9,59 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
A stolen child. A family torn apart. When a new feature on Pete Newbury's popular TV programme shows his adult image digitally transformed to that of a young child, Beth is shocked to realize that he's her 'baby' brother, who vanished without trace thirty-eight years ago. Her mother has grieved ever since but bringing their family back together after so much heartache isn't going to be easy. Pete Newbury's is shocked to the core by the revelations the new segment brings to light. Has his whole life been a deception?
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 448
Ähnliche
In Focus
Anna Jacobs
Contents
Prologue
It seemed a day like any other. Beth Harding got up at six o’clock and stared out of the window. Another grey London day. Would spring never come? She made a mug of tea and went to check her emails before work. Living alone meant she could do as she pleased in the mornings.
Today there was an email from someone called ‘lostgirl’. She nearly deleted the message, then previewed it and choked on a mouthful of tea.
Hi, Mum, I’m all right. I know you’ve been worrying but I had to get my head together. Give my love to Gran.
Jo
PS. In case you think this is a joke, I still remember my dog, Libby.
Beth read the email again, printed it out and carried the piece of paper into the kitchen with her, pressing it against her cheek as if that would bring her closer to the daughter who had run away from home at the tender age of sixteen. She’d heard nothing from Jo since.
Three whole years of worrying!
Tears welled in her eyes and everything around her turned into a blur. Suddenly she was sobbing, a harsh, ragged sound that seemed to echo through the flat.
By the time she’d calmed down a little, the message she’d printed out was bubbled and blotched with her tears.
Her daughter was alive! Alive!
Until this moment Beth hadn’t even known that, though she’d hoped. You had to hope. Three years ago Jo had gone out one day and not returned. She’d taken a few of her possessions, but left most of them behind. The police investigation had got nowhere and none of Jo’s friends had seen or heard from her since.
Beth’s marriage had broken up the year before Jo vanished, but Shane had joined her in night watches for their daughter, searching places where down-and-outs congregated, visiting hostels. They had both been desperate for anything that might give them a clue, anything at all. They’d even forgotten their differences and grown to be almost friends again.
Shane now lived in Canada, was married to a much younger woman and had two small children. Beth was still on her own and at forty-three, she had no intention of risking another relationship.
As she made another mug of tea, she murmured her daughter’s name like a mantra. ‘Jo, Jo.’ More tears welled in her eyes, leaving cool trails down her cheeks. It was wonderful news, but painful. She didn’t doubt that the email was genuine because of the dog’s name. Jo had loved that dog, been desolate when Libby died.
Beth hadn’t realised how passionate teenage rebellion could be, because she’d never been free to rebel, had always had to be sensible. Maybe she should have gone a bit easier on Jo after the divorce. Or maybe not. She could live with an untidy home, but not a dirty one. And though she could also live with Jo being sexually active from an early age, however much she disapproved, she didn’t want a series of randy young guys bedding down in her flat. She’d freaked out the first time she bumped into a strange man in the corridor. She and Jo had had the first of their bad quarrels over that.
She sighed. What use was there in agonising over the past? It was another country. She wasn’t sure who had said that, but it fitted her situation.
Although she knew the email off by heart, she read it again anyway. The message was painfully short. There was no clue as to where her daughter was, or if she was ever coming back again.
She’d thought it would be enough simply to know Jo was alive, but it wasn’t. She ached to see her only child again, be with her.
After a quick check of the time, she rang Shane. He’d not received an email from their daughter, but he sobbed at the other end of the line when she told him Jo was still alive.
She didn’t reply to her daughter’s email … not yet. She had to think carefully what to say, didn’t want to drive Jo away again.
Chapter One
Two years later
Normally the six-storey building was deserted when the cleaning team came in, but Beth was surprised to see lights at one end of the top floor even though it was ten o’clock at night. She waited in the basement car park, only getting out of her car when the two other cleaners arrived, because she always felt nervous if she had to be out alone late at night.
