Starburst (28 page)

“Shall ah turn the lights aff?” T.K. asked, his voice tentative as it echoed around the vast empty space.

Leonard took off his spectacles and let them drop to his chest on the neck cord. He rubbed a hand at his eyes, unaccustomed as they were now to working under the glare of the lights, and then pressed it to the slight pain he felt at the left side of his ribcage. Maybe it had been a foolhardy idea of his to take on the making of the film in this way. Of course, both he and Gracie knew he had to take this one-off, God-given opportunity to show the world that Leonard Hartson, the once famous director of photography, had not lost his touch. But maybe it was all happening twenty years too late, and trying to do it now was really biting off more than he could chew. If he had a full working crew as was originally planned, things would be different, but to have only this young lad who knew little about what he was doing and who could hardly keep his eyes open was going to test both his patience and his fading stamina to the full.

He turned and made his way back to the studio floor. “What was that, T.K.?”

“Ah didna know if ye wanted me tae turn aff the lights.”

Leonard let out a despondent sigh. “Yes, you can do that.” He walked over to the camera and unlocked the tripod legs, allowing them to sink down, and spun the lens round to face him.

T.K. switched off the last light and came to stand beside him. “If ye’re goin’ tae check the gate, ah’ve already dunnit,” he said quietly. “It’s clean.”

Leonard smiled at the young lad. He was trying his best. “Well done. I had forgotten to do it.”

T.K. hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his sagging jeans. “Ah’m sorry ah dozed aff, Leonard. Ah’ll no dae it again.”

Leonard shook his head. “Listen, I do understand you’re being thrown in at the deep end here, but before we go any further, there are a few things we’ve got to get straight.”

“It wis jist that…”

“I know,” Leonard said, holding up his hand to curtail T.K.’s further excuses. “Just hear me out, if you would. When one is making a film, T.K., it is extremely important that you are seen to be totally professional in everything you do, because that is what impresses the client. Now, this not only makes itself apparent in the way you work around the set, but also in the way you present yourself. I know you’ll probably think my dress sense is a bit old-fashioned, and I wouldn’t dream of asking you to wear a jacket and tie like myself, but tomorrow I want you not only to turn up for work on time, but also having smartened up your appearance quite considerably.” Leonard paused, seeing the lad dip his head in embarrassment at the reprimand. “Now, I don’t want you to get disheartened. You had one slip-up today—that was all. Other than that, I thought you worked pretty well.” He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Appearances are crucial, T.K., so when you finish up this afternoon, I want you to go home, get yourself cleaned up, look out some clean clothes and then have an early night. Is that understood?”

The young man nodded dolefully in reply.

“Right, enough said,” Leonard said, turning to check the footage left in the film magazine. “Let’s get ourselves set up for the next scene. I want to do some close-ups on the faces, so if you could move the camera forward to the edge of the dance area…”

“Leonard?”

Leonard turned back to the boy. “Yes?” T.K. stood with his head still lowered. “Ah don’ like tae ask ye this, because ah know ah havna earned it yet, but could ye lend us some money so as ah can turn up fer work tomorrow?”

Leonard looked questioningly at him. “Would this be for a bus fare, T.K.?” T.K. shook his head. “So’s ah can get ma claithes washed.”

“Do you not have a washing machine at home?”

“Aye, it’s just that…” T.K. scratched the back of his greasy head. “Ah’m no’ livin’ at haim at the minnit.”

“Oh, right, I understand. And there’s no washing machine in the place you’re staying now, is that it?”

T.K. moved over to the camera, swung it round and locked off the tripod head. “Ah’m no’ stayin’ onyplace,” he said quietly. He picked up the apparatus and began pushing the tripod spider towards the dance area with his foot.

“T.K., would you just leave the camera for a moment?”

The boy settled the tripod back into the grooves on the spider and turned slowly to face the cameraman.

“What do you mean, you’re not staying anyplace? Where did you spend last night?”

T.K. shrugged his shoulders and began pushing one of the snaking electrical cables into a loop with the toe of one of his dirty white trainers.

“Where did you spend last night?”

“Jist aff Rose Street,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean, just off Rose Street?”

“Doon the back o’ Marks and Spencers. There’s a hot air duct comin’ oot the back o’ the building, so it’s good an’ warm, but people kept walking past so ah didna get much sleep.”

