Chapter 16

Spectrum is holding its camera club meetings in a room at the community hall. I arrive at the appointed time, hoping to slip into a chair at the back unnoticed, forgetting that West-wold Night Raider Surprise, the pedigree name of my black-and-white spotted people-magnet, is walking beside me.

I know that some neurodiverse people are afraid of dogs and align themselves with cats but Raider seems to bridge that divide. I’ve never seen anyone who isn’t a murderer draw back from him. And tonight is no different. Lots of selfies and phone cameras snapping before a young woman with multiple braids calls the meeting to order. She introduces herself as Morgana.

“I see you’ve all met Raider and his owner Tiggy Jones, the mystery author. They’re guests here tonight because Tiggy is including a camera club in her latest book and she’d like to sit in and watch what we do. She’s very interested to see everyone’s interpretation of the theme Reflect and we hope you all ‘dare to share’ to give her ideas for the book. And before you ask, she won’t be spying on any of the members. She invents characters for her books out of her imagination. That’s her job. She’s here to watch how we run our club. Any questions?”

Morgana is impressive. Any sleaze-bag who calls her phone number is in trouble.

A guy in the audience puts up his hand. He’s in a steampunk-style coat and waistcoat, his face obscured by old-fashioned whiskers. He wants to know if images from tonight’s ‘dare to share’ will be described as if they’re fictional in my book. It’s a good question.

“Like, words describe images … to visually impaired people … in ALT text,” he says a little haltingly, as if he finds public speaking a challenge. “The words replace the image … so they’re like, the same.”

I stand up and answer the question myself. “Thank you for the question. I’ll sit and enjoy the photography tonight without making notes about the photos. And I’ll create completely new images to describe in the book.”

Heads nod around the group of about eighteen attendees. I sit down.

After a short discussion regarding admin, Baxter gets up and asks who’s going to ‘dare to share’ and I’m struck again by the cleverness of the phrase. It completely exposes the fear of sharing and flips it on its head with a call to step up.

The lights are dowsed and their equipment projects images one at a time onto a screen at the front. The photographer isn’t allowed to say anything until all comments from the audience are finished. ‘Let the image speak for itself’ is another motto of the group. These young guys are so awesome.

I don’t make notes but I commit the photographs to memory as best I can, in case I accidentally create a description of one of them by mistake. It’s possible.

The visual interpretations of Reflect are incredibly diverse as you’d expect from such a group. From more traditional images of windows, mirrors and puddles with varying degrees of quirky to images that play with place and light, then different kinds of jarring compositions that lay the soul bare.

The discussions include reactions to the work and the occasional question to the photographer. Many are using their phone cameras and the shared pride about the results is infectious.

Baxter told me they only allow minimal photo manipulation – minor adjustments to the light or the default adjustments made by phone cameras. ‘If the subject has a pole sticking out of their head, you’re not allowed to remove it.’

One work called ‘Reflect-shone’ was taken through a bay window, much like the living room at Number 24. It catches the light reflected back and forth between several mirrors and creates interesting shadows. This style of room really lends itself to wall mirrors and the photographer has taken advantage of it.

Another image makes me catch my breath. The silhouette of a wading bird captured in the orange light of dusk, the refection so mirror-like that the photo could be flipped upside down. It’s unlikely to be a Dunlin at Merton Mire but it’s the kind of image of the wading bird that Kelly Field in Death by Deception might have taken before she died. After my promise not to paint word-pictures of any of the photos shared tonight, I wonder if I should approach the photographer.

At the end of the slideshow, they break for refreshments and I draw Baxter aside to get his advice.

“I thought that too, Tiggy. You and I talked about the wading bird in the bog and that’s how I got the idea for Reflect. Fletch must have been channelling us. He’s a pretty interesting person.”

He’s the guy in the steampunk gear who asked the question about word pictures. He’s now standing to the side and not interacting with other members. This could be his neurodiversity in action or he may not know the others yet.

“He’s your co-founder, with Morgana?”

“Yeah. Fletch is pretty shy. The three of us mostly message each other because Fletch is more comfortable with that. That’s why Morgana and I run our club meetings. Fletch works behind the scenes.”

“How did you meet him?”

Baxter’s eyes flash in alarm. They must have met at the prisoner pen-friend group and he can’t talk about that here. They haven’t known each other long.

“Tell me later,” I say.

“OK.” He looks relieved. “Fletch is good at drawing too. He’s invented his own comic strip. He draws them over and over again in a notebook and puts in a small change in each drawing to make one of those animated flip books. He makes videos of them. They’re really cool.”

“That’s a real talent. And getting back to his photo, I want to explain to him that it’s almost identical to what the character in my book might take. That it might look like I’m describing his picture.”

“He won’t want to talk to you, Tiggy. That will make him very uncomfortable. Everyone here thinks you’re pretty special, with an awesome dog. That makes it harder for Fletch. I’ll message him and see what he says.”

Baxter moves away and pulls out his phone. A minute later across the room, I see Fletch respond. I leave Baxter to it and move to the refreshment table where others are saying how much they love the Reflect theme, telling Morgana they’d like to extend it to next week as well.

“We can do that,” she says. I like her direct style.

The talkers in the group are keeping a conversation going. I move around asking different ones about their photography and others join in. Many are newbies exploring their phone cameras as an artistic device for the first time. I was hoping to pick up some tensions that I could transfer to Kelly Field’s fictional club but there’s a shared sense of excitement about experimenting and I don’t detect any jealousies. I suspect clubs with a higher percentage of neurotypical members might be hotbeds of darker emotions.

Baxter is back. “Let’s talk after the meeting, Tiggy.”

It sounds like Fletch didn’t just say ‘no worries’. I hope it’s easy for us to work something out. Perhaps I can pay him a non-exclusive royalty which allows me to paint a word-picture in Death by Deception and he can keep the rights to the image and do other things with it. That might be the solution. I like people to buy my books. Other artists deserve payment for their work when we use it.

“Fletch wants to sell you the image of the bird,” Baxter says after everyone’s gone. “It’s how he makes money to live on. He messaged me a contract and everything.”

“Wow, he’s organised. How old do you think he is?”

“Older than most of us in the club. Twenty-four? Starting this club was his idea but he needed help.”

It explains how someone so introverted became part of the management team.

“Send me the contract but it will probably need to be between Fletch and my publisher. And depending on the price and what rights we’re buying, Sim might be able to use it for the cover.”

“Cool.”

“Thanks for handling this, Baxter.”

“Anything to help you get Death by Deception into the hands of readers.” He knows I’m behind deadline after my struggle to get started. “If Sim needs a go-between in the negotiations, I’m available.”

“Thank you. I’ll let him know.”

In the middle of the night my phone pings. I forgot to switch it to silent. I’m awake so I look at the message. It’s from Baxter.

Tiggy, I’ve just remembered something. About Fletch. I think you should know. Call me tomorrow. Early.