by Julie Cohen
Romily stared at her. Silence hung between them.
Then Romily put her head down on the table and burst into tears.
Claire reached out to touch her, then took her hand back. Then, seeing how weary, how defeated the other woman looked, she did touch her on the shoulder. ‘Romily, please don’t cry.’
‘Sorry,’ said Romily, to the table. ‘Sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s the hormones, and the sickness, and the lack of sleep and … everything.’
‘It’s okay.’ Claire gave her a napkin.
‘It’s not. I shouldn’t complain. Not to you.’ Romily took the napkin, wiped her nose, and sat up. ‘Let’s get out of here. The smell of coffee is making me want to puke.’
Claire got up and she and Romily went to the door together. Claire grabbed a few extra napkins on the way out and handed them to Romily.
‘Thanks. Oh God, I’m a mess.’ Romily laughed shakily as they stepped outside.
‘You’re not feeling well. Shall we walk to the park?’
‘Okay. I think the fresh air will help.’
They didn’t say anything as they made their way to the park near the centre of town, with its Victorian borders and mossy fountain. A crowd of teenagers sat on the lawn below a CCTV camera post, defiantly passing around fags and a bottle of vodka. The women found a bench facing the bandstand, away from the scent of smoke, and sat down.
‘I didn’t mean to have a go,’ Romily said. ‘Some of the things you’ve sent have been really nice. I like the cocoa butter cream.’
‘But not everything.’
‘Well … let’s say it’s not all to my taste. But I shouldn’t have yelled at you about it.’
‘Point taken,’ Claire said. ‘I honestly never expected you to interpret my gifts as criticism.’
‘No, of course you didn’t. I can see that now. You’ve never—’
‘Been pregnant,’ Claire finished for her. Romily smiled.
‘I was going to say, “felt like an incompetent fool”. But maybe they’re not so different.’
‘Oh, trust me. I’ve felt that way.’
Romily shot her a look that said she clearly didn’t believe her. ‘Actually, this fresh air is helping.’
‘Would you like a mint?’
‘You can stop taking care of me, Claire.’
‘I’m just—’ Claire began, but Romily was half-smiling. Some colour had come back to her face. Claire took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what else to do. This is all new to me.’
‘Me too. Not the pregnancy, but having a baby for someone else. I’m used to being on my own, I suppose.’ Romily dug in her bag and found a plastic container with grapes in it. ‘Have a grape.’
Claire took one and so did Romily.
‘We haven’t spent much time together without Ben,’ Claire ventured. ‘Since we left university.’
‘We haven’t spent any time together without Ben.’ A ladybird landed on the arm of the bench next to Romily, and she watched it.
Claire wondered what to say next. Romily had asked her to stop helping her. But Ben was right; she did need to be more involved, and that couldn’t just be sending supplies any more. She couldn’t sit by, feeling powerless and unhappy.
‘Have you …’ She swallowed. ‘Have you felt the baby moving yet?’
‘No. It’s pretty early for that, still.’
‘The books say about fifteen weeks.’
‘They also say I should have stopped throwing up by now.’
‘Do you think there’s something wrong?’
‘No, I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll ask the midwife when I see her next week, but I think it’s just one of those things. Every pregnancy is different. Apparently the babies don’t read the books first.’
‘I only know from books.’
‘Yeah.’ Romily ate a grape. ‘I am sorry about that, Claire. I know it’s been hard for you.’
‘Thanks,’ she said automatically, though she didn’t want Romily’s sympathy. But this conversation seemed necessary, somehow. And Ben had asked her to find out if there was a problem. ‘You haven’t been answering your phone,’ she ventured.
‘No. I’ve felt pretty wretched. And there was a … a phone call I didn’t really want to receive. So I had the ringer turned off. But even when I knew it was Ben, I didn’t want to answer because he’d know there was something wrong and want to rush over.’
‘That’s Ben. Mr Fix-It.’
Romily laughed. It was throaty and deep and genuine.
‘But then you decided you did want to see him,’ Claire prompted.
