by kendra Smith
‘Well, yes and no. They took some tests—’
‘What tests?’
‘If you let me finish, Susan.’
‘Sorry, yes.’ Back to being nine years old.
‘Just a minor exploratory op, really, but he needs to—’
‘To what, Mum?’
‘They think it’s gall bladder. We won’t know any more till the results come back after Christmas. Thought you’d want to know.’
‘Yes, of course I do. I had no idea.’ Somehow, she felt shaken.
‘No need to be dramatic, it’s just a small test but as it’s Christmas I thought I’d call and catch up.’
‘Right, well thanks for telling me, Mum – is he there?’
‘No, he’s off down the dry docks, repairing the boat, says he needed to get out the house. And how are you all?’
Suzie thought about this question and decided, for once in her life, that maybe she wouldn’t put the ‘perfect life’ veneer on it. For once, she might actually be honest with her mother.
‘Rex’s job is a bit tricky at the moment, actually – in fact he’s been suspended, the dog’s a lunatic, I’ve been asked to take a break from work because I messed up with a client and we’re having a baby with a surrogate.’
Silence.
‘What did you just say, darling?’
‘You heard me, Mum.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Like you told me about Dad?’
‘Point taken, but who’s this having your baby? What do you mean, Susan? They only do that in America, don’t they?’
Suzie carefully explained to her mother about surrogacy – about the clinic in Southampton. She told her Charlie was a ‘friend’ – and as they had a final embryo, it was their only hope. But even though she was trying out a new honesty with her mother for size, she didn’t tell her that it still made her feel inadequate, that while Charlie’s body was doing everything it should as a woman, Suzie wondered why God had bothered putting fallopian tubes in her at all, why she had a womb, why she was born with eggs that didn’t seem to work when they were put back into her body from a test tube.
She sighed. ‘So, that’s what we’re doing. When can I see you and Dad? When will you get those results?’
‘In two weeks.’
‘Well, call me, keep me informed, won’t you? Or, um, maybe you could visit? Now that I’m not working?’
‘Yes,’ said her mother brightly. ‘Actually, that would be nice, darling, I’ll talk to your dad and let you know a date, but I must go now.’
She stood up and put the phone back on the charger, she could smell a warm spicy aroma coming from the kitchen and a clattering of baking trays with Ramone humming in the background. Life is short she realised. She hoped her dad was all right and decided the next time she called her mother, to make sure they’d come. Various thoughts swilled around her mind. What would happen to their baby if she died? If Rex died? Would it go back to Charlie? She closed her eyes and sunk down onto the sofa, just as she saw Rex stride across the driveway in his cycling gear, swing his leg over his bike, and cycle off.
47
Dawn
The drive to the hotel was in silence. Eric clutched the wheel and didn’t say much; his mind seemed to be elsewhere. Great start to our ‘lovely weekend away’.
Dawn shook herself. She wasn’t used to the lack of noise, the stillness of the car without the children. She (almost) missed their lively chatter and Nerf war arguments. They’d left them at home with Joyce. Dawn had moved all the cat food to underneath the sink and reminded Joyce it was only for the cat. I can cope, darlings – you two need some time together! Enjoy your Christmas present!
They were going to Ludgate Manor & Spa, one of Hampshire’s best five-star country hotels. Joyce had chipped in for the present, and it included a ‘his ’n’ hers’ massage and, Dawn had noticed when she’d been peering at the website, ‘his ’n’ hers’ fluffy bathrobes. What fun. There were also pictures of beautifully made-up beds, some with rose petals on them, lots of rather stuffy golfers parading about as well as a lovely pool in the spa.
They’d been driving for about fifty minutes, along narrow country roads; tiny leaf buds were just beginning to form on some of the trees, and on the grass verges clumps of snowdrops had just appeared. It was an amazingly bright, sunny day for late January with blue sky stretching overhead like a giant awning. There was still a hard frost clinging to the grass on the top of a few fields as they sped by. It was like a grassy patchwork quilt made up of darker sections where the sun hadn’t reached yet, and lighter mossy green where the sun had warmed the grass.
