In Focus (2009)

by Jacobs, Anna

  A year later she’d left him for a guy who already had two children and worked regular hours, even if he didn’t bring home nearly as much money. She’d had a baby within the year and another two years later, and seemed much happier now. Edward rang her sometimes or she rang him, just to catch up.

  It didn’t worry him that he had no children – well, most of the time it didn’t – but he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life alone.

  Tonight his flat seemed to echo around him. He frowned as he studied it. As far as he was concerned, minimalism sucked big time as a decorating style. The place had been like this when he bought it two years ago and he’d intended to have it redecorated, but hadn’t got around to it. Maybe it was time to take that in hand. He’d prefer something more cosy, with big comfortable armchairs.

  But achieving that would mean a lot of fuss and upheaval. It would have to wait until he wasn’t as busy, until the rest of his life was more to his liking.

  He hadn’t said a word to Pete, but he didn’t intend to work as his cousin’s business manager for more than another year at most. He needed new challenges, was tired of the role of minder. In fact, he’d been feeling restless for a while now.

  The dinner date with Daniel was pleasant enough but there was no chemistry between them, even though Beth once again enjoyed his company.

  He smiled at her as they sat over their final cups of coffee at the restaurant. ‘No sparks flying between us, eh?’

  She blushed. Just what she’d been thinking, though she’d not have put it so bluntly.

  He patted her arm. ‘I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m simply not highly sexed. I’m not gay, definitely not. But I don’t seem to rouse that special feeling in women, and they don’t go for me big time, either. I do make a good friend, though, if you’re interested.’

  ‘You’re very frank.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m comfortable with myself. I find you interesting to talk to and one can’t have too many friends. We could meet occasionally for the pleasure of a chat. You may need an escort to a function or I may. You know what it’s like when you’re single and everyone else has a partner. Or you may just fancy going out for dinner, seeing a movie. What do you think?’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ She could definitely do with an occasional escort to formal functions and she didn’t want a permanent relationship. She had enough on her plate without that.

  ‘I’ll drive you home.’

  ‘I live on the other side of town. It’d be more sensible for me to take a taxi.’

  He pulled out a card and presented it to her Japanese-style, in both hands. ‘As you wish, but take this. It has my details and you can check me out, if you’re still nervous.’

  She glanced down at it and couldn’t help laughing. ‘Sherbright has just won a cleaning contract with your company.’

  ‘There you are. My references are in order, then.’

  He hailed a taxi, saw her into it and waved as the taxi drew away.

  She leaned back, smiling. Daniel was right. There was no spark, but she’d enjoyed his company. It was good to get out every now and then. Maybe she’d invite him round to dinner with some other friends. She owed Renée, for a start.

  Her friend would no doubt ring up tomorrow to find out how the date had gone, and once she found out the truth, would start producing other single guys. Well-meaning friends could be a pain sometimes. Just because they were happily partnered, they thought everyone else wanted to be.

  Two weeks later the same cleaner called in sick at the last minute and Beth had no option but to fill in for her again. The flu epidemic was over and ‘a cold’ was not a good reason for letting people down, in her opinion. If this woman continued to be unreliable, the company would have to replace her.

  Again, the top floor was lit up and Beth found Al and Debbie bent over their computers. They waved at her cheerfully.

  ‘More problems?’ she asked as she dusted round them.

  ‘No. But we’ve leased the program and need to make a few adjustments for our client, who wants it, like, yesterday.’

  ‘It is for Pete Newbury, I take it?’ Who else could it be when his business manager was there watching the demo?

  Debbie hesitated. ‘Yes. But don’t tell anyone. This is for a new segment on the Pete Newbury Show and it’s still very hush-hush.’

  Al grinned. ‘Nice chunk of ongoing royalties for us if it takes the public’s fancy.’

  ‘How are they going to use it?’

  ‘They’re considering a mixture of heart-warming sob stories and celebrity tales. They’ve not decided on anything yet. Maybe they’ll try a few things and see what goes down best with the public. Pete’s dead keen on it, anyway, which is what matters, and it’s definitely going to be part of the new series, starting in a few weeks’ time.’

  ‘I must try to watch it.’

  Beth got on with the work, pleased to have some of her curiosity satisfied. It had been fascinating to see them regress her own image to childhood. Perhaps she really would watch the show, though she’d have to record it. She’d guess that Pete Newbury was on to a winner here.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she could use a program like that herself, to get an idea of what Jo might look like after five years. Her daughter would be a woman of nearly twenty-two not a teenager. Should she ask them to help her?

  No, that was too private a matter. And anyway, if Jo really did arrange to see her, she’d find out soon enough what her grown-up daughter looked like.

  But she would watch the show. She wasn’t interested in celebrity gossip or scandals, but she was a sucker for family reunions engineered on TV. They’d always given her hope that she might have one too some day.

  The phone rang just as Beth was going out the next morning. She hesitated then picked it up, praying it wasn’t someone calling in sick. But no, it wasn’t the forwarding service. It was a withheld number.

  ‘Hello?’

  There was silence, someone breathing quite heavily, but just as she was about to put it down, a voice she’d recognize anywhere said, ‘Mum?’