One of them greeted her with a friendly grin. ‘Hi, boss! Coming to keep an eye on us, are you?’
Beth smiled back. ‘Pam couldn’t make it tonight and all my relief staff are busy.’ She occasionally filled in when someone called in sick. It kept her in touch with her staff and she knew they respected her for not being afraid to get her hands dirty. ‘Which floors shall I take?’
‘Pam always does the top two.’
They walked in together, setting more lights blazing.
On the top floor of the building, Beth checked the large, cluttered room in the small corner suite belonging to the IT company Aldeb, since this was where she’d seen lights. It had even more computers and pieces of equipment crammed in than last time she’d been here. She’d met the two young owners, Al and Debbie, before, so relaxed when she saw them hunched over their computers. A guy in a suit was sitting in the corner, drumming his fingers on the desk and looking bored.
Debbie turned to smile at Beth. ‘Sorry. We’ve got a glitch in the new program and we’re still trying to sort it out. Can you clean round us? We don’t mind the noise and it won’t hurt to leave a few metres of floor untouched for one night.’
‘No worries. I’m doing the top two floors, so I can start on the fifth and come up here last.’
Just as she was about to tackle their part of the sixth floor, she heard a yell of triumph from the corner and turned to smile at their joyful faces.
Debbie beckoned to her. ‘We think we’ve fixed it but we need to test it out. Would you mind helping us? It’ll only take a few minutes.’
‘Goodness, I’m no expert on computers.’
‘We don’t need your expertise; we need your face.’ She chuckled at Beth’s puzzlement. ‘Our new program turns older faces back to children’s, or vice versa – and it’s about eighty per cent accurate, as far as we can work out, unless someone’s had plastic surgery, of course.’ She brandished a camera. ‘If we take a photo of you and turn it into you as a child, you’ll know whether it’s a good likeness, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Beth had intended to refuse because she was exhausted, but was intrigued by the idea. ‘Oh, OK. I’ll do it. But the cleaners usually go out to our cars together for security reasons and the others won’t want to hang around after their shift is over. Could one of you walk me out to my car afterwards?’
The man in the corner spoke. ‘I’ll do that.’
She studied him. Tall and looked a capable sort. Yes, she’d feel safe with him. ‘Thanks. And you are?’
‘Edward.’
‘I’m Beth. Back in a minute. I need to tell the others not to wait for me.’
When she got back, Al photographed her and Debbie asked a couple of questions about how she’d looked as a child.
‘I had blonde hair and I was scrawny.’
As they fiddled around with the computer, Edward continued to watch. He was good-looking in a quiet way, wearing a smart business suit with his tie loosened. The other two were dressed extremely casually, and Al had dreadlocks tied in a bunch at the back of his head.
Beth was suddenly conscious that it was the end of a long, hard day. What a time to have a photo taken! She must look a real mess. Then she shrugged. As if that mattered!
But when she sneaked a look at her reflection in the big glass windows, she realised she looked haggard as well as untidy. And for the first time in ages, that did matter, for some reason.
Edward watched the woman lean against a cupboard and study the two programmers. She was gaunt, looked weary, and her clothes were crumpled beneath the cleaning company overall. He’d not have given her a second glance if it hadn’t been for her eyes: big, brown and surprisingly beautiful in a face that was bleached bone-white with exhaustion.
He was tired too. Managing his celebrity cousin wasn’t the easiest job on earth, though it did pay well and – just as important to him – led him into some interesting experiences. This wasn’t one of them. He’d been marking time here all evening while Al and Debbie fiddled around with their computers.
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 smart 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 TV show, he’d have gone home hours ago and left them to it, but it did. Excellent potential. And once his cousin got word of something promising, he didn’t let go. Trouble was, Pete sometimes went overboard about 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 disasters 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 keeping a check on the early shift from the office, then, instead of going home, filling in for Pam this evening. The current flu virus had hit her 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.’
She looked up in surprise as Edward 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, and it was lighter than now.’
