Free Garbage Man by Joseph D'Lacey Page A

know. It’s the only thing that interests me.’
    â€˜I can’t.’
    She took a step closer to him and he wondered what that boldness signified.
    â€˜Just tell me about one photograph and I promise you I’ll go. If you still don’t want to talk about it after that, I’ll never disturb you again.’
    Before he could stop her - how could he have stopped her without touching her? - she’d pulled the kitchen door back open and walked into the downstairs hallway. Every wall was covered in framed monochrome photographs. There was no space between them. None of them were straight. He saw them with her eyes, the way he’d just seen his kitchen, terrified by her scrutiny - still quite casual at the moment but deepening, lengthening with every moment that slipped by. He had to get her out.
    â€˜Will you do that? Just tell me about one. I’ll go then. I really will.’
    What choice was there now short of pushing her out by force?
    He clasped a hand over his beard, squeezed the rough hairs until they pulled the skin of his face.
    â€˜Okay. One only. Then you go. And I don’t want you coming back here. Do you follow me? Not ever.’
    â€˜Fine.’ She was all business now. So close to what she’d come for. A vampire, just like all the rest of them.
    Now she looked closer, roved and stopped, moved on again. Drinking his moments - they were his moments even though he never talked about them that way. His moments. His partial realities. His misrepresentations, therefore, of the real world. They were dangerous, photographs, they told lies about the world.
    She was on the stairs. She’d stopped.
    No.
    â€˜Okay. Tell me about this one.’
    She was pointing at the farmer.
    ***
    It was difficult to make it short but Mason did his best. He left out as much detail as possible, used terms that would elicit scant curiosity. He also lied: It was a farm he’d visited once. They’d asked him in for tea. When they saw his camera they asked if he would take a few pictures. This was the only one he’d kept. The shot was a fluke.
    The girl was quiet for a while and he could see what was happening. The lack of information itself was causing her to have questions.
    â€˜That’s all there is to it,’ he said. ‘Time for you to go. Please.’
    She turned back to him. Whatever she’d come here for it was clear she hadn’t got it. She didn’t look angry. She looked sad. Defeated. She walked past him and back out to the kitchen without making eye contact. Two tea mugs stood empty on one of the surfaces, curls of steam still rising from the kettle. She reached out for the back door handle and hesitated, turning back to where he still stood in the hallway.
    â€˜I want to be a model.’
    His mind flooded with responses:
    Silly bloody girl. No idea what you’d be getting yourself into. It doesn’t stop at photography no matter what your principles are. She could do it, though, she’s got the build and the grace. She’s got the blank, clean face. Whether you make it or not, that life will suck you dry like it did to me.
    None of it came out. Instead he gave a kind of snort. It might have sounded like a laugh to her but that wasn’t what it was.
    â€˜Why does everyone assume you’re going to fail before you even start? I’m not stupid, if that’s what you’re thinking. I won’t be taken advantage of.’
    â€˜Really?’ This time he did laugh. ‘How will you avoid it?’
    â€˜I’m a good judge of character.’
    â€˜If that was true you wouldn’t be in this house.’
    â€˜I can trust you, Mr. Brand. You’re a recluse but I know you’re all right.’
    â€˜Do you? How do you know that?’ She shrugged.
    â€˜Listen to me,’ he said, ‘You’re too young and too inexperienced to know who you can trust and who you can’t. Do your parents know what