  ‘Jo. Oh, darling, how wonderful to hear from you!’ Beth’s voice hitched on the last words and she clapped one hand to her mouth to hold back sobs.

  ‘You don’t sound any different.’

  ‘Don’t I? Well, you don’t, either.’

  ‘I am different, though, Mum. I’ve grown up quite a bit. You’re not – still mad at me?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Running away from home.’

  ‘I’ve been more worried than angry. Worried sick, in fact. Are you really all right?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve got my act together now, I think. When’s the best time to phone you?’

  ‘After nine at night. I’m working crazy hours at the moment.’

  ‘How’s Dad?’

  ‘All right, I think. We don’t contact one another very often. You have a half-brother who’s three and a half-sister who’s not yet one.’

  ‘Where’s he living now?’

  ‘Canada.’

  ‘Crazy. He always hated snow.’

  ‘His wife’s Canadian and she wanted to be near her family. I can give you his address, if you like. He’s still got the same email address.’

  ‘No, don’t bother. I just want to connect with you at the moment.’

  There were voices in the distance, then Jo said, ‘Got to go now, Mum. I’ll ring again.’

  And before Beth could even say goodbye, the connection went dead. She put the phone in its cradle and leaned on the kitchen bench, breathing deeply, desperately trying not to cry. But it was no use. She did cry, good and hard.

  It wasn’t every day your long-lost daughter proved beyond doubt that she was still alive and, best of all, still speaking to you.

  When Beth arrived at work, her friend Sandy, who ran the office with ferocious efficiency, said at once, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Why?’

  ‘You’ve been crying.�
�

  ‘Well, I had some good news this morning, bittersweet but good.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘Jo phoned me.’

  And began crying all over again.

  Three

  Two months later Beth caught a promo on TV about an exciting new segment coming soon to the Pete Newbury Show. It didn’t give details, but let drop plenty of hints which made it clear it was the photo regression program she’d seen that night. She’d thought about it a few times, she had to admit, not least because it had brought back memories of her missing brother.

  This season the show was going to be on later in the evening, so in theory she’d be home at that time, but she decided to record it anyway, just to be safe. Picking up the programme guide, she found the listing, circling it in red. There. Maybe after she’d seen how tacky it all was, she’d be able to stop thinking about it.

  By the day of the first show, she was tired of seeing promos about the new segment, but at least that meant she didn’t forget to record it.

  Work was busy and everything seemed to conspire to stop her getting home in time to watch the programme live, but in the end she made it through the door with exactly two minutes to spare.

  Grabbing an apple, because she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten, she picked up the remote and tuned in, sighing with impatience at the introduction and adverts.

  Pete’s smiling face filled the screen and she relaxed as she watched the first part of the show.

  After the adverts break, Pete said, ‘And now, the surprise you’ve been waiting for: a new segment called Who Am I? Life can move people on so quickly they sometimes lose touch with their families and childhood. If they’ve lost the family photos they might not even know what they looked like as a child. We’re going to introduce you to people from all walks of life who’re in exactly that situation.’

  He paused then added, ‘Maybe you can get involved too, and help us to help them. If you were one of their neighbours and have photos, you could make a big difference. Or maybe you’re part of the family they lost. Or you could have been a close childhood friend. Wouldn’t you like to help?’

  He always looked so relaxed, Beth thought. She wished she could be as open and friendly as that with the world. She studied him, head on one side. He didn’t look at all like his cousin Edward, who was much leaner, with dark hair; Pete had fair hair and though he wasn’t plump, he wasn’t slim, either.

  ‘To do this, we’re going high tech. A few months ago I heard of a new computer program. It can take a photo of an adult face and regress it to the child’s face, doing so with a fair degree of accuracy. Impossible, I thought. And yet . . . what if it really could do what it promised? So I looked into it, and guess what? It can. It can also move forward in time to show what people might look like when they’re older, but who wants to know that?’

  He paused again for the studio audience to laugh. ‘So . . . using this program we’ve got a lot of stories to investigate and people to help. We’re relying on you, the viewers, and can’t do anything without your help. I think you’ll find it very rewarding, as I do.’

  The audience applauded again. Someone was probably holding up a sign to them, Beth thought cynically.

  ‘Before we start, I’d like you to meet Al and Debbie, the program’s developers.’

  He gestured with one arm and the view changed to the two, who were as weirdly dressed as ever, sitting behind a computer.

  ‘And now, let me give you a demonstration of what our program can do.’ His brilliant smile faded a little. ‘I volunteered to be the first guinea pig, because I’m one of the people who don’t have any photos of themselves as a young child. Our family house burned down when I was about three, you see. I really wanted to see what I was like then.’

  He was openly wistful now. ‘There must be other people in the same situation, or far worse. Why don’t you get in touch with us? We may be able to connect you with your past or even find your families. The computer program is about eighty per cent accurate. Just think of that, four chances out of five that they’ve got it right. Pretty good, eh?’ He turned his head slightly. ‘Ready to roll, guys?’

