In Focus (2009) (2 page)

He’d read the newspaper from cover to cover, done the crossword, grimaced at the foul taste of coffee from the machine in the corridor and settled for chilled water from the dispenser. He didn’t want to get on his mobile phone and chat to anyone, or even go on the Internet. Given a choice, he’d be sound asleep in bed by now, and was hoping these two would get the problem sorted out soon.

If their software didn’t have potential for a new segment on Pete’s show, he’d have gone home hours ago and left them to it, but it did. And once his cousin got word of something promising, he didn’t let go. Trouble was, Pete sometimes went overboard over unsuitable ideas, so Edward always checked them out and made sure his cousin didn’t rush into things he’d regret. This more cautious approach had saved the show from a couple of major problems in the past year or two.

He moved his body again, trying in vain to get comfortable in a typing chair designed for a midget, and ran his fingers through his hair, deciding it was too long and needed trimming.

Then Al and Debbie got the woman’s photo up on the screen and he forgot his discomfort, leaning forward to watch what happened.

Beth looked at her image in dismay. She looked far worse than she’d expected. Well, anyone would be tired if they’d been working since five o’clock that morning, first doing the early shift at the office, then filling in for people this evening. The current flu virus had hit the cleaning company badly.

She watched what was happening, not really believing they could get close to what she’d looked like as a child.

‘Here, sit down. You look tired out.’

She looked up in surprise as the man from the corner rolled a chair towards her. ‘Thanks. It’s been a long day.’

‘I don’t think Debbie and Al will be long.’

Then the program started to change her face and they both turned to watch. Amazed, she saw herself morph into a teenager.

When the lines of pixels had stopped rippling and changing, Debbie turned round. ‘Well? Does it look like you at about fifteen?’

‘Yes.’

‘How like you?’ Al prompted.

‘Very. I wore my hair long, though, tied back.’

They adjusted the image. ‘How’s that?’

‘Amazing.’

‘Give me a percentage.’

‘Ninety per cent at least.’

Al punched the air with one fist and turned back to the keyboard.

‘You’re sure of that?’ the man in the suit asked.

She was surprised by the intensity of his gaze. ‘Of course I am. I should know my own face.’

Gradually the image changed again, this time turning her into a child.

‘Hair?’ Debbie asked.

‘Short, just below my ears, parted on the right.’ She watched them adjust that, then sucked in her breath in astonishment. This could have been one of the old family photos. She realized all three of them were looking at her enquiringly, waiting for her reaction, and made an effort to gather her wandering thoughts.

‘Well?’ Al prompted.

‘I can’t believe it. That’s so like me as a child. How do you
do
it?’

The young woman ignored the question. ‘How close is it this time?’

‘Ninety per cent again.’

Debbie beamed at her. ‘We daren’t claim that, of course, because it doesn’t always happen. But sometimes it can be amazingly accurate, as long as we don’t try to make the images too detailed. It’s a fine line to tread.’

‘Do you want to see what you’ll be like when you’re sixty?’ Al asked.

Beth shuddered. ‘No, thanks.’

Debbie chuckled and dug Al in the ribs. ‘Not many women would want to see that, you dope.’

‘What do you use a program like this for?’

The man in the suit cut across what Al had been going to say. ‘That’s confidential information, I’m afraid.’

The younger man rolled his eyes at her.

‘Well, your program works brilliantly.’ She glanced once more at the screen, shaking her head in disbelief.

‘How old were you then?’

‘About six.’ She closed her eyes for a moment as memories flooded back. Not a good year, that. Her little brother had vanished while on holiday, kidnapped or murdered, or else he’d simply wandered away and fallen into the sea. Her mother had been distraught.

Afterwards Beth had been passed from one relative to another for months while the police searched desperately for little Greg and her father nursed her mother through a breakdown.

But there had been no further sign of the child, no ransom notes, no body, nothing. It was as if the boy had simply vanished off the face of the earth a week before his third birthday.

