The Pornographer's Wife Page 6

  “You don't think there's a market?” she asked with a faint smile, feeling simultaneously amused and irritated by his stubborn hypocrisy.

  “It's just ugly,” he continued, taking a look at the third photo before setting the rest down unseen. “I don't think we should use them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they're filthy! You can see his...”

  His voice trailed off, as if he didn't even want to say the word.

  “His semen?” Mary asked, picking up one of the photos, which showed thick gloops of white semen running down the side of Michael's large, erect penis. “I think these are the best ones,” she continued, aware that she was making her husband feel increasingly uncomfortable. “There's something almost artistic about this one in particular. Maybe I should enter it in a competition -”

  “Give over!” he snapped, grabbing the photo from her and placing it face-down on the table.

  “So it's okay to show a woman's bits,” Mary continued, “but not a man's? What about if Sarah or one of the other girls had been in the shoot, would that have made it okay?”

  “This is a business that caters to heterosexual men,” he said firmly, “and I don't see why you feel the need to change that. We're making more money every week, but if people find out that we're also offering stuff for gay people, they might be offended and go to another service. Note, by the way, that I didn't call them queers. I took your advice on board there.”

  “The gay market is untapped,” she replied. “Or is it simply that you want to focus on naked women?”

  “Please, you have to -”

  At that moment, the door bell rang, and Donald's sense of relief was palpable.

  “Saved by the bell,” Mary said, as she started to gather the photos together. “I still want to talk about this later. We're selling these photos and that's final.”

  “It's not your decision,” he reminded her. “Get these out of sight in case we've got visitors. Can you imagine what it'd be like if someone found picture of penises in our flat?”

  As her husband went through to answer the door, Mary couldn't help glancing at the photos one more time. She'd felt strangely proud of them as they appeared, one by one, in the makeshift darkroom, and she was determined not to dump them just because of her husband's lack of understanding and his casual homophobia. Hearing voices at the door, and recognizing one of them as that of her friend Carol, she slipped the photos into a folder and then placed the folder on the sideboard, before taking a deep breath as she prepared to switch from pornographer's wife mode to prospective parliamentary candidate's wife mode.

  “And where the hell have you been?” Carol shouted as she reached the kitchen and slapped Mary on the back. “I haven't seen either of you in weeks! I was telling James earlier, I've got to go round there and make sure they're still breathing!”

  “We're fine, thank you,” Mary replied, feeling a little irritated – as usual – by the way that Carol inevitably dominated any room she entered. “Just pottering about.”

  “Pottering won't get you anywhere,” Carol said, plonking herself down on one of the stools. “Donald, love, make us a nice cup of tea, won't you?”

  “I don't know,” he replied, “maybe Carol could -”

  “That would be lovely, darling,” Mary said, turning to him with a smile. “Milk, no sugar.”

  “I...” He paused, clearly a little put out, before turning and heading over to the counter.

  “Such a well-trained husband,” Carol said with a grin. “Now why haven't I seen either of you down at the club lately? If you want to get in with the in-crowd, you need to start brown-nosing as soon as possible. The election's eighteen months away but you have to plan ahead these days, you can't just turn up on for the vote and expect people to get behind you.”

  “We've just been swept off our feet,” Mary replied calmly.

  “Are you working again?”

  Mary nodded.

  “Shame,” Carol continued with a sniff. “Still, if Donald was making enough to allow you to stay at home and -”

  “She works by choice,” Donald interrupted, clearly annoyed by the conversation. “It's not like I'm letting the side down.”

  “I work by choice,” Mary added. “Honestly, Carol, not all of us are happy staying at home. Anyway, I do work from here, so it's something of a compromise.”

  “I suppose it's different when you don't have children. By the way, you should think about popping one out soon. The committee looks very favourably on family men.” She turned to Donald. “Your only real opponent in the selection race is Graham Garnside, and he's already got two kids. Think about that!”

  “I am thinking about it,” Donald muttered testily.

  “We're just waiting a little longer,” Mary explained, “until we're on a firmer footing financially. When we have children, we want to be able to give them everything they could possibly want.”

  “What's all the camera equipment doing in your front room?” Carol asked. “I saw it when I came through just now.”

  “Just dabbling,” Mary said with a smile, imagining the ruckus that would erupt if she let Carol see the photos.

  “You don't have time for hobbies,” Carol told her. “Everything you do has got to be focused on getting this man into parliament.”

  “We all need ways to unwind,” Mary told her, “and besides...” She paused, wondering how far she could go with the truth. “Actually, I've been earning money with some photography work. We both have.”

  Donald turned and glared at her.

  “What kind of photography work?” Carol asked. “Like... portraits and stuff?”

  Mary nodded, stifling a smile as she saw the worried look in Donald's eyes. She knew she shouldn't be saying such things to Carol, but at the same time she figured she'd already seen the cameras and, besides, winding Donald up a little felt like payback for his attitude.

  “And you actually get people to pay for that?” Carol asked. “They give you actual money?”

