Simon Beckett - Where There's Smoke

Blushing, he fished the omelette out of the glass and set it on the edge of his plate. “So how did you get into PR?”

The blush was fading from his face, now. It made him look very young, Kate thought.

“Oh, I just drifted into it, I suppose,” she said. “I’d done a couple of years of an English degree, but then my parents died quite close to each other, and I dropped out. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after that, so I worked at a few places and then got a job at a PR company.”

“How long have you had your own agency?”

“Two years, now.”

“What sort of work do you actually do?”

He was looking at her with genuine interest. His manner had changed, becoming more confident now that he was asking her questions. There was no trace of the earlier hesitancy in his speech.

“Do you mean, who do I work for? Or what does it involve?”

“Both, really. It isn’t something I know much about,” he admitted.

“Well, we handle all sorts of accounts, anything from small record companies and publishers, who want to get somebody reviewed in newspapers or interviewed on TV and radio. Or it can be somebody who’s got a particular product that they want to publicise. The biggest account we’ve got is a charitable trust who want us to raise their profile as subtly as possible, but most of our clients want as much publicity as they can get.”

“So how do you go about it?”

“It varies from client to client but generally it revolves around catching people’s attention. It doesn’t matter if it’s a press release you’re sending to newspapers and magazines or a poster campaign, it’s got to be something that grabs their interest straight away. You’ve got to make sure you’re hitting the right targets, too, and be prepared to keep plugging away at them until they sit up and take notice.” She smiled. “Or until your budget runs out.”

He had his chin propped on his hand, watching her as he listened. “Do you enjoy it?”

Kate thought. “Yes, I suppose so. It has its ups and downs. You tend to find you don’t have much time for anything else, though. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have all the pressure.”

She stopped, surprised at the admission. Alex was still looking at her, waiting for her to continue. She turned her attention to her salad to cover her embarrassment at being drawn out.

“To get back to your background,” she said, businesslike again. “Do you have any family history of illness? You know, diabetes, anything like that?”

“Uh, no, not that I know of. My grandmother had arthritis, but not until she was in her seventies.”

Kate nodded, trying to remember what else she needed to ask. The questions she had prepared eluded her. She clutched at one. “Why do you want to be a donor?”

He appeared taken aback. “Well, I don’t know. It seemed like a good thing to do. It doesn’t hurt me, and if I can help somebody, then... you know, why not?”

“Have you donated sperm before?” Kate refused to let herself be fazed by saying “sperm” to a complete stranger. “Or given blood?”

“N-no, no, I haven’t.”

The syncopation was back.

“Then what made you decide to now?”

“Uh, well...” A flush had crept into his face. “It, er, it wasn’t something I’d even thought about before I saw your advert, really. But I suppose I like the idea of, well, fatherhood without the ties.”

“You could have the same thing by going straight to a sperm bank.”

He seemed flustered. “I know, but... Well, it might sound stupid but that’s all a bit too anonymous.” His face was very red now. “I wouldn’t like the thought of letting just anyone have my... my child, if you know what I mean.”

It had never occurred to Kate that a man might feel the same way she did. “You do know that you wouldn’t have any of a father’s rights, don’t you? You’d still only be the donor. The child wouldn’t legally be yours, and there wouldn’t be any contact between us afterwards. Assuming we go ahead, obviously.”

“Yes, I understand that.”

“And it’ll mean a lot of inconvenience. The clinic’s in Birmingham, and you’ll have to make a lot of trips. They need quite a few... quite a few samples.”

He nodded acceptance.

“I’ll pay expenses,” Kate went on, briskly, shutting out the thought of what she was discussing. “For your time as well as travel. I’ll pay you either a flat fee or a daily one each time you go.”

Alex shook his head, emphatically. “I don’t want paying.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to do it for nothing.”

“I’d be doing it because I want to.”

Kate decided not to argue. She still hadn’t decided anything yet, so there was no point. “You’ll have to be tested for things like HIV and hepatitis,” she continued. “And you’ll have to go back for a second HIV test after six months. They won’t actually go ahead with the — er — the treatment until you’ve had that.”

He looked startled.

“Is that a problem?” Kate asked.

“Oh, no, it’s just... I didn’t expect it to take so long, that’s all.”

“They do the same tests on every donor. It isn’t any reflection on you personally.”

“No, no, it’s okay, really. I just didn’t realise. But it’s no problem.”

Kate tried to think of what else she had to say. Nothing came to mind. “Is there anything you’d like to ask?”

Alex minutely repositioned his knife and fork on his plate. Except for the piece he had dropped into the glass, his omelette was still untouched. “Are you married?”

Kate stared at him, levelly. “Why?”

He was disconcerted by her reaction. “Sorry, I–I know it’s none of my business. I just wondered if you were doing this because you were single and wanted to, or whether you were married and your husband was... was...” he gestured with his knife, stepping around the reference to sterility “... wasn’t able to have children,” he finished. “Your advert didn’t say one way or the other.”

Her face had become hot. “Does it matter?”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

He was so obviously reluctant to offend that Kate relented. “No, I’m not married. I’m doing this because I want to.”

“Good. I mean, you know, good for you.”

Kate studied him for a few seconds. He picked up his knife and fork and half-heartedly began to cut up the omelette.

“Why are you so nervous?” She had asked the question without intending to.

He shot her a quick look. “I’m not nervous. Not really,” he amended, as though realising there was no point denying it. “I’ve just, you know, never done anything like this before.”

He looked so chagrined that Kate couldn’t keep from smiling. “It isn’t something I’ve made a habit of, either.”

He glanced up at her, then smiled himself. “No, I suppose it isn’t,” he acknowledged. His smile faded. “I expect you’ll have interviewed quite a few other people, though. I mean, I know I won’t be the only one and... Well, it’s a bit nerve-racking, that’s all.”

Kate didn’t correct him. He had gone back to playing with his omelette. His face was serious again.

“Is this so important to you?” she asked.

He didn’t speak for a moment. Kate got the impression he was wrestling with the answer. Then he looked across at her. His eyes were a darker blue than Lucy’s. “Yes,” he said, simply.

“Why?”

He looked down at his plate. “I want children. I’m just not... I’m not the marrying kind. I’m not gay, it’s nothing like that. I just can’t see myself settling down and having a normal family or...” His voice tailed off, as though he had changed his mind about what he was going to say. “This seems like the next best thing.”