The family had never settled down again. Her father and mother had started arguing a lot. She’d known, even though they tried to keep their voices low. You couldn’t mistake that tone of voice. In the end, her father had left and hadn’t come back. He had a new family now, living in the north of England. She saw him sometimes, but they weren’t close. She was much closer to her mother, had had to be because without her support, her mother might have collapsed again.

Beth pushed the painful memories away and forced her tired, aching body upright. No way was she going down into that dark basement car park on her own. She looked at the man in the suit. ‘Well, if that’s all you need me for, I’ll go home to bed.’

‘Have you much more to do to the program?’ he asked the two at the computers.

‘Two or three hours of fiddling, probably.’

‘Then I’ll come back tomorrow. Give me a ring when you’re ready to roll again. I’ll need to see a few more successful regressions before we take it any further.’ He turned to Beth. ‘I’ll walk you to your car. Here, let me carry that.’

‘I can manage.’

He ignored her and took the cleaning equipment out of her hands. Clearly, the masterful type, but with beautiful manners.

As they stood waiting for the lift, he said, ‘We haven’t been introduced. I’m Edward Newbury.’

‘Same surname as the talk show host,’ she said without thinking. Pete Newbury had hit the headlines several times lately.

‘He’s my cousin, actually. Do you watch his show?’

‘Not often.
In Focus
was on a bit early in the evening for me last season. I’m usually busy at that time of day.’

‘And you’re . . .?’

‘Beth Harding.’ She didn’t give him any further information about herself. What was the point? They’d probably never meet again.

‘Have you worked here long?’

‘I’ve been with Sherbright Cleaning Services for a few years now,’ she said carefully. She never told strangers much about herself, if she could help it.

‘Good employer?’

‘Most people think so.’

The lift stopped at the basement car park and she shivered involuntarily. Of course, he noticed.

‘Can you not find a job that doesn’t involve night work?’

‘I’m just filling in for someone who’s sick. Normally I – um, work in the office. Our cleaners always go in and out of buildings in groups at night. Company policy. What do you do for a living?’

‘I’m my cousin’s manager.’

She might have asked him more about what that involved but they’d reached her car.

She zapped the locks, watched him put her equipment into the rear and got in. ‘Thanks for coming with me to the car. I appreciate that.’

‘No problem. You can’t be too careful these days.’

She saw in the rear-view mirror that he stood watching her drive away. She wondered what it was like to manage a celebrity, and what they wanted the computer program for, then yawned and dismissed Edward Newbury from her mind. She’d probably never see him again. Pity. He was rather attractive. But she wasn’t on the hunt for a man, didn’t have the time or the inclination these days.

When she got back to her flat, Beth hesitated, then went into the third bedroom, a place she usually avoided. It’d been five years since her daughter had run away, but Beth had kept all Jo’s things – just as her mother had kept little Greg’s things, still had them tucked away somewhere.

Seeing that picture of herself as a child had stirred up a hornet’s nest of old memories. No one had seen or heard of her little brother since the day he vanished. There had been no closure and that mattered more than people realized.

She still had photos of Greg somewhere and could remember playing with him as a child, but he didn’t feel like part of her family any longer. He was just a legend, a ghost at every feast, especially if her mother was present, though for the past few years her mother had been a lot better, thank goodness.

With a sigh, Beth picked up one of the last photos of her daughter, one which resembled her own teenage self on the geeks’ computer. It was ironic that Jo too had vanished. Was she destined to lose everyone she loved? Beth wondered.

But Jo was alive, at least. She had that to comfort her, and her daughter now sent emails every month or so, always from an Internet café, never giving any clue as to where she was or what she was doing.
Still alive, Mum.
Or:
Things going well, got a new job.

Beth sent equally brief replies, not sure what she dared say, terrified of upsetting her daughter by asking to meet.

Surely the messages were genuine? She had to believe that. They were painfully sparse dribbles of information but better than nothing.

Would she ever see Jo again?

She stared round the dusty, unused bedroom. She really ought to clear it out, refurnish it perhaps, but you couldn’t help hoping. And since no one else ever stayed here, it didn’t matter what the room was like.

