Singled Out (25 page)

‘Did you actually hit her, though?'

‘Yes. Yes, I suppose I did. The thing is … after an incredibly long preamble we finally made it to bed and … she started to touch me and … well, I knew absolutely then that that wasn't what I wanted. But she persisted, making advances, and I pushed her away … rather too forcibly, I guess. That's when she got the black eye.'

‘Mm. And when you left me, you went straight to Craig's?'

Tom nodded, glowing with the memory. ‘Straight to Craig's, and straight to bed. No doubts then. When sex is right, it all feels so incredibly natural, doesn't it?'

‘Yes,' Laura agreed, a little wistfully. ‘And, Tom, when you talked to me about not being able to change the nature you were born with, you were talking about your gayness?'

‘Of course. What else did you think I was talking about?'

Laura gave a little shake of her head, indicating that it wasn't important. ‘And that dossier, all that research you'd got under your bed …'

‘Yes, that was my big project. You never talked about my father, where I came from. For some reason I didn't want to ask you directly, but I wanted to know. There was no way I wasn't going to be curious about it. And then I found out about my grandparents.'

‘But why … with those photographs … why did you include the one of Emily?'

Tom shrugged. ‘It was just the likeness. It seemed strange that all the women who were connected with my life looked so alike. I don't know, it was almost as if Emily had been singled out to meet me.'

‘Singled out for a worse fate than that,' said Laura grimly.

Tom looked subdued and took a sip from his beer. ‘That's still … I'm still finding it hard to come to terms with that. I mean, whatever I thought of Emily … she's the first, you know, of my generation … I mean, to think of someone of my age being dead, it's …'

Laura reached across and took her son's hand. With the other he wiped brusquely across his eyes. Time for the conversation to move on.

‘What put you on to' … She couldn't bring herself to say ‘your father' … ‘the man who died in the police cell? Did you find that cutting I'd kept?'

He nodded.

‘And did you know that he was your father?'

‘I suspected it. I couldn't be sure. It spooked me sometimes, because the implication was definitely there that he'd killed Melanie Harris …'

‘And you were worried that the evil might be hereditary?'

‘What?' Tom looked at his mother in total puzzlement, then laughed. ‘Good heavens, no. I don't believe in that sort of rubbish. The thought never occurred to me.'

So all Laura's care about keeping the truth of his origins from her son had been wasted. He had known the worst, and it hadn't worried him. If only they had been able to talk earlier. If only she had been honest and told him the truth.

‘And what about Pauline Spanier, Tom? How on earth did you make the connection with her?'

‘When you know nothing about your origins, you'll go to great lengths to find anything. I started reading papers from round the time of my conception. I found out about this strangling, and by then I was beginning to see some kind of pattern emerging.'

‘Did you suspect Kent at that point?'

‘No. It was all vague. I knew there was something there, but I couldn't make it all tie in.'

‘Hm. Well, well done. I think you'll make a very good journalist, Tom.'

And Laura Fisher looked across at her son with pride. He was more separate from her now than ever. But he was his own person. A person with whom, in time, she might be able to form a relationship.

‘Absolute fucking crap!'

‘It's all very well for you to say that, Rob, but see it from my point of view. I've read books which would define me as the classic case. No strong male presence around while he was growing up – no male presence at all, really …'

‘Except for little
moi
.'

‘And you don't count.'

‘Thank
you
. Charmed, I'm sure.'

‘Anyway, then me as the dominant mother, preoccupied with my career … I mean, it could easily be that an upbringing like that would –'

‘“My mother made me a homosexual”?'

‘Yes.'

‘That remark, Laura, is only good for one thing, which is as a feed for the graffiti which continues, “If I gave her the wool, would she make me one too?” Otherwise, it is, as I said, absolute fucking crap!'

‘Well, you –'

‘Listen, every gay I know – and I do know quite a few, dear – has known his sexual orientation virtually from birth. Some try to fight it, like Tom did, but deep down, we all know. It's nature, Laura, not fucking nurture.'

‘Oh, well, if you say so.'

‘I do say so.' A wistful look came into his faded eyes. ‘And lucky Tom's got that hunk Craig. You know, I wouldn't mind a bit of that.'

‘Don't think you stand a chance. Picture of domestic bliss, those two. Do you know, last weekend they were actually out choosing three-piece suites.'

Rob chuckled wheezily. Then suddenly he turned on Laura, his face pulled into an expression of injured martyrdom. ‘Why didn't you bring me any fucking grapes, you mean cow?'

‘Because you're getting better.'

‘Don't you believe it. OK, this lot of chemotherapy seems to have staved it off for a little while. It'll be back.'

‘May not be.'

‘Huh. I'll put money on it. Not going to be much use to you as a partner, though, am I?'

‘We'll see,' said Laura, though she had long since reconciled herself to the fact that she would always be running Lewthwaite Studios on her own. If Rob did come through, he was never going to be strong enough for the stresses an active partnership would involve.

‘How are things going down at the coalface?' asked Rob.

‘Oh, I survive,' said Laura.

And she did. Laura Fisher was a survivor.

Keeping the studios profitable got harder and harder. Television technology was changing so fast that the equipment she had originally fitted quickly became obsolete. To stand a chance against the opposition, she had to put herself further in debt and buy in the latest computerized editing machines.

But Laura Fisher was a worker, and she worked. The prospects for getting back into documentaries receded as she moved further away from the hub of the television business, but her training courses became more and more successful. With the income from those and the hire of facilities, Lewthwaite Studios slowly turned the corner into economic health.

Philip moved in with her soon after Kent's death, but three months later they split up. Three months after that, Philip, realizing the hopelessness of ever finishing his vaunted history of world broadcasting, went back to New Zealand. There, a year or two later, he married the mistress he had kept through Julie's long illness. He didn't love her, the sex was nothing near the magic he had shared with Laura, but she was familiar and she would look after him in his old age.

Laura Fisher missed Kent more than at times she could believe. A part of herself had died with him, and the sense of emptiness did not go away.

She never had another lover. She had been single too long to make room in her life for anyone else.