Snapshots

SNAPSHOTS

His nose was huge and bent over at the end, like a beak. In the cold the tip grew red and ached. This morning it was very cold. It was early, just after six. He was pushing a wheelbarrow, heavily loaded, deep into the woods. The ground was frozen and uneven making progress difficult. He’d been walking for about 20 minutes now and was beginning to tire. The cold had worked its way through his gloves, numbing his hands. His arms ached, both with the cold and the exertion. His back felt like it was going into spasm. He would have to rest, just briefly. The sun was rising, time was running out. As he waited he looked around to make sure he was alone.

       

    It had started in January. One Saturday morning looking out of the window he noticed a large van parked outside. Someone was moving in next door, it had been empty for months. He wandered over, peered through their open door and called out,

    ‘Hello, anyone home?’

    He heard footsteps coming down the stairs. A big fat tattooed man with a shaven head appeared.

    ‘Yeah’

    ‘Oh, hi. I’m Jeff, from next door’, he said, pointing in the direction of his house. ‘Just thought I’d pop in and say hello, welcome you to the neighbourhood.’

    The tattooed man just stared at him.

    ‘Well I can see you’re busy so I’ll leave you to it, nice to meet you.’

    Again, no response. Jeff turned and left feeling foolish. The following weekend he decided to try again. He knocked on the door. This time it was answered by a small, fat, tattooed teenager in a black jacket.

    ‘Oh, hello, I’m from next door, just knocking to welcome you to the neighbourhood.’

    ‘Dad, some bloke from next door’, the tattooed teenager shouted, as he looked Jeff up and down.

    ‘What’, from the garden.

    ‘Bloke from next door’.

    ‘Tell im I’m busy.’

    ‘He’s busy’, said the fat teenager, slamming the door. Jeff went home wishing he hadn’t tried. He usually kept to himself. He worked in a railway ticket office. Although it was a bit boring it suited him. He knew the job inside out, and he worked alone, which he preferred. It wasn’t that he didn’t like people, he just didn’t know how to act around them. He found it safer just to watch.  The best place was from home. The houses where he lived were tightly packed, making it easy to watch the neighbours. It started when he was a young child. His Mother had discouraged it.

    ‘Jeffrey, don’t be so nosey’, she’d say, ‘come away from that window’.

    As he got older the urge grew stronger, but his Mother was always home. In the five years since she’d died he’d had free rein. The telescope was a major improvement but still left him feeling frustrated. Four years ago he bought a camera with a telephoto lens. Since then he had amassed hundreds of pictures. His favourites were displayed around the house.  He found them comforting. 

    It seemed to Jeff that he’d always been alone. He never knew his Dad, and though his Mum was always home, she spent most of her time reading the bible and crossing herself. School had been a terrifying experience, his quiet manner and large nose making him an easy target. As soon as he was spotted at school the taunting would start.

    ‘Look its big nose’.

    ‘Oi, parrot face’.

    Jeff didn’t say a word, just kept walking. Sometimes this tactic wouldn’t work and he’d be pushed, punched and spat at.

    ‘Oi, I’m talking to you, you big-nosed freak’.

    He took different routes to avoid people but often had to run away. He left school as soon as possible and stayed at home. He only got a job when his Mother said they needed the money. He wasn’t really happy with this solitary life but at least he felt safe. Since his Mum died something had changed. Lately he’d found himself wanting to talk to people.  At work he’d started greeting his co-worker Bob when changing shifts.

    ‘Morning Bob’, he tried.

    Bob looked shocked but replied.

    ‘Morning Jeff’.

    Jeff liked it. It became a regular thing. After a while, he decided to experiment a little further. Arriving at the office one day to take over from Bob he greeted him as usual,

    ‘Afternoon Bob’.

    ‘Afternoon Jeff’.

    Then he took it further.

    ‘So Bob, anything exciting happen this morning?’ he asked.

    ‘No, not really. Same old shit Jeff, same old shit’.

    ‘Yes, same old shit’, said Jeff.

    That was a success, he told himself. If only he’d left it there. Shortly afterwards he’d got carried away and introduced himself to the new neighbours. Big mistake. After their rude rejection of his advances he retreated to the safety of his photographs. A week ago he’d bought a new tripod for his camera. He’d set it up in his bedroom window. From here he had a great view into the kitchens and gardens of the three houses directly behind him. He was careful about setting up the camera. He cut a hole in the curtains just big enough for the lens to fit through. He wanted to avoid all that trouble he’d had last year.

    One night, the woman from number 11 had been out in the garden in her nightdress, taking in washing. She’d seen Jeff standing at the window in his pyjamas taking pictures of her. Her husband had come round and shouted at Jeff. Told him if he caught him spying on his wife again he’d punch his lights out. Since then Jeff had been very careful not to be seen.

He became a little paranoid. He worried about the reaction his photos might get from others. He decided he should develop them himself. It took him some time to get it right but with the help of a few books from the library he set up a dark room in the cellar. For the last couple of years he’d been able to do all the processing himself. He’d got quite good at it.

    A few nights after the ‘tattooed neighbours incident’ he was sitting in his front room in his pyjamas, looking through some photos from the new camera position. He had some lovely shots of the children at number 13 playing in their paddling pool. They looked so happy. He decided these would have to go on the wall; they were perfect for the section he thought of as, ‘children at play’. Just then the doorbell rang. Reluctantly he got up and opened the front door. No one was there. Looking out he saw a shaven headed boy in a black jacket running down the road. This happened for two or three nights. It made Jeff nervous but he didn’t know what to do. He tried ignoring it.