Oh, she was being silly tonight. Why revisit old pains? She had better things to do with her time. Like sleep.

An eighteen-hour day was no good for anyone. Whatever the emergency, she wasn’t doing any extra shifts tomorrow.

She went into her own bedroom, intending to take a shower, but was so tired she simply fell on the bed for a moment’s rest. As she reached up to release her long hair from its ponytail, she closed her eyes.

At three o’clock in the morning she woke, shivering, switched off the light, climbed under the covers and went back to sleep again.

In his comfortable flat in Hampstead Edward Newbury was woken in the middle of the night. He cursed the phone, letting it ring out. He needed to sleep, dammit.

But the noise started again, almost immediately. Two rings, then it stopped. Two more rings, then it stopped again. He groaned but when it rang a third time he picked it up. This was a special signal between himself and Pete, used only when one or the other of them was in trouble.

Or more accurately, when Pete was in trouble.

‘What’s the matter now?’ Edward growled.

‘Just had a quarrel with Fran. The bitch has locked me out and all my keys are inside the flat. Is your spare bedroom free?’

‘Yes. Come on over.’

‘I’ll get the concierge to phone for a taxi.’

‘Couldn’t he let you into the flat?’

‘I’d as soon walk through the fires of hell as face that bitch again tonight. Oh – you haven’t got company there, have you?’

‘No.’ Edward hadn’t had company of the female sort for a while, had been working too hard. Or perhaps he was getting more picky as he grew older. Though forty wasn’t old and he kept himself fit. But he wasn’t out to remarry and had always needed more than a willing female body to turn him on.

‘You’ll have to come down and pay for the taxi, Ed. I haven’t got my wallet.’

It was the second time this month Pete had woken him. And actually, Edward didn’t blame Fran for getting angry at him. Since his TV show had started getting top ratings, his cousin had turned into a bit of a prima donna, wanting others to dance to his whims.

Edward made his way to the kitchen for a drink of water and went to stand on the balcony. It was a mild night and at this hour the nearby buildings were mainly dark, so you could actually see the stars.

Just over ten minutes later headlights played along the dark street below and a taxi stopped in the visitors’ parking area. He went down to pay for the ride.

After the taxi drove off, Pete wove his way unsteadily across the car park beside him.

Drunk again. That explained why Fran had locked him out.

When his cousin began to talk loudly in the foyer, Edward grabbed his arm and gave it a shake. ‘Shut up, you fool. Other people are sleeping.’

Pete laid a mocking finger on his lips and pretended to tiptoe. Once inside the flat he leaned against the wall and grinned. ‘Good old Edward. Always there to rescue me. Got any cognac to drown my sorrows with?’

‘No. Go to bed and sleep it off. You’ve work to do tomorrow.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Two o’clock in the morning and I’m sleepy, even if you aren’t.’

‘Y’know, you’ve turned into a party pooper lately.’

‘It’s called growing up. And if you want to keep earning good money, you should do less partying and more sleeping. Here.’ He pulled Pete along the corridor and opened the door of the spare bedroom. ‘Be my guest. Do you need any pyjamas?’

Pete snickered. ‘I’m hot enough without.’ Then he frowned and peered at himself in the mirror. ‘Hmm. Perhaps you’re right. Sleep it is. I’ll need to get up at six o’clock, so I can go home and change. Wake me then, will you?’

Edward walked across and set the bedside alarm for six, knowing he’d still have to come and drag Pete out of bed, by which time he’d be wide awake himself.

‘And if Fran doesn’t let me back in, I’ll break the bloody door down. That’ll teach her.’

‘That’d be stupid. Get the concierge to use his master key.’

‘It’s my door. I can do what I want with it.’

Even before he left the room, Edward heard deep breathing. His cousin had always had the capacity to fall asleep within seconds of putting his head on the pillow. He only wished he shared the same gift. It was half an hour before the glowing numerals on the bedside clock began to blur.