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?’ Edward 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 a breath in astonishment. This could have been one of her old family photos. She realised 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 that 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?’ Beth asked.
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 at the next change.
‘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 about it, even though they tried to keep their voices low. You couldn’t mistake that sharp tone in their voices. 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, still had to watch over her, because without support, her mother might collapse again.
Beth pushed the painful memories away and forced her tired, aching body upright. 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. ‘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 fully. 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 personal information. What was the point? What were the chances they’d 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’t you 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 boot 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 might have 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 and 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 realised.
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 she had of her daughter. One of them resembled her own teenage self on the geeks’ computer. It was ironic that Jo, too, had vanished. Beth wondered sometimes if she was destined to lose everyone she loved.
But Jo was alive, at least. She had that to comfort her and since that first contact, her daughter had been sending 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 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.
Unlike Pete.
‘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 her husband. 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, then 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 leant 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 in the morning.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Two o’clock 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.
He woke to the sound of the alarm beeping in the next bedroom and went to drag his cousin out of bed, then put on some coffee.
By the time it was ready, Pete had dressed and joined him. He poured a cup of black coffee and took a long gulp, hot as it was. ‘Thanks.’
‘Considering how drunk you were when you arrived here, you look amazingly fresh and alert.’
‘Yeah. I never get that morning after stuff.’
He gave Pete money for a taxi and breathed a sigh of relief when he had the place to himself again. It was still too early to go into the office, so after clearing up the kitchen, he went down to the excellent basement gym that went with these prestigious apartments.
He doubted Fran would have kept Pete locked out for more than a few minutes last night. She knew which side her bread was buttered on.
And Pete knew that too. So what sort of statement was he making to her by spending the night elsewhere? The games those two played lately did Edward’s head in.
He got on the treadmill and started his exercise programme. Other people were working out, but to his relief, no one wanted to chat.
Chapter Two
The following week Beth had to fill in again for the same cleaner. Pam was becoming unreliable. Have to watch that, she thought.
There was no one in the IT suite, so presumably the computer program had been fixed and they’d gone home tonight like everyone else. She wondered what the software would be used for that was so hush-hush. Pete Newbury’s show was very popular.
The problem of what they’d do with all those faces niggled away at her as she cleaned that floor of the building.
Jo would have said, ‘Get a life, Mum.’ Her daughter had certainly gone after a life more to her taste, at least, she assumed Jo had. But it wasn’t the sort of life Beth would have wanted. She enjoyed her peace and quiet.
Well, she usually enjoyed it. Tonight she felt restless. Tired, of course, but not ready to fall into bed yet. She switched on her computer and her heart did a flip when she saw a new message from Jo. They always upset her and yet she needed to see them regularly, yearned for them.
Things are OK, Mum. Stop worrying. Shall I come and visit you one day? Would you like that?
Jo the Wanderer
Tears filled Beth’s eyes. Couldn’t Jo send longer messages than this? But it was the first time her daughter had ever hinted at them seeing one another again. Scrubbing her eyes, she told herself not to be stupid. This was good news, wasn’t it? Of course Jo would come back to see her one day. She had to believe that. She sent a message straight back.
Hi Jo, Always lovely to hear from you. Come any time. Longing to see you again.
Mum
Beth wanted to write more, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. Anxiously she reread her message. Was it all right to say, ‘longing to see you’? Would that worry Jo? She had to be so careful.
As she clicked on the send button, she suddenly realised why Jo’s messages were so short. Her daughter must also be treading warily. That was a good sign – wasn’t it?
The rest of her emails were mainly to do with business. The only other one she really welcomed was from her friend Renée. Smiling, she opened it.
Don’t forget you’re coming to dinner on Saturday. No excuses.
Renée
Beth had forgotten about it, because it’d been a hell of a week, but she was more than ready for a bit of socialising. Renée threw great dinner parties and knew some interesting people. And her partner, Sergio, was an excellent cook. Of course, there was always the risk that Renée might try to pair her up with some guy, which had happened a few times, but Beth was more than capable of saying no.
