Where There's Smoke (1997)

by Simon Beckett

  Alex finished writing. He straightened and considered the form for one last time before passing it across to the doctor. She put it with the others on the clipboard. "Right," she said, smiling with easy confidence. "The next step is for you to give us a sample, so we can check that you aren't azoospermic. That means you either have a very low sperm count or no sperm at all," she explained, when Alex looked doubtful. "It's a routine test, but we obviously have to make it. You can book an appointment with the receptionist on the way out."

  She tilted her head. "Unless you want to make a start straight away?"

  "Now, you mean?" Alex looked horrified.

  "The sooner you start the better, really. And there's no point in having to make any more journeys than you have to, is there?"

  The doctor's expression was bland, but Kate wondered if she wasn't taking a subtle revenge for Alex's insistence over the consent form.

  "If you'd rather leave it till next time it's okay," Kate said, seeing him flounder.

  "Uh, yes, I—I think I would."

  His face had gone crimson. Dr Janson smiled.

  Kate telephoned from the clinic for a taxi to take them back to the station. The gravel drive crunched under their feet as they went out to the main gate to wait for it. After the hospital's air-conditioned chill, the sun's heat was smothering. Kate could feel the hot prickle of sweat breaking out. They walked in silence to the shade of the horse-chestnut that overhung the stone-pillared gateway. The spiky yellow nuggets of conker shells were already visible among the splayed, leathery leaves.

  "You okay?" Kate asked.

  Alex nodded, without looking at her. "Fine."

  They fell silent again. Patches of bright sunlight dappled through the leaves, like hot coins where they fell on Kate's bare arms.

  "You don't mind, do you?" Alex asked, suddenly. "I just wasn't expecting to have to…you know, to start today."

  "It's all right, I wasn't expecting you to either. Just come whenever it's convenient for you."

  She realised the double-entendre as soon as she had spoken, and went on quickly to cover her embarrassment. "I mean, I know you'll have to fit the trips in with work and everything. I don't want you to go to any more trouble than you have to."

  "It won't be a problem."

  The drone of a car engine became audible. A taxi was pulling up the hill towards the clinic. They moved out from beneath the tree as it approached, but it went past without stopping. The sound of its engine trailed away in the heat. They stood for a second or two on the pavement edge, staring after it, then went back to the tree's shade.

  "What do your parents think about this? About what you're doing?" Kate asked.

  "My parents?" Alex seemed startled. "Oh, I haven't told them."

  "Are you going to?"

  "No, I don't think so."

  "Wouldn't they approve?"

  He looked up through the leaves, squinting into the light. "No." Then, as if he felt this wasn't enough, he added, "They aren't prudish, I don't mean that, and they've always been really supportive. But something like this is…Well, you know."

  "So you aren't going to tell anyone?"

  He was silent for a moment. "I'd tell my grandmother, if she was still alive. She'd be pleased. No one else, though."

  Kate saw a small piece of twig caught in his hair. She almost reached out and removed it before she stopped herself. "Were you very close?"

  Alex nodded, absently. Then he looked at her, concerned. "Not that I'm not close to my parents as well. I don't want to give that impression. It's just that my grandmother was…" He was self-conscious now. "Well, she was special."

  Another taxi was approaching the clinic. This time they watched until it indicated and pulled to a stop.

  "I think this one's ours," said Kate.

  They were quiet for most of the journey back to London. Alex sat opposite her, staring out of the window, swaying slightly with the movement of the train. His eyes were sleepy, half-lidded against the sunlight angling into his face through the glass. He looked vulnerable, Kate thought, much younger than the thirty-four she knew him to be.

  A sudden lurch roused him. He turned and caught her staring before she could look away. She smiled.

  "There's a piece of twig stuck in your hair," she said. He looked bewildered. She pointed. "You've got a twig caught in your hair."

  "Oh. Right."

  He pulled it out. "Thanks."

  He looked around for somewhere to put it. She could see him considering the seat, the table and the floor before he dropped it in his pocket. "No bin," he explained, with an embarrassed smile.

  Kate hid her amusement by searching in her bag. She pulled out a white envelope and passed it across to him.

