped to my wall to make sure I have the equipment I need for my job.
Wedding Day Photography checklist:
1. Killer outfit
2. Two cameras and four fully charged batteries
3. Two lenses
4. Five memory cards
5. Flash
6. Selfie of what I might wear to a wedding assignment to show to clients
When I am walking to a job I feel at my most calm. Ironic really as it ought to be the most unnerving moment. There is no guarantee that the trains will run on schedule, or I can’t be sure that both of my cameras will not decide to malfunction, I don’t know if I will lose a memory card (which thankfully has never happened) but yet, I feel in control. I will be held responsible for recording a couple’s memories, and with each wedding I do, I am up for the challenge. As I walk, I don’t feel an increased heartbeat or sweaty palms or a spinning brain.
I walk next to the primary school, and I tell myself that, according to the map, I am halfway there, halfway to a conversation that will have this nonsense sorted out.
Nearly there but I still have a chance to back out, I tell myself as I turn into Barnes St. I feel my backpack hit against my back and I am grateful that I recently bought a camera bag with extra shoulder support. Whenever I walked carrying cameras in my old backpack, the weight of it all left red welts on my shoulders for days after my photo session.
I slow down when I reach the start of Case St, it isn’t a long street, and because the houses are so large, it looks like only three buildings are sitting on this slice of suburbia. I can see her now, getting out of her car, and she is starting the walk down the path towards a two-storey yellow brick house. On her hip, she is holding a small girl with brown, wispy hair who is dressed in a red polka dot dress. I reach into my backpack and take out the paper with the printed out email. My last few steps towards her house are brisk, and I watch her as she stops in front of her door, trying to settle the child. I want to make sure I catch up with her before she goes inside; I want to talk to her there while she is standing on the path. I am not going inside, I don’t have time for that and what if Archer is home and he discovers why I came to speak to Helena. No, definitely this conversation has to happen as we stand outside her house.
I stop where the path begins and take control of my breathing. She doesn’t notice I am here, she is whispering in the ear of the crying girl, while her hand is rummaging through the bag slung over her shoulder. I have a moment to survey her before she sees me. She is wearing black running clothes that cling tightly to her large body, her flaming red hair is in a tight bun, and she looks like a cross between the character of a ninja and a ballerina. I take a final breath before I reveal myself.
“Is it safe for us to talk out here?” I ask.
Helena stops rummaging through her bag and turns in my direction. “Zody, I am so happy to see you right at this moment, I’m having a little problem. I can’t seem to find my keys and Marla is extra whiny because she has a tummy bug. If you could hold her for me while I see what my keys are hiding between.” She holds the red-faced little girl towards me, her chubby arms agitatedly flapping. Cramming the print-out into the back pocket of my pants, I take the squirming girl from Helena’s hands. Her little chin quivers followed by a loud bellow, which blows a huff of acidic post vomit stench in my direction. I turn my face to Helena who is crouched on her spotless doorstep, shaking her bag upside down. Three items spill out; in between a slender grey purse and a phone is her set of keys. Didn’t she just use her keys to drive her car? How was she not able to find them? I wait impatiently for Helena to gather her belongings, and I hand the distressed child back to her mother.
“We can’t talk out here on the doorstep, come inside, I need to put Marla into her bed,” Helena says, finally putting the lost key into the lock of her door.
Take off now, I tell myself peering inside the house as the front door opens to reveal a shiny white tiled hallway. What could go wrong by stepping into such a spotless entrance?
***
I sit on the corner of the spacious cream leather sofa and look around at the impeccably clean living room. The room is very orderly for a family with a small child.
Helena stands above me, her large, black-dressed frame a sharp contrast to this vanilla inspired room. “I’ll put Marla down in her bed and be back in a jiffy,” she says bouncing the now-quiet girl on her hip.
I lean back against a cushion embroidered with a picture of a golden dragonfly. Removing the now crumpled paper from my pocket I place it on the coffee table. After what seems like hours, Helena returns holding a silver tray.
“Sorry I took so long, Zody, I had to give Marla her medicine so she can sleep. I also made us some drinks; I hope you like cloudy apple juice.” She speaks as if we are old friends getting together for a pleasant chat. Her tone is significantly different from when we were talking near the coffee shop; she doesn’t seem worried anymore. Why is she no longer worried? I start to wonder if I’ve made the wrong choice in coming here.