‘I needed to talk to someone. It’s been going round and round in my head and I can’t talk to Posie about it, or anyone at work. Although they’ve asked a few questions after what happened in the café.’
Claire didn’t say anything, didn’t offer help. She waited.
‘The thing is,’ Romily said, ‘I can’t really blame you for thinking I’m not much good at this mothering thing, because I’m not. Posie’s turning out okay, but that’s not because of me. I’m just bumbling along, not knowing what I’m doing.’
‘Is Posie all right?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. She seems all right, but what if she’s missing out on something big? She must be, I think, or else she wouldn’t want to spend so much time at your house. She wants a father and a mother who are normal, who love each other, with a nice house and a nice garden and nice things. She doesn’t want a mother who’s a flake and a father who’s never even known about her.’
Claire blushed. She couldn’t deny that she’d thought something very like this herself.
‘It’s not like this baby I’m carrying for you. You and Ben have wanted this for ages. It’s going to be the most wanted baby in the history of the world. But Posie … I didn’t want her. Jarvis didn’t want her.’
‘She doesn’t know that.’
‘She’ll find out sooner or later. And how is that going to make her feel?’ There was real anguish in Romily’s voice.
‘But you do want her now,’ said Claire.
‘I had to be convinced to keep her. And I never told her dad.’
‘From what Ben said, he wasn’t much interested.’
‘But what if he might have been? What if I’d told him ages ago and he’d decided to stay and be a real dad to her? Would he have been any good? Or would he hate us for taking him away from what he really wanted to do?’
‘Romily, you can’t operate on “what ifs”. And you can’t beat yourself up about something that happened in the past, about what you did and didn’t want.’
Like me, she thought. Like me not wanting to know about this baby here, right now, in the belly of the woman sitting next to me. My baby. Because I’m so hung up on the fact that I should have been able to conceive it myself.
‘Nothing about being a mother is easy,’ Romily said. ‘None of it. You have to make these decisions that will affect your child’s entire life. Everything you say and do has the potential to change them in some way for the better or the worse. And there’s nobody else who can do it. You have to do it all yourself.’
‘Unless there’s a father,’ Claire managed to say.
‘Unless there’s a father like Ben, you mean. Because the wrong father can fuck it up just as much as the wrong mother.’
The wrong mother who couldn’t even think about her baby when it was growing in the womb because she was too frightened to look beyond her own failure.
Claire swallowed, hard. She gazed at Romily’s stomach. Underneath that jumper, inside Romily, was her baby. Hers.
I’m so sorry, little thing.
‘I think you just have to make up for it,’ she said. ‘You have to make sure they know that they are wanted now, even if you didn’t want them to begin with.’
‘I don’t know,’ Romily said passionately. ‘That’s the problem. I don’t know if he wants her really, or if he’s just curious or acting out of duty. I haven’t seen him for so long. He might see her an
d get her all excited to have a daddy, and then go away again and never get in touch. How am I supposed to know what’s best for Posie?’
Claire looked up from Romily’s stomach to her face. It was flushed. She was nearly crying again.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Is that what you’re upset about? Has Posie’s father got in touch?’
‘He wants to see her. He rang a couple of days ago. I don’t know what to do. But I suppose you’re right. She needs to know about her father.’
Oh my God, thought Claire. Had she said that?
‘I didn’t – I couldn’t possibly give you advice, Romily. I don’t know anything about it.’
Romily was already in the act of reaching in her bag for her phone. ‘You’re right, anyway. I have to stop being afraid and just face the truth. Posie is his child and parents should know their children.’
‘Yes,’ said Claire. ‘Yes, they should.’
18
A United Front
AT HOME, CLAIRE took the scan photograph off the refrigerator door. She made herself look at it full on, memorizing every curve, every shape. She imagined the baby floating inside its borrowed womb, still small enough to nestle in her hand.
The doorbell rang and she shoved the photograph into her pocket like a guilty secret. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see her mum and dad standing on the step.
‘Hello, darling!’ trilled her mother, embracing her. Her soft cheek pressed against Claire’s, smelling of her familiar Chanel.
