An hour or so later, the doorbell rings. Even though I’m all the way at the top of the house, it’s up to me to answer it. Only respectful, I guess. It’s Ted with the pictures. He has this rickshaw-style bike he uses to deliver stuff to the Swans. He was a graphic designer before he retired, which is handy when I’m really stuck with something, though I try not to bother him too much. Mrs. Tyburn actually asked him first to do my job, but he said it sounded way more complicated than anything he was into now. I think he also realized that the job was going to be creepy as hell and didn’t want to be part of it.

“Hey, kid,” he huffs as he lifts one of the larger pictures out of the trailer behind his bike. “Seven framed portraits, for Her Majesty’s approval. Nice job on the color and shade around the faces. Your work is really coming along.” Ted’s the only one who can really see what I do.

“Thanks. And thanks for bringing them over. Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee or anything? I could show you how I’ve set up the projections to transfer the home movies to digital.”

A drop of sweat slides down from his wispy white hairline and soaks into his eyebrow. “I’ll take a rain check.” And he takes the envelope from Mrs. Tyburn that I hand him. “Hey, don’t work too hard up there.” He mounts his stocky frame on his bike and rides away the long way where the path is smoother and the slope longer and less steep.