Don't Come Looking AJ Campbell (best biographies to read .TXT) 📖

to need some help with transport to and from these gym sessions. Art drops his clipboard and pen on the floor and puts his hands above his head, stretching out like a thick elastic band. His T-shirt rides up, exhibiting an abdomen exceptionally toned for a man of his years. ‘Three times a week it is. That’s great. Believe me, you’re going to feel so much better when we get going. You’ll wish you’d done this years ago.’

I slip my hands behind my back and cross my fingers.

‘So, I’ll see if I can slot you in for your first massage tomorrow. If not, I’ll–’

A high-pitched scream stops him mid-sentence. Crying that turns to sobs like a child in a shopping arcade who has lost their parents. We look at each other curiously.

‘Is that Hannah?’ I ask, despite already knowing that it is. I race outside with Art on my heels.

Sasha bolts out of her studio. She opens her arms to a distraught Hannah charging towards her. George is close behind. ‘Whatever’s happened?’ she asks her daughter. ‘What is it?’

Hannah stutters and splutters. ‘Dad was waiting for me when I came out of school.’

Twenty-Four

LUKE

I’m taking the rest of the day off. Another exam ticked off, and I’ve done my good deed for the day and shown Harry everything Robbins went through yesterday. There’s no need for me to revise for tomorrow’s exam – no point at all. Whatever I look at, I already know. Who do I have to thank for my photographic memory, I wonder?

Now it’s time to do what I do best. The folks won’t be back for a while. It doesn’t happen often, but tonight I fancy a beer, so I grab a can from the fridge and a family-sized bag of crisps from the cupboard. All set. Time to get to work.

I park myself at my desk and fire up my Mac. This is going to be the most enjoyable of evenings. I smile and run my fingers along the top of the screen, admiring the cutting-edge machine. I bought it last year, along with a-top-of-the-range editing keyboard, with money saved up from Christmas and birthdays. While waiting for the editing software to load, I pull the tab on the can of beer. Editing these snippets of delight will be the best fun I’ve had for weeks.

Well, nearly. Let’s not go forgetting Robbins’ face on Sunday.

It will calm me down too. Hannah’s outburst at seeing Marc has unsettled me. And that’s not what I need at the moment. I’m the director here, and I call the shots. Was it really him she saw? Surely not?

Yesterday morning, I couldn’t sleep after the fracas at the party. So, I got up early and downloaded all the photos and video clips ready for this post-production process – no need to waste any time. I always have been complimented for my proactive nature and coordinated approach. It’s been in every school report since I can remember: Luke has such exceptional organisational skill for a boy his age. This, coupled with his analytical mind, will reward him with a bright future.

How right they were.

I made a copy of each photo and sorted them into two groups – one, in time order – the other, by people. That way I can pick them out much more easily, as and when required. That’s the way I work best. With the videos, I left them in time order ready to go through one by one.

Now, time for the part of the job I love best. Getting rid of all the flawed and unwanted content to construct the story I want to tell.

And, man, do I have so many stories waiting to be told.

Don’t get me wrong, shooting this stuff is fun – getting the right people in the right places and poses – it’s an art form. But the real creativity comes at this stage. The manipulation of the raw material into something aesthetically pleasing and dramatically compelling. There are so many things to get right: creating perfect scene transitions, selecting the best music to complement the material, choosing the best visual effects. It involves tons more than a bit of cutting and pasting as most people seem to think.

There are six hundred and ninety photos and forty-seven video clips in total, spanning nearly fourteen hours. I’m glad now that I organised them all yesterday morning. I start with the videos as they will take a lot longer. The first one stars the O’Sullivans, minus Marc, of course. I press play. Sasha, Harry, Hannah and George appear, setting up for the party on Saturday morning, with Ralph pootling amongst them all. They are carrying tables out to the front of the house, putting up the banners and blowing up the balloons. Sasha pins bunting to the trees. She flashes a smile. It’s fake of course, but all the same, let’s give credit where credit is due. Her face brims with the determination to deliver a party to remember for her eldest’s coming of age.

Little did she know.

Little does she know.

I beaver away for a few hours – three, to be precise. Time flies and all that. Until I hear a car pull up and keys turn in the front door. As usual, she bolts up the stairs to check on me, ‘Luke, you there?’ She sticks her head around my bedroom door. ‘How was your day?’ she asks, pretending to care. ‘Why didn’t you answer my call? Exam go well?’

‘All right,’ I reply, grinding my teeth. Hearing her voice has vexed me.

She starts to walk into the room, although my body language tells her I wish she wouldn’t. I toggle to the BBC news website and pretend to be engrossed. My peripheral vision and sense of smell inform me she’s in her clammy workout gear. Why oh why, does she spend so much time in the gym? Hasn’t she got better things to do? I’ve never understood it – how has Dad made such