Free Owning Jacob - SA by Simon Beckett Page B

when he had taken the shot. He had experienced a similar feeling years before, when he had been working on a project for his degree. He had been given permission by a cafe owner to set up his camera in a darkened back room, from where he could look out at the customers without being seen. He had lost himself in the il icit fascination of photographing the unknowing diners with impunity when one man had turned and looked into the room at him. Ben had frozen like a thief. The man had simply looked away again and gave no sign of having seen anything, but Ben ended the session soon afterwards. He didn't go back. The security of his hiding place now seemed il usory. He'd felt exposed. Known.
    The photograph of Jacob gave him the same feeling. It was uncomfortable, but that was what made it so effective.
    When he'd shown it to Sarah she had looked at it for a while, then quickly handed it back.
    It's horrible.' He tried to make light of his disappointment. She had given him an apologetic smile, but there were shadows in her eyes.
    'Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so blunt. I mean, it's very good as a photograph, but …' She hugged herself. 'He just looks … so different, that's al . Cold. And peering out through his fingers like that. It's like he's in a cage.' Ben didn't say that those were the very reasons he was so pleased with it, that it worked because that single shot somehow communicated al of Jacob's isolation, his iifferentness. He had put the photograph away and later presented Sarah with a shot that caught Jacob smiling, which he knew she would like. But he had kept the other, and although he hadn't hung it even at the studio, not wanting Sarah to see it and be upset, he had given it pride of place in his portfolio. It was as near as he was going to get to what he had original y set out to do.
    None of the photographs he produced now gave him anything resembling that sort of satisfaction. But he took pleasure in doing his job, and doing it wel , just the same.
    He threw himself into his work as he waited to hear from the detective, trying to bury any other thoughts under the sheer weight of it. Quil ey had said he would be in touch by the end of that week, and as it approached Ben's nerves became strung out like harp strings, twanging at the slightest provocation.
    On the Friday morning he had to go out to check on a possible site for a location shoot for a jeans ad. He kept his mobile with him the whole time, but the detective didn't cal .
    It was mid-afternoon before he got back to the studio. Music was blasting from the sound system and the red warning light outside the darkroom was on. There was rarely anything for Zoe to do in the studio when Ben wasn't there, but she often went in anyway to develop her own work. She was only two years out of art col ege, fol owing a route similar to that Ben himself had taken. She seemed to regard the time spent as his assistant as a sort of apprenticeship, and he knew she looked up to him as a role model. It either flattered or depressed him, depending on what mood he was in.
    She came out as he was opening the post. 'Didn't hear you come in,' she said, going to the coffee machine. A faint chemical smel clung to her. 'You should have knocked. I'd have come out sooner.' Zoe felt guilty about using the darkroom, aldiough he had told her there was no need.
    'I've only just got here.' He shook his head when she held up the coffee jug in invitation. She poured herself one and leaned against the back of the couch. She was wearing black jeans and a yel ow vest top that clung to her smal breasts.
    With her black hair it gave her a faintly bee-like appearance.
    She regarded him over the steaming rim of her mug.
    "You okay? You look knackered.'
    'Just tired.' Two of the envelopes contained cheques. He pocketed them, went on to the rest. 'Any messages?' He had given the detective only his home and mobile number, so he knew none of them would be from Quil ey.
    'The photo editor of Esquire