The Family Secret. Tracy Buchanan
teenagers were into John, Paul, George and Ringo, but my rockstar was a wildlife documentary-maker. No wonder the other girls at the hotel didn’t talk to me!
Reg opened the book and after a brief pause, scribbled on it before snapping it shut and handing it back without a word, his attention quickly returned to the book he was reading. Only when I got back to my little room in the hotel’s attic that night did I see what he’d written.
Next time, buy a book instead of stealing one from a library.
The next morning, as I poured him his tea, I battled over whether to talk to him again. ‘I didn’t steal the book,’ I eventually managed in a small voice.
He gave me a silent look.
‘I extended the loan,’ I continued.
‘Then gave it to me to desecrate.’
I dipped my chin to my chest. ‘I know. I’d buy a copy except—’
‘You’re a poor waitress. How old are you anyway?’
‘Sixteen,’ I lied. Truth was, I was fifteen, just. And while it was fine to work at that age, my aunt didn’t like me broadcasting it. ‘I don’t get paid much.’
‘So? I used to be like you once, didn’t have two pennies to rub together,’ he said, fire in his eyes. ‘But I did something about it. And you can too if you set your mind to it.’
The next day was a rest day. I got one day off a week and usually spent it walking around London alone, visiting the free museums and attractions. But that day, I pulled on my hand-me-down winter coat and stomped out into the cold armed with a wood-effect Filmo camera I’d ‘borrowed’ off a documentary-maker. He’d been so distracted drinking the night before he didn’t notice me sneak it from his side. I was planning to return it to him when I finished. Well, to the hotel’s lost property anyway, in the hope he’d mention its loss to reception. Sure, I felt slightly guilty. But at least he’d get it back. There were many things in my fifteen years I’d loved and lost, never to be seen again.
The night before, I’d barely got any sleep, playing with the damn thing and trying to figure out how it worked until I finally cracked it at 3am.
As I stepped out of the hotel with it in my bag, I thought of the techniques Reg had mentioned in his book:
Shoot tight. Zoom in on a stabbing hoof. A pecking beak. Two stark wide eyes. These shots can be used to create a story in the editing room.
Get down to the animal’s level, even if it means lying in dirt on your belly.
Film with the sunlight on your back if you want to see the animal’s true colours.
I must have looked a right sight that morning, lying belly down on London’s grimy paths, camera pointing out towards the Thames as I filmed a grey heron diving into water. Or lying on a bench and looking up to the sky to film pigeons in flight. Of course, I wished I was in Alaska instead, filming polar bears, but this would need to do. As I made my way back to the hotel, I walked with my head held high despite the grime all over my skirt. This was the most exciting thing I’d done since leaving home.
I found Reg seated at his usual spot in the hotel’s restaurant at lunch, sipping tea as he read another book. I don’t think he recognised me at first without my black and white waitress uniform on, my long hair down when it was usually up.
I nervously placed the camera on his table. ‘I set my mind to some filming, like you advised.’
‘I did, did I?’ He looked down at the camera, face expressionless. ‘Where did you get this camera? Looks a lot like the one Gerald over there has lost,’ he said, gesturing towards the cameraman I’d borrowed it from who was talking frantically to the reception desk.
I swallowed, twisting a button on my coat between my fingers. ‘I plan to return it.’
That was the first time I saw Reg smile. ‘I’m tempted to say don’t bother; I’ve never liked the man. What do you want me to do with this then?’ he asked, gesturing to the camera.
‘I thought you might have some way of viewing it to see if what I’ve filmed is any good?’ I asked tentatively.
As I said that, I felt a presence behind me. Reg quietly slipped the camera into the bag at his feet and I turned to see my aunt smiling tightly.
‘Is this young lady bothering you, Mr Carlisle?’ she asked, flashing me a hard look.
‘Not at all,’ Reg retorted. ‘She saw me drop some money earlier and was kind enough to return it to me.’
My aunt relaxed. ‘Good, we ensure all our staff hold the highest of moral standards. Now come away, Gwyneth, let Mr Carlisle finish his lunch in peace.’
As she marched me off, I glanced over my shoulder at Reg who winked at me. I turned back, suppressing a smile.
I barely slept again that night, wondering if Reg had managed to watch the footage. When I walked downstairs, pulling at the stiff collar of my uniform, he was waiting for me in reception.
‘Come with me,’ he said.
I peered into the breakfast room. I was already running late.
‘Just five minutes,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
I took a deep breath and followed him towards the hotel’s small cinema. When we got in, the projector was all set up and on the screen was my footage.
‘Most of it is awful,’ he said as he gestured for me to sit down. ‘There’s nothing here we don’t know already about pigeons. The composition is terrible, not to mention the lack of focus.’ My heart sank. ‘Except this,’ he added with a smile as he leant forward to stare at the screen. ‘Now this, this is exquisite.’
I followed his gaze, seeing the brief footage I’d filmed of a large pigeon feeding three tiny baby pigeons.
‘We rarely see baby pigeons, as they remain in their nests until they are fully grown,’ he explained, ‘and many nests are so high, we humans don’t get the chance to see them. A sign of the bird’s devotion to its young.’
‘So it’s good I got a shot of them?’
‘Very good. I need an assistant. When can you start?’
I looked at him in surprise. ‘You want me as an assistant?’
He nodded and my heart soared with hope. I made a silent promise to myself then: I would never let him down, not like I’d let my parents down. And I didn’t, not in all those years I worked with him.
And now he was gone. I had nobody. I felt the grief rise up inside.
‘What about your family, Gwyneth?’ Oscar asked quietly as the maid poured me more wine. ‘Were you on your way to visit them for Christmas?’
I took a quick sip of wine. ‘I don’t have any family. In fact,’ I said, placing my napkin down, ‘I really better be heading back.’
‘Have you seen the time?’ Dylan exclaimed. I looked up at a large clock. Nearly nine. ‘You can’t drive back now.’
‘Yes, you must stay,’ Heather said.
I shrugged. ‘I’ve driven in the dark before, on ice too.’
‘Not on these roads,’ Dylan said.
‘You really must stay,’ Glenn said. ‘At least until dawn. Plus, you’ve been drinking. Right, Mum?’
Mairi examined my face then nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Only two glasses. No, really, I must get back,’ I said, pushing my chair back.
‘But it’s Christmas tomorrow,’ Alison said.
‘Exactly,’ Cole replied. ‘Gwyneth doesn’t want to be spending