She had to go into the office on Saturday morning, but spent the afternoon pampering herself. Renée wouldn’t have called a hasty manicure and hair wash ‘pampering’, but that, together with a bit of eye make-up and a dab of lipstick, was as far as Beth usually went in the beauty stakes these days.
She frowned at her reflection in the mirror when she was ready. She should do something about her hair, have it cut at least. And the dress which had been a perfect fit last year now hung loosely. She’d known she’d lost some more weight but hadn’t realised how much.
Renée would tell her off for that. Her friend had marked views about what magazine pictures of skinny girls were doing to the female body image and how women owed it to the younger generation to stay looking like real women not pre-pubescent teenagers.
But Beth had the opposite problem to most women she knew: she found it difficult to keep her weight up, and she’d got even thinner since Jo had left home.
Oh, what the hell! This was what she was like – scrawny – and other people could like it or lump it.
The dinner party was fun. Beth could feel herself relaxing, not because of the alcohol that was flowing freely but because of the pleasant company. She enjoyed a drink, two if the wine was a good one, but that was it. She didn’t have much tolerance for alcohol and hated feeling hungover the day after.
Renée had tried to matchmake and the guy was better than usual: not good-looking and slightly shorter than Beth, but fun to talk to. She’d guess Daniel was a little younger than her, but he was old enough to be of interest. She found herself agreeing to have dinner with him the following week.
But she didn’t let him take her home after the dinner party and would only give him her mobile number, arranging to meet him at the restaurant.
‘Are you always this cautious?’ he asked with a smile.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Should I provide references?’
‘How long have you known Renée?’
‘A few months.’
‘That’ll do. And it’s not you. I’m always cautious with new people, while Renée sees the best in everyone.’
‘And do you always see the worst, Beth?’
She frowned, not sure what to say to that, then shrugged. ‘I’m not good at choosing men to date. I’ve had a couple of bad experiences since my husband and I divorced.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘But you don’t need to worry. It was an amicable split in the end and I won’t bore you with tales of how rotten my ex was.’
He inclined his head. ‘Neither will I because I’ve never actually got as far as marriage.’
Daniel walked her out to her car without needing to be asked, which was another mark in his favour.
By the time she got home, she was wondering if she really wanted to bother dating anyone, but knew if she backed out now, Renée would kill her. Anyway, she’d probably have a pleasant evening with Daniel and it could end there if she chose, which she probably would.
She backed into her parking space, checked there was no one else around and hurried to the lift, relieved as always when it arrived quickly. This was supposed to be a safe area, accessible only by residents who had the remotes that controlled the wire mesh barrier gate, but you never knew who could break in.
It irked her she was always so nervous after dark, but she wasn’t going to any counsellor over something so minor, whatever Renée said. She was doing all right – more than all right – and didn’t intend to rock the boat. She had a good job, a nice flat and a few close friends she really cared about.
It was enough.
Edward took Pete along to a demonstration of the finished computer program the following week. Al and Debbie had prepared regressions of themselves to start off with, then one of Edward.
‘Do one of me now!’ Pete said. ‘We could start off with that on the show.’
They watched as the photo of Pete as a man was regressed into a teenager.
‘That’s me!’ he crowed. ‘That’s just what I was like! Go on. Make me younger.’
They obligingly turned him into a child of about eight.
‘Can you turn me into a baby?’
‘It’s not very accurate with babies. They change too much. The lowest we can get with any accuracy is about two or three, and even at that age the success rate is markedly lower.’
‘Do a three-year-old me, then.’
He studied the resultant photo, head on one side. ‘That’s great! It’s actually very like me. We’ll use it on the first show to give people a taste of what your software can do.’
Edward watched the two youngsters – well, they seemed young to him – nudge one another and exchange quick, delighted glances.
‘Do you want to see what you’ll look like when you’re older?’ Al asked.