  “Oh yes,” Mary continued. “We've got quite a little cottage industry set up here. In fact, we just finished a shoot this afternoon. If you'd come two hours earlier, you'd have caught us at it. God, that would have been embarrassing, wouldn't it sweetheart?”

  She glanced at Donald, and again she could see the concern in his eyes as he brought two cups of tea over to the table for them.

  “Thank you, my love,” she said, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek.

  “Careful,” he said firmly, “it's hot. Wouldn't want to spill anything.”

  “If I do,” she replied sweetly, “I'll just have to find a cloth and carefully wipe it up.”

  Sighing, he turned and made his way back over to the counter.

  “Donald's a little old-fashioned,” Mary continued, turning to Carol. “It's cute, really.”

  “I'm not old-fashioned,” he said, with his back to them.

  “He is,” Mary mouthed to Carol, who nodded.

  “Old-fashioned is good,” Carol said, “that's what the committee members like. Remember, you need to get all those old fuddy-duddies on your side if they're going to help you get selected for the election. If there's the slightest sniff of anything untoward, they'll put all their weight behind bloody Graham Garnside, and that'd be a tragedy. The man's an utter knob and he'd be a disaster for the constituency, so I hope you two aren't taking your eyes off the prize.”

  “Absolutely not,” Mary told her. “In fact, we're going to extra lengths to ensure that we have a sound platform to build on once the real campaigning starts.”

  “And you're sure there are no skeletons in the closet?” Carol asked. “It's always so horrible when a candidate looks good and then turns out to be a poof or something.”

  “There's little danger of that,” Mary replied, bristling a little at her friend's language. “I think maybe words like poof should be used with caution, though. They're rather derogatory. It's the 1980s, Carol, and everyone has to be more
tolerant.”

  Rolling her eyes, Carol took a sip of tea.

  “We're all busy tolerating the blacks,” she said finally. “I for one am all taken up with that, so I don't have time to tolerate the gays as well. If you ask me, we should make all these little groups take turns. It's so tiring having to change the words you use to describe people.”

  “She's got a point,” Donald muttered. “Sticking up for ethnic minorities can be a vote-winner, but sticking up for the homosexuals can actually drive people away.”

  “Wouldn't it be nicer if we had a more equal society,” Mary suggested, “where people are judged for their character rather than the colour of their skin or who they like to go to bed with?”

  “None of that,” Carol said, pointing a finger at her. “Donald, you need to keep this woman on-message when the proper campaigning starts. Don't let her go around saying things willy-nilly, especially not if there's reporters nearby. You're appealing to respectable, middle-class English voters, so you have to offer things that respectable, middle-class English voters want.”

  “Oh, I think we're doing that already,” Mary replied with a faint smile. “In fact, I think we're made a smashing head-start.” She turned to Donald. “Isn't that right, darling? We've really got a good understanding of what people are after these days.”

  “You two are going to make wonderful parents one day,” Carol said suddenly. “I swear, you need to stop being scared and just dive in.”

  “Eventually,” Mary told her. “It's just... When we have children, I want everything to be perfect for them. I want them to have good lives, free from all the pain that dogs most people through life.”

  TODAY

  “Sophie? What's wrong?”

  Pushing the door open as the screams continued, Mary ran across the room to where Sophie was sitting on the floor, crying out as tears ran from her eyes.

  “What is it?” Mary asked, kneeling next to her. “Are you hurt? Are you bleeding?”

  She waited for an answer.

  “Sophie!” she continued, almost shouting now as panic began to overwhelm her. “Talk to me! What's wrong?”

  Looking around for some kind of clue, she glanced at Sophie's laptop, which was on its side as if it had fallen. She blinked a couple of times and then tilted her head as she saw that the screen was filled with several pornographic images. For a fraction of a second, her heart sank as she figured they must be images from Donald's old business, but suddenly she realized with horror that the truth was even worse:

  The images showed Sophie herself in various poses, baring her naked body to a camera.

  “Don't look!” Sophie screamed, kicking out at the laptop and sending it flying across the room until it smashed into the door. She turned away from Mary and hid her face in her hands as she continued to sob.

  “What's happening?” Mary asked, still struggling to understand the situation. She reached out to put an arm around her daughter, but she was quickly swatted away. “Sophie, you have to tell me what's wrong! I'm your mother, for God's sake! Talk to me!”

  She waited as Sophie, who was still sobbing, seemed almost to be experiencing some kind of breakdown. Feeling completely helpless, Mary tried to work out what to do next, but finally Sophie sat up a little and turned her tear-stained face toward her mother. Her bottom lip was trembling violently and her eyes were filled with pure horror.

  “Sophie,” Mary said firmly, “you have to talk to me right now. What's going on?”

  “It's Tom,” she whimpered.

  “What about him? Has something happened to him?”

  “That fucking bastard!” she shouted, kicking at the bed so hard that when her foot hit the side, she let out a cry of pain.

  “What's he done?” Mary asked. “Sophie, calm down, you're going to hurt yourself.” Realizing she wasn't getting anywhere, she turned and reached out for the laptop.

  “No!” Sophie screamed, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. “No! Don't look! Don't ever look!”

  “Tell me what's on there, then,” Mary shouted, trying not to panic.