  "There's a cheque in there for your expenses," she said. "I've based it on train fares for fifteen visits to start with, plus taxis to and from both stations."

  Alex held the envelope without opening it.

  "If you want to work out how much you think I'll owe you for your time, I'll be happy to pay that in advance as well," she offered, seeing his expression.

  "No! I didn't mean…"

  He hurriedly put the envelope down on the table. "I told you, I don't want paying for this."

  "I don't expect you to do it for nothing."

  He shook his head. "I can't take money from you."

  "In that case we'd better forget about the whole thing."

  She had meant it lightly, but Alex looked as though she had slapped him. "It's only your travel expenses," she said, smiling to show she hadn't been serious. "We can discuss a fee later, if you like. But I can't let you be out of pocket."

  She pushed the envelope across the table towards him. "Now, please, no arguments. I insist."

  He was clearly unhappy, but after a second he picked it up. "Okay. If you're sure."

  He put the envelope in his pocket, still unopened. Kate glanced out of the window. "We'll be at Euston in a few minutes."

  She cleared her throat. "Look, I don't quite know what to say, but…well, I really am grateful for what you're doing. Thank you."

  Alex kept his head averted. "I'm glad to do it."

  Kate hid her embarrassment behind a no-nonsense tone. "All the same, I really appreciate it. And I'll find out from the clinic how many extra visits you have to make, and send you a cheque."

  He looked up, sharply. "Aren't we…I mean, won't I see you again?"

  "I don't think there's any point."

  She was unprepared for how blunt that sounded. "If there are any problems, or anything you want to ask, you can always ring me. You've got my number. But I don't expect there will be. And the clinic'll keep me notified with how things are going."

  "Oh…yes, I suppose…yes, you're right."

  They didn't speak again for the rest of the journey. When the train pulled into the shadow of the station, they avoided looking at each other as they left their seats and filed out of the carriage with the rest of the passengers. The platform was hot and airless. Kate turned and held out her hand. "Well. Thanks again."

  Alex took it. His palm was hot and dry, and she remembered the other occasion on which she had shaken it, outside the restaurant the first time she had met him. She pushed the memory to one side. His blue eyes were troubled as he looked at her. He seemed about to say something, but then he dropped his gaze. "Bye."

  Kate let go of his hand with a last polite smile, and set off down the platform. She wished she had waited until they had reached the concourse to say goodbye, because now they both had to walk in the same direction anyway. But there was no sound of his footsteps following hers. She told herself it was the claustrophobia of the busy platform and the diesel fumes that suddenly seemed depressing, and determinedly walked faster.

  She heard someone running only a second before the shout.

  "Kate!" She turned around. Alex slowed as he reached her, and the urgency on his face gave way to confusion.

  "Look, I was just wondering…" he began,
breathlessly, "I mean, if not, it's okay, but…" He seemed to gather himself. "Well, I—I just wondered if you wanted to go for a—a drink some time?"

  Kate didn't even need to think of reasons why she shouldn't. It was far better to make a clean break now, rather than invite complications later. There was no point delaying it.

  Alex stood in front of her, nervously waiting for her answer. She smiled. "I'd like that."

  CHAPTER 11

  The summer burned itself out. The days were bleached by a sun that scorched grass and cracked the earth, while the nights hung unmoving in a breezeless haze. Newspapers ran features on global warming and droughts, and garden hoses were sneaked out after dark to sprinkle desiccated lawns and plants away from the censorious eyes of watchful neighbours.

  Kate began to see Alex regularly, once a week to start with, but then more often as the reserve between them slowly dropped away. The results of his first sample and set of blood tests came back clear, and he began his trips to the clinic, going once or twice a week as far as Kate could tell. He still hadn't cashed the cheque for expenses, though, she saw when she received her bank statement.

  "I said I'd take it, I didn't say anything about cashing it," he told her with a grin, when she confronted him. She argued, but this time he was insistent. "We can sort it out later," was as far as he would commit himself.