‘Hell no! I don’t even want to think about that.’ Pete glanced at his watch. ‘Got to go now. Fran will kill me if I’m late. Edward, will you see to all this?’ He waved one hand at the computer screen.
‘Yes.’ Naturally Pete didn’t pick up on his annoyed tone of voice. Lately his cousin only seemed to see himself – a self-image more influenced by his publicity than by reality – and he’d always been a bit lazy about details like the legalities and financial arrangements for using the program.
To Edward’s surprise, the two developers would only agree to lease the software, not sell it to him. They were more savvy about business than he’d expected, for all they looked like they hailed from a ’60s hippy commune. He didn’t want to cheat them, but he did want to make sure no one else in the entertainment industry could use their software while Pete wanted it, because if things went well, the new segment might have potential to be franchised across the world, which would benefit all of them.
Of course other software developers had similar programs, and he’d checked them out, but he’d never seen one that was nearly as accurate.
It took a while to sort everything out and, of course, it’d then have to go to the various lawyers, but he was happy with the ground rules they’d established.
Since he’d come in Pete’s car, Edward decided to stroll back to the office to pick up his own vehicle. He’d welcome a brisk walk after a day spent mainly in meetings.
He took a roundabout route and when he got there, saw the cleaners going in. It wasn’t Sherbright Cleaning Services, though.
Why did he keep thinking about the woman he’d escorted to her car? Was she any less tired this week? She must be really short of money to take on extra work in the evenings. She had the sort of face it was hard to forget – not pretty, she’d never be pretty, but strong. And she looked at you directly with those beautiful brown eyes, had an honest gaze, if there was such a thing. He was a sucker for eyes.
His ex had beautiful eyes. He was still fond of her, but she’d hated the long hours he worked. When they’d spent two years trying in vain for a baby, they’d found a childhood illness had left him unable to father children.
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 don’t seem to rouse that special feeling in women, and they don’t go for me much, 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 escort occasionally to formal functions and she didn’t want a permanent relationship.
‘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 using 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. ‘My company, 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 leant back, smiling. Daniel was right. There was no spark, but she’d had a nice time. 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 once again 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 Pam 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 had been 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, like families reuniting, that sort of thing, and celebrity tales, though 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 her 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 twenty-one now, 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 for TV. They’d always given her hope that she might have one too someday.
The phone rang just as Beth was going out the next morning. She hesitated, seeing it was a withheld number, then picked it up, praying it’d not be someone calling in sick. But no, it wasn’t the forwarding service.
‘Hello?’
There was silence, someone breathing quite heavily, but just as she was about to hang up, a voice she’d recognise 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.’
‘Where’s he living now?’
‘Canada.’
‘Crazy. He always hated snow.’
‘His wife’s from there and she wanted to be near her family. I can give you his address and number, 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 leant 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, was 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.
Chapter 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 before. 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 in time to watch it, but she decided to record it anyway, just to be safe. Picking up the TV guide, she found the listing and circled 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 ad break, he 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 that sort of 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 light brown 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, to 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 the 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 burnt 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?’
Beth wished he’d stop repeating himself.
A still photo of Pete’s 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 T-shirt. He looked about fifteen.
‘From now on, the blue T-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 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 mother?
Annoyed by the ad 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 T-shirt.
‘Now,’ said Pete, ‘here’s a photo of me at twelve.’
A photo of a lanky, grinning youth came up. He’d not yet got his man’s breadth but was very recognisably Pete Newbury. After a moment the screen split in two to show the computer image of the same age and the real photo.
‘Ninety per cent,’ Beth said aloud.
The audience oohed and aahed.
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 T-shirt. He reminded her of someone, she couldn’t think who.
‘I’m about eight now,’ Pete said. ‘Let’s see how the virtual me compares to the real me.’
A real photo of him came up next to it and Beth said in amazement, ‘Still ninety per cent. I can’t believe this.’
Pete 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.’
