Secret Story (33 page)

“The crew’s joining us at Birkenhead.” As Vincent found a bunch of pages to give him he said “We nearly had someone else with us.”

Dudley would have examined the pages more closely if the vagueness of the remark hadn’t made him unnecessarily nervous. “Who?”

“Just some reporter.” Vincent sent him a glassed-in blink and said “I didn’t think you’d want her along.”

“Why not?”

“Because of Patricia, I thought.”

Dudley’s tongue grew as dry as his armpits had turned marshy, and he had to force it to work. “What about her?”

“She’ll be here, won’t she? We don’t want too many press about when we’re all getting used to working together. I did tell this reporter she’ll be welcome later on.” Vincent dealt him another blink that tugged a small frown low on his forehead. “Will Patricia be here?”

Dudley’s question was too urgent for him to take time to consider. “Why are you asking me?”

“Me and Colin got the idea you two were palling up. My fault for taking things for granted. I’ll call and see if she can join us.”

As Vincent took out his mobile Dudley seemed to feel Patricia’s stir like an insect in his pocket with eagerness to answer. “Don’t bother,” he blurted.

Lorna Major’s smile was more wry than sympathetic. “Have you been jilted by your publicity person?”

Dudley almost rounded on her and said too much. “I said don’t bother,” he told Vincent. “She’s gone.”

A ferry wallowed towards them, rubbing its flank against the tyres that buffered the landing-stage. Vincent turned to it but didn’t close his mobile. “Gone where?”

“She got an offer of a job in London. She had to catch the next train or she’d have lost it. She didn’t even have time to tell her parents she was going.”

The gangplank thumped the landing-stage, and Dudley hurried to be first on the upper deck. He sat on an aggressively hot bench and read the script while Vincent left Walt a message. Mr Killogram had kept all the lines Dudley had emailed, including “Ever heard of Mr Killogram? . . . You don’t know me but you will . . . How would you like to help me do my research?” Dudley was beginning to regret not having made the girl know who he was—after all, he was a famous creation—but perhaps the audience needed to be introduced to him. Vincent had given the girl nearly as much to say as Mr Killogram, and Dudley might have protested on his behalf, except that Mr Killogram was more than capable of dominating the scene and her. That was enough reason for Dudley not to care about the sight of Bidston and its observatory sailing towards him, nor their crouching out of view beyond the ferry terminal at Birkenhead. “We’re up here,” Vincent shouted as the gangplank struck wood.

He was calling to far fewer people than Dudley was expecting. One bore a camera upstairs on her shoulder while her companion brought the recording equipment. “Joan and Red,” Vincent introduced.

The brawny sound engineer’s short pelt of red hair covered little more than her scalp. Dudley wasn’t going to let her turning out to be a girl on close acquaintance throw him. “Are you going to be able to make a proper film like this?”

“It’s how we do it,” Joan said, widening her eyes until a bead of moisture squeezed between two wrinkles on her high pale forehead. “We shoot fast and light. We’re independents.”

“We’re as good as your script for sure,” Red told him.

He didn’t like her tone, nor Vincent for saying “We’ll show him, won’t we? Let’s rehearse that single take.”

Dudley had an unsatisfactory sense that everyone knew more about this than he did. He watched the camera prowl towards Lorna at the rail and swing to discover Mr Killogram behind her. “Out for a blow?” Mr Killogram said.

The ferry was cruising towards Seacombe and the mouth of the river. “Out for anything that does me good,” Lorna said.

“Like talking to strange men on ferries?” said Mr Killogram.

“You don’t look that strange to me.”

“Maybe the strangest don’t.”

“Go on then, tell me how you’re strange.”

“Ever heard of Mr Killogram?”

Dudley almost clapped, not just at hearing his line but at how Mr Killogram spiced it with a hint of secret amusement and eagerness. “Can’t say I have,” Lorna said.

“Then you’ll be on your own soon,” Mr Killogram said and, to Dudley’s delight, addressed his next observation to the camera. “I’m going to be famous.”

“Says who?”

“You don’t know me but you will. I’m a writer.”

Dudley found Lorna’s smile almost insufferably patronising, and had to tell himself that it couldn’t be aimed at him. “Have I heard of you?” she said.

“Just call me Mr K.”

“Just think, I’ll be able to tell my friends I met a writer.”