Claire’s father reached round and hugged her, too. ‘We’re on our way to Helen’s for a few days. Thought we’d stop by and see how you were getting on. A few miles extra on the M4 never hurt anybody.’
Maisie, the latest of her parents’ Golden Retrievers, nosed between them and sniffed Claire’s hand with her greying muzzle, leaving a bit of slobber on her sleeve. Then she lumbered off to the front lawn to relieve herself. Claire remembered riding on the back of Maisie’s mother Moo-Moo, clutching handfuls of her yellow fur, pretending she was on a pony. Moo-Moo was buried in her parents’ back garden now, under an Amber Queen rose.
‘Come in,’ Claire said, her mind rushing forward to the contents of her refrigerator and freezer. ‘You’ll stay for supper?’
‘But we’ll have to be going right away afterwards,’ her mother said. ‘Mark, would you get the boxes from the boot? I had so much extra bedding, I thought you could use some in that south-west corner? Annuals, but they’ll be pretty in September. Not the marigolds, Mark, those are for Helen. The other ones. I’ve got some jars of marmalade and some elderflower cordial you forgot to take with you last time. I’ve got a sourdough starter for you as well.’ She bustled in, set her canvas bag down with a clink, and surveyed her daughter. ‘You’ve gained weight, haven’t you?’
‘Maybe a little.’
‘About half a stone, I’d say. Good. You’ve been dieting too much, but you know this yo-yo-ing isn’t good for you either.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Claire automatically.
Her father paused at the door with a boxful of plants. ‘Straight to the back? Ben’s still at work?’
Claire heard the crunch of tyres on gravel through the open door. ‘That’s him now. Go ahead and put the kettle on, Mum. We’ll be right there.’ She hurried outside to meet Ben’s car.
He looked exhausted. He’d left early in the morning before Claire was up, moving quietly. Lying still in bed, she’d watched him getting dressed. When he’d dropped a soft kiss on her head she’d closed her eyes so he would think that she was asleep. She wished now that she’d kissed him back.
‘Did it go all right?’ she asked him as he got out.
He gazed at the Jaguar saloon. ‘What are your parents doing here?’
‘They’re on their way to Helen’s. They’re only staying for supper. Is it all sorted out, the redesign?’
‘It’s been non-stop all day. It’s going to set everything back months, and the Vaughans are not pleased.’
‘Oh Ben, I’m sorry.’
‘Can’t be helped. You saw Romily?’
‘Yes. She’s fine.’
Maisie came up, wagging her tail, looking for a stroke. Ben ruffled her ears and she followed them up to the house. He took a deep breath before stepping through the door. Claire’s dad had come in through the back and was hanging up his Barbour in the cupboard under the stairs. ‘Hello, Mark,’ Ben said, all traces of his exhaustion hidden. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’
They shook hands. Ben and her father got on well; they listened to cricket together and shared appreciation of her father’s home-brewed ale, though Helen’s husband Andrew was clearly the favourite, mostly because he asked his father-in-law for investment advice. When Claire had suggested that Ben might do the same, even if he ignored it, just to make her father feel good, Ben had said he had enough advice from his own father, thank you, and he’d rather eat fried unskinned hedgehogs than ask for any more. But he’d said it cheerfully.
In the kitchen, her mother had already set out the teapot and cups and was slicing a loaf cake which had also come from her canvas bag. When it came to tea, the Hardy family never wasted any time. She embraced Ben.
‘Is that your marmalade I see, Louisa?’ he said. ‘You must be a mind-reader. I just finished the last jar this morning.’
He looked drained and had clearly had a difficult day. He hadn’t texted or rung to ask her how her meeting with Romily had gone; Claire had been worried about that, but seeing him now, she could see it was because he’d not had a moment. He probably wanted nothing more than to take a long hot shower and collapse in front of the television with a cold bottle of lager. But he was going to have tea and make conversation with her family instead, because he knew it was important to her.
Love swelled in Claire’s heart for her husband. She took his hand and squeezed it, and he gave her a tired smile. She was so lucky to have him.
She wanted a baby with him, but the reason she wanted to be a mother at all was because of her parents. She’d had the perfect childhood, full of comfort and laughter and love. She wanted to give the same thing to her own child.
