Free The Full Legacy by Jane Retzig

I’ll be with you in about ten minutes.’
     
    He met me at the counter, nervously unbuttoning the cuffs of his cotton check shirt and rolling up the sleeves.
    ‘You know how busy we’ve been,’ he said. ‘I just got round to doing this batch.’
    Some distant radio growled ‘I’m Too Sexy for My Shirt.’ Normally this could have been his theme tune. Not tonight though. Tonight even his Armani Pour Homme was undertoned with sweat. I took a deep breath and waited to hear the bad news.
    ‘Here,’ he said. ‘You’d better see for yourself.’
    He handed me the contact sheets and I held up the first for a closer look as he shuffled from one foot to the other behind the counter, watching me.
    ‘But these are fine,’ I said. And they were – some of my best probably – Mrs Rigby looking wonderful, luminous, very beautiful.
    Vijay edged. ‘Yeah...’
    We flicked through the basque shots, red against black. Then the more demure poses with the dressing gown.
    ‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ I said. ‘She’s going to be delighted with these.’
    He handed over the next sheet and I noticed that his hand was shaking.
    ‘It’s these,’ he said, trying to warn me.
    ‘Holy shit!’ I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I stared at row upon row of the tiny pictures in disbelief. ‘But, this is impossible!’
    ‘I know... It’s like somebody managed to get between the light and your subject. I can’t figure it out. It isn’t the processing, I’m sure of that.’
    I could see that he thought my first instinct would be to blame him. But how could I? The image was too familiar. I recognised it from my dreams.
    He was still trying to make sense of it.
    ‘Maybe you caught Michelle on the way back from powdering the lady’s nose or something?’
    ‘No – it’s not Michelle.’
    ‘Maybe it’s a fault on the film then.’
    There was obviously an unspoken rule here. Never blame the photographer.
    ‘Yeah – maybe.’
    It could have been. I didn’t believe it though.
    In my head, a voice was whispering – God knows what – I couldn’t make out the words. I caught the answering scream deep in my throat. I was totally freaked out. Could drug induced hallucinations translate themselves onto film? Of course not! Not unless I’d double exposed the film in some way and set myself up to feel like this.
    Around me the whispering gained volume and suddenly I felt surrounded by hosts of people I couldn’t see, so close they could have touched me... The air juddered like water rippling over stone.
    Then I saw Vijay looking at me anxiously and I struggled to drag myself up through my fear.
    ‘How many?’  I croaked. ‘How many are affected?’
    ‘About half the last batch. We might be able to crop it out on some of them.’
    I didn’t want to look, but I forced myself to shuffle through the rest of the proofs. He was right, some, maybe could be retrieved.
    ‘It’s okay,’ I said, more to myself than to Vijay.
    He breathed a sigh of relief.
    I smiled shakily at him. ‘I’d better get a different batch of film in... Better safe than sorry, eh?’
    Vijay smiled the broad smile of a reprieved man as he handed me a box from the shelf. ‘That’s on the house,’ he said. ‘Just in case it’s anything remotely to do with us.... Which, of course, I don’t think it is.... But anyway, I think you’ll be able to get enough together to make a reasonable presentation. The ones that aren’t shadowed are very good.’
    ‘Thank you!’ I felt bad accepting his kindness, but it felt like the right thing to do. I gathered up the sheets.
    Silence had fallen around me now, but it was a waiting silence. There was no reassurance in it.
    ‘Well, have a good weekend.’ He was eager to get home now his confession was out of the way.
    ‘Yeah, thanks... you too.’
    I felt horribly unsettled still, but I didn’t want him to see it. I wiped my clammy hands on my T-shirt and managed a smile as I turned to