  A still photo of his head came on the screen, while in the background he continued to talk them through the process. The same rippling that Beth had seen before began and gradually a much younger Pete Newbury emerged on screen, wearing a bright blue tee shirt. He looked about fifteen.

  ‘From now on, the blue tee shirt will be the clue that this is the computer-generated image. I’ve brought along an actual photo of myself as a teenager. We’ll see how it matches up after this advert break.’

  In a waiting area behind the set Edward sat next to his aunt. He glanced up at the monitor, surprised it wasn’t on, wondering how the show was going, then looked back at her.

  At seventy, Sue Newbury usually radiated good health, but he was getting worried about how pale she was tonight.

  ‘You look nervous. You don’t have to go on if you don’t want. I can do the segment for you, if necessary.’

  ‘Pete would be furious if I didn’t do what he wanted. You know what he’s like. This show is his baby. And anyway, you couldn’t do it, from what he’s said. It’s something to do with when he was a boy.’

  ‘But you don’t want to go on television, do you?’

  Sue shook her head.

  ‘Why did you let him persuade you?’

  ‘I think Pete could persuade a mountain to move across to the next valley, if he really tried. And I owe him so much. He bought me that lovely house after Donald died, keeps me in comfort and—’

  A young man with a clipboard came into the area. ‘I’m Gerry, here to take you through. Ready, Mrs Newbury?’

  Sue took a deep breath and stood up, smoothing down her skirt with a hand that trembled slightly.

  ‘No need to be nervous,’ Gerry said brightly. ‘Everyone’s very friendly and we have a lovely studio audience. I’ll show you where to go. Oh, just a minute.’ He darted across to switch on the monitor.

  Edward frowned as he settled back to watch the next segment. Why had the monitor been switched off while his aunt was here? Why hadn’t Pete told her exactly what they were doing?

  He had a bad feeling about this. Why the hell did Pete have to involve his own mother?

  Annoyed by the advert break just as it was getting interesting, Beth nipped out to make herself a cup of instant coffee. She couldn’t believe how this segment had grabbed her attention. Was it just her or were other people similarly engaged by the concept of helping people to find their lost childhoods and maybe even their lost families?

  When the show began again, they quickly reprised what had happened – as if you’d forget during such a short break, she thought in irritation – after which they showed the computer-generated image of Pete in a blue tee shirt.

  ‘Now,’ said Pete, ‘here’s a photo of me at fifteen.’

  A photo of a lanky, grinning youth came up. He’d not yet got his man’s breadth but was very recognizably Pete Newbury. After a moment the screen split in two to show the computer image and the real photo.

  ‘Ninety per cent,’ Beth said aloud.

  The audience oohhed and aahhed.

  The present-day Pete came back on the screen. ‘Marvellous, isn’t it? Now, let’s take it a step further. Let’s regress me to a child.’

  More rippling, backed by music designed to build tension. Beth frowned as a younger lad appeared on the screen, again wearing a bright blue tee shirt. He reminded her of someone, she couldn’t think who.

  ‘I’m about nine now,’ Pete said. ‘Let’s see how it compares.’

  A real photo of him came up next to it and Beth said in amazement, ‘Still ninety per cent. I can’t believe this.’

  He came back, still with that rather wistful smile, which was very unlike his usual grin. ‘As I said earlier, I don’t have many photos of myself as a very young child, due to a house fire. So I wondered what I’d looked like at two or three. The makers
of the program don’t guarantee as close a match at this age, preferring to use ReGress only to go back to about six years old. But I couldn’t resist trying it anyway. After all, a man does like to know the little boy he was. Thanks to my mother, I was able to tell them my hair colour, because young children’s hair can change, but the rest is down to our fabulous IT team and ReGress.’

  He held up his hand. ‘Just one more thing before we turn our computer experts loose. We always like to verify that the images we get are true to life, so I’ve asked my mother to join me for this segment. She’s the only one left who’ll know if it really does look like me at that age.’

  He gestured and stood up as they brought an older woman on to the set. Moving across, he gave her a hug then swung them both round to face the cameras. ‘This is my mother, Sue. She doesn’t know exactly what we’ve been doing, but she’ll remember what I looked like at the age of three. Won’t you, Mum?’

  Beth saw his mother throw him a startled glance. Surely he’d told her what he was doing?

  He walked her across to his seating area, with its famous dark purple armchairs. ‘Come and sit down, Mum. I’ve got something fascinating to show you. Pity Dad couldn’t have been here with us tonight, eh? But perhaps he’s watching from up there.’

  When he explained the details of what was going to happen, his mother stared at him in utter horror.

  Beth stared too. ‘Horrified’ was the only word to describe Sue Newbury’s expression, which seemed rather an extreme reaction to what was only light entertainment, after all.

  ‘I don’t think we should do this, Peter,’ Sue quavered. ‘It’ll bring back too many memories.’

  ‘Just bear with me, Mum.’

  More rippling then the screen settled down to show a little boy with white-blond hair, staring at the camera in a way Beth recognized. The image wasn’t exactly like her little brother, but it was close, very close indeed. How bizarre! But then a lot of little boys looked like that at three, surely?

  ‘How like me is it?’ Pete asked.