She watched a robin, perched on a wooden five-bar gate, ruffle its feathers as they stopped at a junction, then hop down amongst the snowdrops. Dawn loved snowdrops; they heralded the end of winter, signalled that tiny movements of life had started, that hibernation was coming to an end. To her, spring meant new beginnings. The evenings were just that tiny bit lighter, oh, only by minutes, but it all counted.
What new beginnings will Eric and I have? She hoped this weekend was a start. She straightened her skirt over her lap, looked out the window and hummed a little tune to herself.
‘Looking forward to it, darling?’ She touched Eric’s hand on the steering wheel.
‘Hmm? Yes, of course. You?’ He smiled briefly at her.
‘Yes, the spa looks nice – I’ve booked us a “his ’n’ hers” massage.’
‘Right.’
He could be a bit more enthusiastic. She turned away from him and stared out of the window again. He was working so hard at the moment, never had any time for her; by 9.30 he was normally asleep on the sofa. Last night he came in at 10.30, took a shower (Eric never had showers at night; he was more of a bath man, through and through) and crashed straight into bed.
‘Eric?’ She realised when she said it, it sounded like a mother about to scold her child, or to ask about a recent French test mark.
He looked at her sideways. ‘Mmm?’
‘You know your Friday nights…’
‘Oh, my lively Fridays with the accountant, yes?’ He laughed in rather an odd way. There was a faux jolliness about it that unnerved her.
‘Well, it’s just—’ But before she could finish, a cyclist seemed to come out of nowhere, overtake, then swerved left in front of them to take a side road. Eric narrowly missed him. ‘Christ!’ shouted Eric, whilst veering off to the other side of the road to avoid him.
‘Bloody lunatic!’ muttered Eric as Dawn craned her neck to look at the cyclist. It was Rex! Her heart missed a beat, just a tiny one, but she felt it. She studied him powerfully making his way up the steep hill on the left, his calf muscles bulging with the effort of such a gradient, as he stood up in the saddle, sweat on his lower back.
‘That was Rex! You nearly hit him!’
‘You’re joking.’ Eric turned to look at her. His face was red. ‘He should stick to the bloody gym! Stupid idiot!’
‘No, he isn’t!’
Something in her tone made her stop as Eric glanced sideways at her.
After a few more twists and turns they saw the brown tourist signs and pulled into a golf course. The hotel was surrounded by acres of green velvety grass, housing an eighteen-hole course, one of the best in Hampshire. Neither she nor Eric played golf, but she was sure the spa would make up for it.
‘Looks lovely,’ she ventured leaning back in her seat. She stared at her husband, looked at the creases around his eyes, his grey hair clipped neatly around his ears, his white T-shirt underneath a soft grey jumper, and wondered who they both were these days. A trial Saga magazine had come in the post for Eric before Christmas. You’d have thought he had pulled a dead goldfish out of the envelope by the look on his face. But Eric is fifty-five; we can’t hide it any more, she realised. We need to face up to getting old.
Dawn stared out of the window gloomily as a tense atmosphere settled over the car.
*
‘Now, we
just move you a little to the left; zat’s it, Mr Hughes.’ The Polish therapist was trying very hard to relax Eric. Anyone would think that Eric found lying face down on a bed dressed in paper pants stressful.
‘Some of the clients, zey like to hold hands?’ she cooed at Dawn.
‘No, no that won’t be necessary,’ muttered Eric quickly, keeping his hands firmly tucked under his thighs.
The other girl came into the room and told them her name was Eva. She smoothed down Dawn’s towel and tucked it into her pants. Dawn had made sure she was wearing her best pants, not the comfy blue M&S ones, which had never recovered from going in with the towels at sixty degrees; they were reserved for housework or gardening days. Come to think of it, she was wearing them more and more. At one point, she wouldn’t have let Eric see her dead in them. These days, she didn’t think he even noticed her in her pants any more; he was always asleep when she got into bed.
She reached out and touched his arm as their beds were still close together. Eric jumped.
‘All right?’ soothed Eva, looking over. ‘Please relax.’