She wasn’t meant to say the line with such an undertone of irony, but of course she would never tell anyone. “How’d you like to help me research?” Mr Killogram said.

Though they weren’t Dudley’s precise words, Mr Killogram had given them more bite. “Depends what you’re asking,” Lorna said.

“Can you see where the propeller is?”

Dudley was reminded of Patricia—of how she had excited him by seeming to wish for her flesh to be minced—until Lorna said “At the back, I should think.”

“Can you look for me?”

“I wouldn’t know where. I don’t build boats, I’m a student.”

“What are you studying?”

“Law. There are too many criminals. I want to be on the right side.”

“You think you’ll win.”

“The good people have to try.”

Dudley couldn’t stand Vincent’s additions now that he heard them, and was on the edge of saying so when Mr Killogram said “Won’t you help me? I’ve hurt my back.”

“How did you do that?” Lorna said with little sympathy.

“Just sitting at my desk.”

“Maybe you should get out more,” Lorna said, then relented as Mr Killogram winced. “Does it really hurt?”

“Too much to bend.”

“All right, you can be my good deed for today,” she said and craned over the rail. “I can’t see.”

“You need to lean a little further. I’ve got you. That’s it. A little more. Not much further now. There.”

“And zoom in on Colin’s face. That’s great, Colin. Just a touch of a smirk,” Vincent said, and told Dudley “We’ll cut in flashbacks
later, when Lorna’s been made up. Only a few frames at a time but they’ll get to the audience. What do you think so far?”

“Can I say I want to help protect people?” Lorna said. “That way the audience will care more. Maybe I could say I want my parents to be safe.”

“You’ve said enough,” Dudley retorted without looking away from Vincent. “I think she says too much. I got bored.”

“You want to get rid of the woman as fast as you can, do you?” Lorna said.

A mutter of female agreement made Dudley stare harder at Vincent. “We wouldn’t dream of getting rid of you,” the director said. “We couldn’t make the film without any of you. How did it feel to you, Colin?”

“I’ll be happy when everyone else is.”

This was so unlike anything that Mr Killogram would say that Dudley had to reassure himself it was a ruse. “Maybe we can pace it up a bit,” Vincent said. “How about if Lorna says ‘Law. There are too many criminals’ and then Colin goes straight to asking her to help?”

“That’s more like what would happen,” Dudley said.

He would have expected more appreciation of his willingness to compromise. Only Mr Killogram sent him a complicit grin as Vincent said “Let’s go for a take while we’ve got the Pier Head behind us.”

Dudley watched the film crew perform Vincent’s bidding without needing to be told—either that or Vincent agreed with them. He’d expected the director to do his job more as a man should. Perhaps Vincent was trying to prove himself by telling Mr Killogram that he’d begun the take too early. Dudley thought the urgency felt like commitment, and he had to restrain his impatience as Mr Killogram waited for the camera to retreat to its starting point. It had only just swerved to find him when he said “Out for a blow?”

“Still too early,” Vincent interrupted. “Wait till Joan’s framed both of you and then give it a beat. Don’t worry, we’ve got all day.”

Dudley reminded himself that he’d known about the possibility and that the package was securely shut up to await his return. He couldn’t judge how much of the impatience he was experiencing belonged to Mr Killogram. “Take your time. Enjoy it,” he said.

“Believe me, I am.” His other self said nothing more until “Out for a blow?”

This repetition went so well that Dudley hardly noticed that his house was creeping closer at his back. Mr Killogram had almost reached his final line when he gave Lorna a quizzical grin. “Am I losing it? You don’t look too convinced.”

Before Dudley could warn her that she had better be, Lorna said “Is she meant to be stupid?”

“No more so than any of his other victims, would you say, Dudley?”

“Then that must be pretty stupid,” Lorna said. “There’s a diagram behind you that shows where the propeller is. She wouldn’t need to lean over here.”

“We won’t be filming it,” Vincent said. “The audience won’t know it’s there.”

“People that use the ferry may, and I will.”

Dudley saw the propeller separating her stubborn expression from the bone, and did his best to be content with the prospect of the diversions awaiting him at home. “Whatever she’s called doesn’t,” he said.

“That’s another point. Why don’t we know her name? It’s like telling the audience she’s so much of a victim she doesn’t deserve one, like she isn’t even human.”