‘Mum, Dad, I’m glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘We have something wonderful to tell you.’
Her mother clapped her hands. ‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you? I knew you’d gained weight.’
‘How’d it happen?’ asked her father. ‘Your mother said you’d given up treatment.’
Ben’s fingers tightened on hers. She held on to him, hard.
‘We’re using a surrogate,’ she said.
‘What’s that?’ asked her father. ‘Some new technology?’
‘My God,’ said her mother. ‘You’re doing what?’
‘A surrogate is when another woman has the baby for you,’ Claire said to her dad.
‘You’re letting another woman have your baby?’
‘Mum, lots of people do it. It’s not so strange.’
‘It’s unnatural, is what it is.’
‘There are precedents in nature,’ said Ben. ‘For example, ants and bees have queens who produce all the offspring, and the other insects look after them.’
‘With all due respect, we are people, Benjamin. Not ants.’
‘Mum,’ said Claire. ‘This is our choice. We’re happy about it.’
‘How are you going to find a woman to volunteer to do such a thing?’
‘We’ve found her already.’
Her mother pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘This is all so unexpected. Aren’t you worried she’ll keep it?’
‘No,’ said Ben.
‘We’re not,’ said Claire. ‘She’s already got a daughter and she doesn’t want any more children.’
‘That’s what she might say now, but she won’t feel that way when she sees the baby. You can’t carry a child in your womb for nine months and not fall in love with it. It’s unnatural.’
‘Mum—’
‘I’ve had three children, Claire. I do know what I�
��m talking about.’
‘And I’ve done a lot of research on surrogacy. People automatically assume that the surrogate mother is going to want to keep the baby because there have been some high-profile cases where that’s happened. But hundreds of people do this all over the world every year and most of the time, it goes perfectly well. There are associations to help people, support groups, everything.’
‘You’re doing it through an association?’
‘No. She’s a friend. We arranged it ourselves.’
Claire’s mother paused, to let this sink in.
‘So do you have any legal recourse if it goes wrong?’ asked her father. ‘Our solicitor Fredericks is very—’
‘It won’t go wrong,’ said Ben.
‘What about adoption?’ said Claire’s mother. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to have a child when its parents have already decided they don’t want it?’
‘We want our baby,’ said Ben.
Louisa passed the tea around and they took a sip in silence.
‘So let me get this straight,’ said Claire’s dad. ‘You’re making a baby through IVF—’
‘An embryo,’ corrected Claire’s mum. Claire had given her a book.
‘And putting it into this other woman? So it’s your baby, but it’s in her body?’
‘That’s gestational surrogacy,’ said Claire. ‘That wouldn’t work for us. My eggs are no good. We’ve been through years of IVF and hardly harvested any. We’re using traditional surrogacy, with her eggs and Ben’s sperm.’
‘So it won’t even be your baby?’
‘It is my baby,’ Claire said. ‘In every way that counts, it’s my baby. Look. Here it is.’ She took out the photograph from her pocket and gave it to her mother.
‘You’ve done it already?’ she said. ‘I thought you were just talking about it.’
‘The baby is due in January.’
Her mother looked close to tears. ‘I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell us before?’
‘It happened so quickly. Romily offered, we made the decision, and she was ovulating right then so we went ahead.’
‘We knew it was right,’ said Ben. ‘So there was no point in waiting.’
This wasn’t quite accurate, but another thing Claire had learned about being married: you presented a united front in front of your parents. Once, when they’d first been married, Claire had made an off-hand remark about how Ben always had to be reminded to do the washing-up. She didn’t mind that, really; he always did it when she asked, but at the time she’d been a bit annoyed. Her mother had taken it as a personal crusade to educate Ben in the desirability of helping your wife in the kitchen, pointing out how helpful Mark was, how he did everything without being asked. Which he did. Claire had never seen her father fail to do the washing-up, or fail to hang up his wet towels, or fail to remember a birthday or anniversary. He took her mother out to dinner and they went to ballroom dancing classes together and they never, ever argued.