  “He's shared them,” she whimpered. “He's put them all online, all the ones I sent him!”

  “All the what you sent him?”

  “The photos.”

  “What photos?”

  She waited for an answer, but Sophie broke down sobbing again.

  “What has he done?” Mary asked finally, and this time when she put an arm around her daughter's shoulder, she wasn't pushed away. She pulled her tighter, trying to compensate for the sensation of helplessness that was threatening to overwhelm her. “My poor, dear darling, I can't help you until you tell me.”

  “I'm so ridiculously fucking dumb,” Sophie cried. “I sent him pictures when we were apart. Just stuff with my webcam, you know? Private things, for him!”

  “Okay,” Mary replied, trying to stay calm, “what kind of pictures?”

  “What do you think? I thought I could trust him!”

  “But...” She paused as she finally began to understand. “Oh, sweetheart, no...”

  “He must have done it right after he left,” she continued, sniffing back tears. “He put them all up on this photo-sharing site and then he linked it to all my friends. They've all seen them by now. Everyone at uni, everyone I'm friends with online, probably even my teachers and strangers...”

  “You don't know that. Get them taken down.”

  “How?” she sobbed. “It's too late. People will have made copies.”

  “They have no right to do that!”

  “Get real Mum!” she shouted, pushing her away. “It's the internet! Boobs travel faster than light!” She broke down crying again.

  “Okay,” Mary replied, shocked by the situation. “There has to be a way to get those photos taken down, there just has to be. There must be someone we can call.”

  “It's over,” Sophie said breathlessly. “You don't understand the internet, Mum. Once they're out, they're out. People make copies, they share them, they save them...”

  “Let me see these pictures,” Mary continued, reaching to the laptop, only for Sophie to pull her arm back again. “Sophie, I need to -”

  “You can never see them,” she sobbed. “Please, Mum, they're... They're really bad. I really got into them. They're close up, and you can see my face and everything. I can never, ever go back to uni. I can't contact anyone ever again, my entire life is over, don't you understand?”

  “Your life is not over,” Mary said firmly, even though she was starting to shake with anger. “Tom can't just do this to you, Sophie, it's not right.”

  “He's already done it,” she continued. “You know the worst part? Dad was famous, so eventually someone's gonna put two and two together, and... He'd hate me. I'm going to drag his name into the mud and he'd hate me if he was still alive.”

  “Your father would never hate you,” Mary told her, reaching out and finally managing to give her a hug without being pushed away. “No-one hates you, Sophie, and you're not dragging anyone through the mud. This says far more about that horrible boy than it does about you, do you understand? No-one in their right mind will judge you.”

  “I judge me,” she whispered, still sobbing. “I'm a fucking idiot.”

  “No,” she said, kissing the top of her daughter's head, “you're not an idiot. You were tricked, that's all. Everyone gets tricked at some point in their life, and talked into something they don't want to do.”

  “That's just an excuse.”

  “It's not. It's true. You're only human, darling. People make mistakes, it's just unfortunate that sometimes those mistakes get preserved.”

  “I wanted to be like Dad,” Sophie continued, wiping tears from her face. “I wanted to do good things and be a good person like him.”

  “You still can.”

  “No I can't, because any time I do anything worthwhile, people will bring up those pictures. I'm twenty-two years old, Mum, and those things will be out there for the rest of my li
fe, haunting me like some kind of sick ghost.” She paused. “All because I was an idiot and trusted the wrong person.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Mary replied, hugging her tighter. “We all, at least once, let someone talk us into doing something we regret for the rest of our life.”

  THIRTY YEARS AGO

  “You were sailing a little close to the wind earlier,” Donald muttered as he tore open another envelope and removed an order form, complete with a cheque attached to the top. “Maybe you think it's funny to risk us getting caught, but my career would be over, you know.”

  “Your career hasn't even begun,” Mary replied, taking the form from him and noting down the details. “At this rate, you can think about quitting the pornography business in less than three months' time.”

  “Quitting?”

  “We'll have more than enough cash in the bank to see us through to winter, and by then you should have got the selection battle all sewn up. That's the whole point of this, isn't it? To kick-start your political career?”

  “Yes, but...” He paused, as if he was shocked by the idea of stopping. “I mean, we might as well carry on for a little while longer, just to shore things up a bit. It seems silly to turn down more money.”

  “You said it yourself,” she replied, “we can't risk getting caught -”

  “And we won't,” he said firmly, opening another envelope, “so long as you let me handle things. There's no way that anyone can ever link us to the photos we're selling, it's impossible. Trust me, I've thought of everything. Even if we live to a hundred, no-one will ever know what we've been doing here.”

  Mary couldn't help but smile as she watched Donald noting down the details of another order. In all the time she'd known him, he'd had so many hare-brained money-making schemes and she couldn't even remember half of them. At some point she'd simply given up hoping that one of them might actually work, so it was somewhat shocking to see how well the pornography business seemed to be going. She knew she'd helped a little, of course, but she wanted her husband to take most of the credit. Looking down at the ledger, she noted all the incoming payments they'd received over just a few days.