  He rarely alluded to the visits, and Kate didn't press for details. She knew he was sensitive about them, and didn't want to risk embarrassing him. She had spoken to Dr Janson after Alex's first session at the clinic. It had not gone well. "Non- productive" was the term Dr Janson used.

  "Nothing to worry about," she had told Kate. "It happens to quite a lot of men. They find the whole idea of masturbating to order a bit off-putting at first. Especially in a hospital cubicle."

  Kate had decided against asking Alex about it, realising that was probably the last thing he needed. He made no mention of what had happened, but cried off from meeting her as they'd arranged, claiming he had too much work. He sounded tired and depressed, and the faint stammer, which had become hardly noticeable, was more pronounced than ever.

  Her relief when the clinic told her there had been no problems with his next sample was as much for his sake as for her own.

  They continued to go out together. They would meet in some pub or wine bar, generally one with a garden, where they could sit outside in whatever cool there was.

  One night Alex convinced her to go to an arthouse cinema in Camden, where they sat in sweltering discomfort and watched The Wicker Man. Afterwards, Kate joked that in the final conflagration scene Edward Woodward had probably been cooler than the audience. They spent the rest of the evening good-naturedly arguing the point in a Chinese restaurant.

  She didn't admit to herself how much she looked forward to seeing him. It was one thing to appreciate her luck at having found a donor she liked and respected, but Kate veered away from considering the extent to which she enjoyed his company. When she thought about it at all, she rationalised that it was only natural to want to know him better, so that she could one day tell her child (and the thought of her child still gave her a little dip of vertigo) what sort of person its father was. There was nothing wrong in that, she told herself. But she didn't think about it too often.

  Only once was there a slightly discordant moment, and at the time Kate thought little of it. She had met Alex for a drink, and as they found a table in the pub's beer garden she noticed a smear of black on the back of his Levi's. "Have you got decorators in at work?" she asked.

  "No, why?"

  She grinned and nodded at the patch. "You've got paint on your jeans."

  "Where?" He craned around to see.

  "At least I think it's paint," she said. "It might be ink."

  Her grin faded. Alex was staring at the black patch. His face was drained of colour.

  "What's the matter?"

  He quickly straightened. "Nothing. I—I just…" The colour was coming back into his face now. He sat down. "I d-didn't know it was there, that's all." His stammer was noticeable again.

  "It might come out," Kate said. "You might be able to buy some sort of cleaning solvent if it's ink -"

  "It isn't ink."

  She was surprised at his vehemence. He dropped his eyes. "I mean, I think it's p-paint. I—I must have leaned against something."

  Kate gave an uneasy nod of acceptance as she sat down. She regretted having pointed it out to him, although she couldn't see why it mattered what it was, or why it should have upset him so much. But the brief awkwardness raised between them by the incident soon faded in the warm evening. It was probably just embarrassment at meeting her in paint- or ink-stained jeans, she decided. She never saw him wear them again.

  They saw quite a lot of Lucy and Jack. Alex enjoyed playing with the children, and he and Jack would preside over barbecues in the back garden with varying degrees of success. Lucy was pleased but exasperated by Kate's relationship with him, even though Kate insisted she didn't have one.

  "You don't have to justify seeing him to me," Lucy said once, when Kate grew defensive. "I think it's great. I just can't understand why, since you obviously like the bloke, you're still intent on using the poor bugger as a donor. I mean, what's wrong with having it draught, like everybody else?"

  "Lucy!"

  "Well, I'm sorry, but it seems odd to me. I mean, have you slept together yet?"

  Kate's face grew hot. "That's none of your business!"

  "So you haven't," Lucy said, blithely. "Why? What's wrong with him? He's not queer, is he?" She held up her hands before Kate could object. "All right, sorry. I mean gay. But he isn't, is he?"

  "No!"

  "So why don't you sleep with him, then?"

  "Because we're just friends!"

  It sounded trite, even to her, but she doggedly refused to admit there was anything more than friendship between them. The ground rules of their relationship had been set at the beginning, by her, and since Alex seemed content to abide by them, Kate didn't let herself so much as consider an alternative.

