Benson Fairhurst had not witnessed the arrival of his new neighbours. He had had the curtains drawn and was studying photo negatives on a small panel light, like a miniature of the kind of thing doctors used to put x-rays on in days gone by. He was so absorbed in this that he didn’t notice the infant behind him reaching out a sticky hand to pull more strips of negatives from one of a collection of storage boxes on the coffee table, until he heard the front door open and slam. He turned just in time.
"Dylan! Don’t touch those! Keep you little fingers off!"
Just then, his other son, Maxwell, elder by fourteen years, came into the room.
"What are you doing at home at this time of the afternoon?" Benson asked.
"We’ve finished early."
"Early? What are you on about?"
Maxwell went over to the curtains and pulled them wide, letting in a tide of daylight.
"Maxwell," Benson persisted, "since when has school finished early?"
"Since we’ve all got our exams coming up. We have periods time-tabled for private study."
"Private study? Well what are you doing here?"
"I can study at home, can’t I?"
"But aren’t you supposed to study in class or go to the library?"
Maxwell slung a sports bag full of school things on to the sofa. "How would you know? You never took any exams."
"Don’t take that attitude with me – " Benson checked himself, taking a deep breath. "Look, Max… I’m not having a go at you. Just because I left school with no qualifications… I’ve had to work hard ever since."
"You don’t call taking photographs a proper job, do you? You just sit around all day looking at pictures in the dark!"
"Being a photographer is a proper job."
"Then why don’t you get me that new mobile I’ve been on about then? All my mates have got ‘em. If you’re making so much money…"
"Well… business hasn’t been so good lately. But just you wait till the wedding season takes off."
"Haven’t you heard," Max sneered, "marriage is out of fashion these days. You should know – you’ve never married." He gestured at the negative strips. "Like film – out of date. You should go digital."
"I can’t afford a new camera. If you get your qualifications then you can get what you call a proper job and you’ll have all the money you need for things like that. That’s why I want to finish your day at school properly."
"I don’t know what you’re going on about any – it’s only three o’clock. It’s not like I bunked off for the day or anything,"
"Three o’clock?" Benson was surprised for an entirely different reason. "Oh, God - Lucille’s due here at three to see Dylan."
"Lucille Keaton? That social worker bird? What’s she still coming to see Dylan for?"
Benson was dashing around trying to put away all his photograph materials. "Here, Max. Just keep an eye on Dylan while straighten up."
Max did no such thing. As his father gathered up boxes of prints and negatives, he too picked up a strip and held it to the light. "Flipping heck, Dad, who’s this bird in this picture?"
Benson snatched the strip from him. "She’s just a model we had down at the photography club. We hire ‘em in occasionally so we’ve got something to do when work’s slack. Learn new techniques. Keep your hand in."
"Are you sure it was just your hand?"
Benson was interrupted by the door-bell. "That must be Lucille."
"Are you sure? She’s never normally on time." He looked at the box his father had stuffed the negative into. "Perhaps she’s trying to catch you out at something."
Benson picked up the sports bag and stuffed it into Maxwell’s arms. "Do something with this."
"Alright, Dad," he said with faint sarcasm, "I’ll go to my room and get my nose stuck in a book."
Benson didn’t open the door until Maxwell had stomped slowly to the top of the stairs and disappeared.
"Hello, Mr Fairhurst, how are we doing today?"
"Hello, Mrs Keaton. Same as usual, I guess. Yourself?"
"Same as usual," she said, stepping inside, "overworked and underpaid, like all public servants." Cheerful but with a sigh.
It was part of their ritual, to get the ball rolling. Even the formality of Benson’s greeting was put on, as Lucille Keaton was a neighbour from the opposite end of the Close. "Has that husband of yours been catching villains lately?" He used the word with comic relish.
"Stuck behind a desk, most of the time, if you ask me." She gave a laugh. "Now then, how’s this little chap?" She bent over to address Dylan who, at the sight of a relative stranger stuck his thumb in his mouth. "You’ve not much to say for yourself, have you?"
There was a pause. "His mother was hoping to get off work early and perhaps catch you, if you were running a little late."
"How’s Ashleigh’s new job working out?"
"It’s going great, as far as I can tell. She’s already made an impression on senior editor in the art department. I’ve got to tell you again, thanks for getting her that job experience placement at the magazine. It’s really paid off."
"How about yourself?"
Benson sighed. "To be honest, freelance photography work at the moment is a bit on the quiet side. There’s not much call for paparazzi round here. The local rag’s not really interested. I could do with a Phoenix the Cow picture or a good train wreck with exclusive pics."
"Well, you never know. There could be a plane about to crash on Magnolia Close."
"Oh, gosh." Benson covered his eyes with his hands. "I didn’t mean to sound such an ambulance-chaser!"
"Oh, I know you don’t mean it!" Lucille tried to gee him up. "Seriously, are you having any money problems at the moment?"
Benson shook his head. "No, not really. Not like the bad old days when we first had Dylan and neither of us were working. It’s just that things are a bit tight."
"Ah, well. I’m sure things’ll turn around soon. In fact I was thinking of recommending to my team-leader that there is no need me to visit Dylan any more." She turned to the little boy. "But I love seeing him so much."
"Don’t speak too soon – he needs new shoes and I might have to beg or steal to get them."
"Hey, don’t do that, or you’ll have constable Keaton after you."
End of Episode 4
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