The room collectively bows its head and the minute’s silence is impeccably observed. Once completed, the actor signs off by saying he hopes we enjoy the film.

He walks off to another rapturous round of applause and takes his seat near the front of the room, pretending to wipe his brow much to the amusement of the woman in the seat next to him.

Tom reaches for my hand and grasps it, pulling it onto the arm rest and intertwines his fingers with mine. The few lights that had remained on for the presentation now fade to black and the velvet curtains covering the screen slowly begin to open.

The beam of light from the projector bisects the room and the silver screen flickers to life. There is a collective gasp in the room as the first image appears.

It is Reuben’s face.

It is covered in blood.

22

An eerie silence fills the room, punctuated only by Reuben’s ragged breathing. Everyone has edged forward a few inches in their seats, waiting to see what will happen next.

For a few seconds, Reuben simply stares at the camera. His face fills the entire screen. It’s as if the film has been paused. The terrible violence he has been subjected to is evident on his face. His nose has ballooned in size and is surely broken; blood streams from both nostrils and the area under his eyes has turned purple. His forehead is covered in vicious, raised welts and chunks of skin are missing from his cheeks and chin. He looks terrified.

After what seems like an eternity of silence, he clears his throat. It echoes around the room and takes the audience by surprise, causing most of the people present to jump with shock, like a perverse Mexican wave. His bloody lips smack together and he begins to speak, his voice gravelly.

‘Hello,’ he mutters into the camera and then stops. His eyes flit around the area behind the camera, before coming to a stop and focussing on something. Or someone. He pleads silently for a few seconds before he regains some of his composure and fixes his stare back on the camera lens.

Watching his face; his expressions, I begin to wonder if this is all a publicity stunt. The actor who introduced the film in lieu of Reuben hinted that the director was a fan of a grand entrance. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps we’re going to watch him pretend to be kidnapped and suddenly he will appear here in the cinema, sitting amongst us.

‘Sorry I can’t be there tonight,’ he mutters, ‘but I’m a bit tied up.’

His eyes move from side to side like a typewriter, as if reading from some form of script. This could be a clue that the whole thing is staged, what genuine kidnapping has a script? Maybe the trauma to his face is purely a fantastic make-up job.

The camera slowly pulls away from Reuben’s face and his body comes into view. A thick rope is tied around his neck and knotted at the side. The remaining rope leaves the top of the screen and must be connected to something above him, out of shot. He is topless and his slightly doughy torso shows signs that it too has been subjected to the same treatment as his face. He is still wearing his trousers, though they are stained with blood and dirt. The camera stops zooming out once it reaches his knees.