Leonard let out a long sigh, understanding now exactly what the boy was saying to him. “You’re sleeping rough, aren’t you, lad?”

T.K. nodded.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Jist the once. Mr. Mackintosh had paid fer me to stay in a hostel fer a week, just so’s I could get started wi’ you.” He paused, his head lowered as he scratched at his downy stubble. “But ah didna want tae go back there.”

Leonard sat down heavily on one of the lighting boxes. “And why would that be?”

“’Cos there’s folk wha are efter me. They know ah wis staying there.”

“And what’s the reason for these ‘folk’ being after you?”

“Jist because.”

Leonard nodded, realizing the boy did not wish to elaborate on the circumstances. “So, in a nutshell, you have nowhere to stay and you have no clothes other than those you’re standing up in, is that right?”

“Aye, ah suppose,” T.K. muttered.

Leonard leaned forward on his knees and covered his face with his hands. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” he stated rhythmically. This was certainly the last thing he needed. The making of this film was going to take up enough of his time and energy without having the additional hassle of sorting out both the accommodation and security problems of this young waif-and-stray. He felt the lid of the lighting box sink slightly as T.K. came to sit beside him.

“Ah’m sorry, Leonard. I wis hopin’ you widna find oot.”

The old cameraman reached across and patted the boy’s knee. “That’s all right. I’m glad I did sooner rather than later.”

“Ah could always sleep here, if ye’d allow me tae. Naebody wid find me here, and ah could look efter a’ the equipment.”

“No, that would not work. You’d be no better off.” He looked across at his assistant, studying the sad, hopeless expression on his face. “T.K., do you really want to work with me?”

The boy jerked round his head, a look of alarm on his face. “Aye, ah do, Leonard. Ah promise ah won’t be late again, and ah’ll get masel’ sorted oot, honest ah will.”

“I can’t have you sleeping rough.”

“Ah willna dae it,” he replied, his voice rising in agitation at the thought of losing his one big chance.

“No, what I mean is that I can’t
allow
you to sleep rough. If you work for me, then you are part of my crew, and it is my responsibility to find you lodgings.” Leonard rubbed his wrinkled hands on the knees of his cavalry-twill trousers. “Trouble is I can’t really afford to pay for your accommodation, and what’s more, I doubt I’d find anywhere for you stay right now….” He pauseda moment before murmuring, “…which leaves only one option.” T.K. got to his feet and took a couple of paces towards the lighting stage. He stood with his back to Leonard, his shoulders slumped dejectedly and his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans.

“Ye’re goin’ tae say ah canna work fer ye, aren’t ye?” he sniffed.

“No, I am not. I’m certainly not going to find anyone else to assist me at such short notice, and anyway, I offered you a job and I’ll stick by that, so you have no worries on that account.”

T.K. turned to the cameraman. “So, whit did ye mean aboot the wan option?”

Leonard clambered wearily to his feet. “Well, it’s certainly not the most ideal arrangement and I’ll have to clear it with my landlord, but there are two beds in my room, and—”

“Whit are ye sayin’? That ah can come and stay wi’ you?” T.K. stared at Leonard, wondering if he had misunderstood what the old cameraman was saying, but desperate to grab at any opportunity.

“I don’t think there’s much alternative, is there?” T.K. eagerly approached Leonard, realizing now all was not lost. “If ah did that, I widna be a nuisance tae ye, ah promise, and ah dinna snore or a’thing, and onyways, it’s a good idea ’cos we can talk aboot whit we’re goin’ tae dae the next day, so ah can get ready fer it in ma heid…”

Leonard smiled and held up a hand to halt T.K.’s exuberant outburst. “All right, let’s take one thing at a time, lad. After we’ve finished shooting this afternoon, I would suggest we go uptown and get you kitted out with a few things, including a pair of jeans with a decent belt. I don’t want you to continue exposing half your backside to our assembled company every time you bend down to unplug a light.”

As if trying to make amends already, T.K. pulled up his own drooping trousers and ran a hand around the waistband to tuck in his grimy T-shirt. They immediately slipped to their original position when he launched himself at the cameraman and grabbed hold of his hand. The shake it received was so enthusiastic that Leonard had grave worries a serious shoulder dislocation was imminent. “Cheers, Leonard. I willna let ye doon, ah promise.”