She was hoping the massage would de-stress him. She’d read about the conditions it treated: eczema, no; sleeplessness, sometimes; digestive problems: might help Eric’s bad wind; arthritis: not so far; senile dementia: not yet… menopausal symptoms – she had instantly clicked the window shut on that one. That word was everywhere.
‘Mrs Hughes? What oil would you like? Your husband, he is taking orange peel oil – it’s good for excessive wind. I see that on his booking form. And you? You like the patchouli, no? Helps ageing skin,’ purred Eva. Dawn let out a sigh of resignation and inhaled the slightly sickly aroma of patchouli as Eva set to work.
After the massage, they both went upstairs and lay down on the giant bed covered in a goose down duvet and fell fast asleep. The massage had, in the end, been wonderfully relaxing. Dawn woke with a start about 8 p.m. to find Eric snoring very loudly next to her.
She felt a bit disappointed. She tiptoed over to the mini-bar and opened it up. She hesitated, then pulled out a half bottle of champagne and popped the cork. The noise woke Eric up with a start.
‘Dawn! What are you doing! That will cost a fortune! Nobody drinks champagne from a mini-bar.’
She ignored him and poured out two glasses and walked over to him. ‘Well, we do! Cheers!’ They were going to have fun. Damn and blast this other woman. She was going to show Eric a good time. ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Eric, dinner’s nearly over! We’ve both been asleep. We need to get going,’ she said as she took a huge gulp.
He rubbed his eyes and stared around the room. ‘Last thing I remember is some woman pouring hot oil on my back.’ He smiled, raising his glass to her. ‘That was nice – but I don’t think I’ll be wearing paper pants again!’
She grinned and wandered over to the bathroom to take a shower. She was looking forward to this evening.
48
Charlie
I’m lying on the sonographer’s chair, trying not to think about the baby growing inside me. Of what it will look like at twelve weeks. The atmosphere was delicate in the car. Suzie was trying so hard – I could see that – attempting small talk about the drive, about the weather. About how cold it was for mid-February.
But I wasn’t thinking about the weather in the car, about how icy the roads are; I was thinking about baby names, about the baby shop. About Daniel. Things are so awkward in the car with us now – he hasn’t got back to me about the driving lessons and I don’t feel I can ask again. And now I’m thinking I mustn’t cry.
I’ve been dreading today. I don’t want to look at the baby. I don’t want to connect with it. I don’t want to see that tiny body, a reminder that what’s inside my body is a child. I remember the last time… how alone I felt, how every happy and sad feeling I had were like clothes all jumbled up in the tumble dryer of my brain, whooshing around, tossing themselves in the air; one minute, a blaze of euphoria, the next minute sheer panic. I remember how hard it had been.
This is not your baby.
I’ve been so teary this time. It’s probably the hormones. I’ve been feeling terrible off and on ever since I’d found out the test was positive. Was some of that in my brain? At the sheer enormity of what I’m doing? At the risk I’m taking? Gloria has been amazing. Finishing off my shifts, buying me cups of tea.
‘Charlie?’ Suzie asks abruptly, like a mother would to a child. ‘Are you all right?’
I quickly shuffle into another position and wipe away a tear so she can’t see.
‘What’s wrong?’ There’s a hint of panic in her voice that I don’t like. I smile at her to put her off, but she’s seen the look on my face.
‘I’m just tired.’ I glance away. Despite the money, despite the ‘detachment’ I thought I could muster, I’m growing close to this baby and there’s a feeling I can’t place, a surge of emotion being dug up from the past.
‘Right, the jelly might be a bit cold.’ The sonographer cuts through my thoughts.
The icy liquid oozes over my belly and I flinch. She holds the probe over my abdomen and looks up at the screen. ‘There, do you see?’
Right in front of us is a little pumping heartbeat, the spine. ‘Here are the tiny legs.’ She beams at me and then turns to Suzie. It all seems so fuzzy: an eerie bluey black and white image of the miracle of life growing inside me, there. Beneath my skin lies a baby, with a heartbeat, nestled inside my womb, tucked away and protected from the harsh world outside me. By its mother.