Dudley agreed, but might have suggested calling her Lorna if Vincent hadn’t pointed out “She gets to say she’s a student and
what kind. There isn’t really anywhere in the script for her to introduce herself. We can give her a name on the end credits. Maybe Dudley won’t mind if you choose one.”

“I’ll let her,” Dudley said, since there would be more of Lorna in the victim.

The ferry was too close to Liverpool for the crew to film another take. At least everyone had all-day tickets. As the vessel left the Pier Head behind again, Dudley watched Bidston begin to creep closer and then concentrated on the more immediately important situation. When the camera found Mr Killogram once more, he hesitated. “Doesn’t a blow mean something different in America? That’s if we’re expecting the film to travel that far.”

Red emitted such a snort that the microphone with which she’d been fishing for dialogue wobbled. “It means that here too. I thought it was meant to show what a prat he is.”

How much of Dudley’s confidence did she and her crony intend to try to undermine? He was imagining her being dragged through the propeller—raw Red—when Mr Killogram suggested “How would it be if I say ‘Enjoying your cruise’?”

All three girls burst out laughing. “That’s even worse,” Lorna spluttered.

By now the propeller was clogged with flesh and the wake of the ferry was crimson. Dudley had no idea what might have escaped his mouth if Vincent hadn’t said “Out for the day.”

Dudley watched the camera back off so as to venture up to Mr Killogram yet again. “Out for the day?” Mr Killogram said.

They seemed to be. First Lorna was overcome by mirth, apparently remembering one of the lines they’d done without, and at the start of the next take Joan and Red were. Next it was Mr Killogram’s performance that began to lose control. He smirked too widely at the end of the scene, or he was too openly ironic or amused, and then too menacing as if to compensate. Vincent
tried to offer him any enforced breaks in filming as opportunities to regain his skill, but couldn’t the director see that it was all the girls’ fault? Perhaps Mr Killogram was too busy imagining how he would like to deal with them to focus on his performance. By the dozenth repeat of the scene Dudley’s entire head felt parched with frustration, not just at the increasingly unsatisfactory spectacle but because he wondered if he was missing a more diverting one at home: the awakening of the package, its muffled cries and useless struggles. He was further distracted by having to keep passengers out of shot. “It’s a film of a story of mine,” he kept saying, and some of the voyagers stayed to watch; some even hushed their children before he would have had to. At least there wasn’t enough noise to spoil any takes that might have been worth preserving—not until the ferry swung like a minute hand yet again back to Liverpool. As the ferry nuzzled the landing-stage and pivoted to rest against it, Dudley heard a girl yell “On the boat.” It was a signal for her and three more to dash down the ramp.

Their racket would be no asset to the film. He loitered at the top of the stairway to warn them, but they grew quiet as they climbed the stairs. “We’re filming up here,” he said all the same. “You can watch if you like but you mustn’t make any noise.”

The foremost girl made her eyes big and enthusiastic. “What are you filming?” she whispered.

“It’s a story of mine. Mr Killogram.”

“It’s a story of his,” she informed her friends.

If she thought it worth repeating, Dudley wouldn’t disagree. The girls lingered on the stairs, giving him a display of four sets of eager eyes and parted lips. “You don’t need to wait there,” he said. “We aren’t filming yet.”

“We’ll hang on till you start,” the foremost girl said.

Dudley thought of introducing them to Mr Killogram, but he could do that later. As the film crew took up their positions he moved away from the stairs to let the girls onto the deck. Vincent called for the camera and then the action, and Mr Killogram said “Out for the day?” precisely when and how he should. The film was happening at last, Dudley thought. He even smiled at Lorna’s “Out for anything that does me good.” Mr Killogram was responding with surely not too pronounced a grin when the four girls began to stamp and chant. “An-ge-la. An-ge-la. Stop the film. Stop the film.”

Mr Killogram peered at them over his shoulder as Dudley confronted them. Their chant subsided into a mutter that gave way to silence. Dudley licked his lips to dislodge a question that felt like a dry hot gag. “What did you say?”

“Angela,” said the girl who did most of the talking, and took a defiant step towards him. “Angela Manning. The girl whose death you’re making money out of.”

He almost spat in her face with asking “What business is it of yours?”