“Now firstly I want to say that it’s lovely of you to come to visit me, taking some time out of your busy schedule to talk.” She wipes away an invisible dust speck from the glass coffee table in front of her.
“It’s not a problem, Helena, but truthfully I don’t have much time, I am photographing a wedding which starts at 5:30 pm. When we spoke in front of the café earlier you seemed so concerned so, of course, I had to come here to talk about the emails I’ve received. You mentioned that your husband Archer has something to do with these emails, is that right?” I ask. I want to know all the information she has, and I want it fast.
She lifts the glass to her mouth and takes a drink. It is taking her too long to swallow. Keeping her eyes fixed on me, she says nothing until I have picked up my glass and had a drink. I am thirsty, but I don’t want to drink. I don’t have time to drink. I only came here to hear about the darned emails.
Her eyes seem to be casting a spell over me. I find myself lost in the confusion of what is happening to my body and I start to feel frightened. I wonder why I came here to someone’s house when I know nothing about them and before my wedding photography job too, what was I thinking?
My skin starts to itch, and I feel like I need to pick at it. I can feel my heart rate increasing. I need to leave this house; my throat, I can’t breathe.
“Oh, darling what’s wrong with you, are you feeling sick? You’re shivering, breathe, just breathe, it’s going to be okay. Here, you haven’t had a drink yet, it will make you feel much better,” she says, picking up my glass and moving her body from the other side of the coffee table to an extremely close and uncomfortable position next to me on the sofa.
She holds the glass up to my lips and puts one hand on the back of my head. She tilts the glass, and once she is satisfied I have taken a drink, she continues to speak and finally gets to the point.
“A few days ago, I found an email written to you on Archer’s computer, it was titled ‘DO NOT DIE FOR YOUR WORK’. I was going to come to your apartment and tell you, to warn you, so I was glad when I ran into you today.”
Her voice changes to match the next words she says: “Did you do as the email, sorry three emails, told you to? Did you stop booking jobs? No, you didn’t.”
I struggle to take in what she is saying but suddenly she has begun to speak too slowly, and my dazed brain starts to race. I look frantically around the room and see a red jumper folded neatly and hung on the back of a dining chair. My mind scrambles to remember where I saw someone wearing a red jumper recently. Now, instead of Helena’s face, there are five pudgy Helena faces, and they circulate in front of my involuntary closing eyes.
***
My eyelashes fl
utter in front of my jelly-like eyeballs, this must mean I am waking up, but I don’t want to wake. My face is itching. I try to scratch the bugs crawling in and out of my skin – why can’t I scratch them. My hands are tied. I am not sitting on the soft cream sofa anymore; now I’m sitting on a hard chair facing a staircase, my legs are tied at the ankles; the staircase is centimetres in front of me and it’s impossible to stretch my legs out. I try to pull my wrists free of the coarse rope, but that causes the twine to dig deeper into my skin. I have the taste of material in my mouth, and I feel like my tongue is disappearing, being squashed somewhere into the back of my throat. I scan the room frantically to take in my surroundings. Above me is a small window with what looks like golden sunlight filtering through it. Shit! What time is it? Judging by how low and yellow the sunlight is it must be around 5 pm, sunset.
Usually my favourite time of the day. I lift my shoulder to my cheek rubbing them against one another, this motion brings brief relief from the menacing itch.
“It seems like you had an allergic reaction, but don’t you fret your pretty itchy face because I read on Google that the horrendous itching should cease within the hour.” Helena stands beside me as she puts the little girl into a pram like she’s telling me she is just popping out to the corner store.
“Marla and I will be back so very soon. I took the keys out of your backpack; while you are tied up here in my house I am going to visit your apartment, I will defiantly be back before Archer gets home to find you here,” she says, touching my cheek with my keys. “I don’t want to hurt you; I only want to be you, if only for a moment,” she adds, digging a key further into my cheek. “I’m curious what it will be like to experience your fine abode. I have seen photos of your apartment on Instagram; I love how you have decorated the walls with your framed photographs. Have you changed any interior decorations recently?” She considers her question briefly and moves to another thought.
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