I glance at Suzie in the dim light. Tears are streaming down her face. Stay detached. The sonographer smiles at us both. ‘Everything is fine, beautiful little baby. Do you want a photograph?’
At exactly the same time as I say ‘no’, Suzie says ‘yes’.
I wish with all my heart that I could turn back time.
*
Silence fills the space in the car between us, the dashboard and the steering wheel. I half expect Suzie to be nattering away with army-like efficiency about to-do lists, what I should eat, that I should lie down or something. I’d prefer that to the quiet.
‘Suzie? Are you OK?’ Shouldn’t she be asking me that?
She’s looking straight ahead, clutching the steering wheel. Her huge diamond rings are glinting in the sun and her knuckles are white.
‘I think I should be asking you that question,’ comes the abrupt reply. ‘Why the tears, Charlie, why?’
‘Oh,’ I say, trying to be positive, remembering this woman who is sitting next to me is my chance of a future with Tyler. I don’t want to answer her question. ‘It looks like we are going to have a healthy baby; you should be delighted. You can show Rex that scan picture tonight. I was just crying with happiness.’
‘No, you were not,’ she says quietly.
I stare out the window and feel angry, hot and bothered, but I need to keep calm as every bone in my body is feeling such a pull of protection, such a huge love for this tiny being it’s scaring me.
‘Let me put the scan pictures in your bag,’ I say hurriedly not wanting to make things any worse. I carefully make sure I slip one inside Suzie’s bag.
The other picture is safely tucked inside my jeans pocket.
*
We pull into the side of the road opposite my house, the two of us linked now in this biological arrangement, especially after the scan, seeing the tiny life growing inside me, getting bigger every day. I walk past the rotting mattress, past the window boxes on the ground, which needed weeding and replanting.
‘Cup of tea?’ I say as I take my coat off. I don’t know whether Suzie plans to stay or not. I need to be civil.
‘Sorry, Charlie, about earlier,’ she says following me into the kitchen, ‘it’s just much harder than I thought.’
She slumps onto one of the kitchen chairs and looks at me as I fill the kettle up. ‘Have you any idea how much it hurts? Hurts that I want to be pregnant, that I want a baby inside me, that I want to feel like a woman?
Anyway,’ she sighs deeply, looks round the kitchen and seems to remember where she is. I need to try and explain at least a little bit so she doesn’t freak out.
‘Yes, but it’s not easy for me either, because of last—’
Suzie shoots me a stern glance.
‘Well, I mean, you know, the sickness, the hormones – everything.’ I put a mug of steaming tea next to her and the milk carton.
Suzie visibly relaxes and takes a deep breath. ‘Sorry, yes I suppose so. You know, I was just remembering how Rex was when I showed him an early scan we once had,’ Suzie suddenly says, unexpectedly opening up, pouring milk into her tea. ‘The early one we had at ten weeks, when I was, when I did manage to get pregnant.’ She falters. ‘That one time… Rex never cries, you know? Never. He’s the sort of man who will have an arm amputated and only be slightly teary.’ She smiles. ‘Anyway, he did that night.’
I sit down next to her and she looks up at me. ‘He cried his eyes out. That night, he went to bed with the scan pictures. You almost couldn’t make out the baby, it was so tiny, but they’d suggested an early scan, in my case.’ Suzie lays the teaspoon down. ‘Rex seemed to have allowed himself to actually believe we were having a baby by then, because we had pictures. He kept saying to me “Look at it, Suzie” – it was such a joyous time after all the failed attempts.’ She smiles a tight smile at me. ‘But it wasn’t to last.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘We really want this baby, Charlie.’ She stares at me and blinks a few times, her enormous lashes framing wide eyes.
‘I know you do.’
‘To say that it means everything to us would be an understatement; I saw your face at the scan, I saw the look in your eyes and I was terrified, Charlie, terrified.’
‘I’m full of these hormones the clinic gave me, remember.’ I think quickly. ‘I’m exhausted, I’m…’
‘Not going to – to – keep the baby, are you?’ Suzie’s voice falters as she says this.