    The next night he was looking through some older photos. As well as those on the walls, he kept separate albums for each house.  He loved looking at the early ones seeing how the kids had grown. It seemed like just the other day when the twins at number 13 had been born. He wondered what it would be like to have a twin brother. Just then the doorbell rang. This time it was followed by a sharp knock. Jeff ignored it trying to concentrate on the photos. The bell rang again, this time the follow on knock was much louder. Jeff felt angry; he rushed for the door determined to give this pest a piece of his mind. He wrenched open the door. He saw the fat teenage neighbour standing, just a few doors down, staring at him defiantly.

    ‘Ha ha, you big nosed twat’, he said, then turned and ran.

    Jeff closed the door and double locked it. He was shaking and his mouth felt dry. For the next three weeks this continued. Jeff didn’t answer the door. He just sat fuming, feeling helpless.

    ‘Why me? Why don’t people leave me alone? Why don’t they just leave me alone?’

    It made him think of his school days. He had often come home, sweating, heart pounding, terrified, having run most of the way. He’d felt sick as he thought of the next day when he’d have to do it all again. Sometimes they caught him and pushed him around or punched him. He hated this, but the name-calling had been worse. It made him cry.

    When he cried he felt angry. It boiled up inside him. He lay awake in his bed imagining how he would avenge himself. In his fantasies he had special powers. He fought back, terrifying his tormentors. His fantasies were graphic and surprisingly violent. Jeff imagined hurting the teenager from next door. He knew he wouldn’t dare. He felt angry with himself.

    One night the doorbell rang twenty times in the space of an hour. The final time Jeff ran to open it. No one was there, but on the pavement in front of his door ‘FUCK OFF BIG NOSE’, was painted in big white letters. He heard distant laughter but couldn’t see anyone. He ran into his kitchen to get a scrubbing brush and spent the next half an hour cleaning it off.

    That night he slept poorly. In his dreams he was walking down a busy high street. A small boy pointed at him shouting ‘look at that mans nose’. The crowd turned on him, all pointing, laughing and jeering. They began moving towards him. He couldn’t get away so he curled up on the floor with his head in his hands as they stood over him screaming abuse.

He overslept the next morning and was half an hour late for work.

    ‘What time d’you call this Jeff’, Bob said when he arrived.

    ‘Sorry’ said Jeff.

    He felt dreadful all day. He was unshaven, his clothes weren’t ironed and his stomach was in knots. As he approached his front door that night he felt edgy and alert, waiting for something to happen. Nothing happened, no one was there. 

Two days later, he was on his way to work when he heard a shout from behind.

    ‘Oi big nose’.

    He turned to see the teenager standing in the middle of the pavement.  He carried on walking, feeling angry and nervous.

    ‘Oi big nose, you fuckin freak’.

    Jeff quickened his pace.

    ‘Come ere big nose, I wanna talk to you’

    Jeff broke into a run, feeling humiliated but unable to stop himself; people were looking.

    ‘Aaaah, look at the baby run. Big-nosed wanker’.

    Jeff turned while running, sure he would be followed, but his tormentor just stood still, shouting insults that grew fainter. After running for a few more minutes Jeff couldn’t hear them at all. He walked the rest of the way to the office, feeling sweaty and humiliated. He didn’t greet Bob when he arrived, just grunted at Bob’s hello. He couldn’t concentrate on his work that day. He was surly to his customers and gave the wrong change three times. When he got home he was fuming. He wanted to smash something. He kept seeing images of the sneering teenage face; cold hateful eyes; ugly mouth, wide open laughing at him.

    ‘Bastard’, he said. This shocked him a little, he never swore. But it felt good.

    ‘Little bastard’, louder this time.

    ‘You horrible, ugly, little bastard’, he shouted.

    It made him feel better for a while. He didn’t take any pictures that night, just sat in his chair surrounded by his favourites.

For the next few days nothing happened, but each time Jeff left or returned to the house he expected trouble. Three days later, Jeff was on his way home from work. As he turned into his street he rummaged around in his bag for his front door keys. He found them just as he reached the door. As he looked up he caught his breath, the door was slightly open. He stood motionless, just staring, unable to move. He felt sick. He noticed splinters of wood and a footprint on the door where it had obviously been forced.

    He summoned his courage, pushed the door open and walked in.  In the middle of the floor was a large pile of his photos. They were torn and soaked in something. On many of the walls was spray-painted graffiti.

    ‘PERVERT!

    BIG NOSED FREAK!’

    Jeff fell to his knees amongst his torn photos, head in his hands, crying.  He noticed the smell of urine and knew why the photos were wet. A voice from the stairs startled him.

    ‘You fucking pervert. I know what you do.  I’ve seen your pictures of little kiddies,’ said the teenager.

    Jeff stood up but said nothing.

    ‘If I tell my Dad about this he’ll kill you’.

    Jeff just stared.

    ‘I want money.’







    Jeff bent down to pick up his load and headed for the bushes. As he reached them he took one final look around. He was alone. This was far enough. He lowered the wheelbarrow to the ground, feeling his back twinge with the effort.  He was only a kid but pushing him over rough ground for twenty minutes had been incredibly hard. The load just seemed to get heavier and heavier. He wanted to rest but had to hurry. With a grunt he picked up the spade and began to dig.