The result of T.K.’s energetic arm action was to immerse Leonard in a suffocating waft of body odour. He pulled his hand free from the boy’s grip and took a few paces back to escape the unsavoury cloud. “And the first thing you do when we get back to the flat is have a long hot shower, is that understood?”

T.K. grinned broadly at him. “Aye, ah will.” He turned and hefted the tripod and camera up onto his shoulder and kicked the spider across the floor. “Tell us how far ye want this in now.”

Shrugging on a corduroy bomber jacket, Jamie descended the stairs of the flat and flung open the front door. Without lessening his speed, he ran out onto the broad stone steps, managing to swerve in time to avoid a thumping collision with the small solid figure that swung around with alarm at his sudden appearance, crumpling an open street map of Edinburgh against her ample chest.

“Is there ever a time when ye slow up?” Rene Brownlow asked as Jamie’s momentum took him clear off the three remaining steps to the pavement.

“Yeah, waking up in the mornings is a pretty slow affair, as you’ve witnessed.” Jamie laughed.

Rene pulled a long face and glanced about her. “More’s a pity there’s no one about to ’ear you say that,” she said, stretching out the map in front of her with a flick of her wrists.

“Where are you off to?”

“I thought I’d try to find a quicker route uptown than the one I’ve been taking the last couple of days.”

“Come with me, if you like. I’m heading up there now.”

“At what speed?” Rene asked, folding up the map and slipping it into her large shoulder bag.

“I’ll let you set the pace,” Jamie replied with a smile.

“That’ll do me,” Rene said, descending the steps and pushing her hands into the pockets of her rag-rug coat. They headed off side by side along the street. “So, did ye manage to get it all sorted out with your nice lawyer chap yesterday?”

“We’re getting there.”

“Don’t think I’m prying-like, but has it got something to do with that nice French violinist who’s staying in yer flat?”

Jamie’s step faltered as he fixed her with an open-mouthed look of amazement. “How come you know about
her?
”

“Well, ye could ’ardly stave off our eventual meeting, Jamie. Yer flat is large, but it’s not exactly Buckingham Palace.” She shifted her bag up onto her shoulder. “Any road, to answer yer question, we bumped into each other this morning on the way to the bathroom.”

“What did she say?”

“Well, I can’t remember her exact words, but it was something like ‘Please, you must use ze basroom first.’”

Jamie was too eager to hear what had passed between them to react to her light-hearted quip. “And that was it?”

“No. I asked what she’d done to ’er ’and and she told me she’d cut it on glass and ’ow sad she was because she wasn’t going to be able to play the violin for a bit.” Rene slowed her pace as they started up the incline of Dublin Street. “And then when I got back to my bedroom I was leafing through some of the festival brochures and suddenly there she was, staring out of the pages at me. Angélique Pascal, world-famous violinist. I tell ye, ye could ’ave knocked me down with a feather. It’s not every day ye get to talk with someone like that, let alone share a bathroom!”

Jamie kept walking without passing comment. It had never occurred to him that Angélique might talk to one of his tenants. He had only foreseen problems coming from without the sanctuary of the flat. Not that it was the fault of either Angélique or Rene. They were just making normal conversation with each other, and like as not, Rene would still have found the photograph of Angélique in the brochure. But it did add up to a huge complication. If Rene was to keep her ears and eyes open, she was bound to find out sooner or later that Angélique’s presence in Edinburgh was contrary to everyone else’s belief. She seemed to be a decent, down-to-earth sort of person. Maybe his best option was just to confide in her.

“Oh, thanks for that,” Rene gasped, taking Jamie’s reason for stopping at the corner of Heriot Row as a chance for her to catch her breath.

“Listen, Rene, if I tell you something about Angélique, will you honestly swear to me you won’t mention it to anyone else, most of all the press?”

“My, this all smacks of intrigue, don’t it?”

“Do you promise?”

“Jamie, I don’t ’ave an ’ot line to
News at Ten,
you know, and I don’t reckon the press will be queuing up to ask Rene Brownlow, small-time comedienne from ’Artlepool, for her weighty views on world affairs.”