  One hot and restless Sunday, though, Kate broke with routine and phoned him to suggest they go for a picnic. She was mildly surprised to feel nervous in case he said no, but he didn't. They caught a train to Cambridge, where they bought a bottle of wine and baguettes filled with cheese and salad, and queued on the steps of the river for a punt. They took turns in poling the unwieldy, flat-bottomed boat upstream, laughing at each other's clumsiness, until they reached a relatively quiet spot in which to picnic. Kate almost overbalanced climbing onto the bank, and when Alex grabbed her arm to steady her, the sudden contact embarrassed them both.

  She busied herself unwrapping the sandwiches, while Alex uncorked the wine and poured it into paper cups.

  He had taken a camera with him, and unobtrusively snapped Kate before she knew what he was doing.

  "Right, in that case I'm going to take one of you," she said, and, over his protests, took the camera from him. She caught him in the frame, grinning and flushed from the sun, looking absurdly boyish in his white T-shirt and faded jeans.

  The fine silver chain he wore around his neck gleamed in the sunlight. Kate had been meaning for some time to ask what he wore on it. She was about to now, but before she could phrase the question a middle-aged Japanese man detached himself from a family group and came over. Smiling, he pointed to himself, then to Kate and Alex, and mimed taking a photograph.

  "I think he's offering to take our picture," Kate said. The man nodded, still smiling as he reached for the camera. A little uneasily, Kate relinquished it and moved next to Alex. The Japanese man motioned them to stand closer together. They edged nearer to each other. Kate felt her bare arm brush Alex's. He smelled of sun-heated flesh, deodorant and, ever so faintly, of fresh sweat. She remained aware of the contact as they both grinned, self- consciously, at the camera. The Japanese man pressed the shutter and handed the camera back.

  "Thank you," Kate said. The
man smiled again and bobbed his head, then went to where his family, a woman and two teenage boys, stood waiting.

  The camera went back in its case, like a dangerous toy, while the two of them ate their picnic.

  It clouded over as they took the punt back. The first fat drops of rain began to spatter on the steps leading up from the small wooden quay. They took cover in a nearby pub as the drops became a downpour, and other people ran inside for shelter. They managed to find a table overlooking the river before the pub became too full, and watched as the water's smooth surface splintered into fragments. A flash of light lit the copper-coloured sky, followed by a crack of thunder a few seconds later.

  "Don't suppose you've got an umbrella handy, have you?" Kate asked Alex, and for some reason that struck them both as funny. They laughed helplessly as the other customers gave them curious glances, and the storm clamoured overhead.

  Afterwards, Kate was always to think of that as the end of summer. The sun returned in the wake of the rain, but now with that subtle change in light that comes when the season has peaked. The mornings became fresher, and the evenings were shattered by more storms that spiced the air with ozone and the mustiness of rain on hot pavements. In the space of a week it was autumn.

  The trees began shedding leaves, stirred by breezes that carried a chill hint of winter. Nights grew darker, afternoons dusky and seasoned with the smokiness of autumn.

  On bonfire night, Kate and Alex arranged to go to a firework display with Lucy, Jack and the children. But the day before, Lucy phoned to say that both Emily and Angus had been stricken with chickenpox.

  Alex sounded disappointed when she told him. "There's no reason why we can't still go," she said. "Is there?"

  They met in a pub near the park where the display was being held. Kate laughed when Alex presented her with a packet of sparklers. "God, I've not held one of these since I was a kid."

  He smiled, pleased with her reaction. "That's the point of bonfire night. We can pretend we're kids again without anyone thinking we need locking up."

  They left the pub and made their way through the park towards the fire. The night was hazy with woodsmoke and sulphur. Exploding rockets peppered the sky with sounds like tearing cloth. As they drew nearer, the pungent smells of the hot dog and burger stalls threw their weight into the atmospheric stew. They bought jacket potatoes and mulled wine, and made their way through the crowd towards the bonfire. It towered behind a cordon of ropes, throwing a stream of sparks into the sky. A lifelike guy was slumped in a chair balanced at the top, smouldering but not yet alight. One gloved hand, buffeted by the heat, moved disturbingly up and down, as though trying to beat down the flames.