The Surrogate

by Louise Jensen

  * * *

  The clock in the hallway chimes. The crudités sit untouched on the coffee table, the cucumber drying, the peppers shrivelling. Lisa has told Nick how she tried to lighten my hair with Sun-in and it went orange, and I’ve shared that Lisa used to copy out song lyrics and use them for her English homework, but we still haven’t talked about babies.

  ‘More tea?’ As I stretch my arms forward to lift the tray I catch a faint whiff of sweat and I draw my elbows in tightly to the sides of my body.

  ‘Shall we talk about the real reason I’m here?’ Lisa’s eyes lock onto mine, and panic pinballs in my chest. For an instant, I am back in that night with the pain and the blood and the endless screaming, until she says: ‘The surrogacy?’ And I empty my lungs of air and urge myself to calm down. The smell of sweat is stronger now, and I excuse myself.

  Upstairs, I strip off my jumper and wipe my underarms with baby wipes before spraying deodorant and pulling on a clean top.

  Back in the lounge, Lisa has moved from the armchair into the spot I vacated next to Nick. Their heads are close together, thighs touching, and I feel a stab of jealousy remembering how we fought for Jake’s affection – until I realise she is showing Nick something on her phone.

  ‘Look.’ Lisa stands and crosses towards me. She shows me a photo on her mobile of a tiny baby in a pink polka dot sleepsuit, rosebud mouth, fists clenched together as she starfishes in her cot. ‘This is Gabrielle, Stella’s baby,’ Lisa explains.

  As I look at the picture any doubts I have disappear. ‘She’s adorable, Lisa.’ The fact she called Gabrielle ‘Stella’s baby’ and not her own really brings it home to me the magnitude of what Lisa has done. What she is offering to do again. My sight is fuzzy with tears as I raise my finger to swipe the screen to look for more photos.

  ‘That’s the only one on there.’ Lisa stuffs her handset into her pocket. ‘The rest are on my computer. I don’t need to see her every day. She’s not mine. She never was. Stella sends me emails every now and then, updating me on her progress and sending through photos. I feel like a proud aunt, I suppose. I love her… but Stella’s her mum.’

  ‘How did you? You know…’ I can’t believe I feel so awkward asking.

  ‘Want a sketch? Got any crayons?’ Our shared memory of Lisa explaining sex to me with a diagram, scribbling on the back of her maths book with an orange Crayola, causes us both to burst out laughing, dissolving the tension in my muscles.

  ‘We went through a clinic,’ Lisa says, serious once more. ‘You have to pay a fee. It was really expensive. They started with a semen analysis of Stella’s husband’s sperm.’

  ‘The fault isn’t with Nick,’ I cut in. ‘We’ve had tests.’

  ‘You’ll want my eggs then?’ Lisa says as though we are discussing a shopping list. ‘We should still get Nick checked for STIs, unless you’ve been checked before?’

  ‘Yes. Before Kat,’ Nick says, and I turn to him in surprise, but he doesn’t meet my eye.

  I wonder if that was with Natasha. She is another part of his past he doesn’t like to talk about. Nick used to be plagued by texts and calls from his ex when we first got together.

  ‘We also had a Peer Support Worker through the clinic who oversaw the process, and they helped with the parental order. The baby has to be living with you at the time for that to go through.’

  ‘Richard will handle that,’ says Nick. ‘My friend’s a solicitor,’ he explains to Lisa. ‘But, look, I’ve been trying to tell Kat not to get her hopes up. The success rates can’t be high with this sort of thing.’

  ‘It’s not any different to trying to conceive naturally.’

  ‘Even so, the chances of you falling pregnant must be slim? There are fertile couples who try for months, years sometimes, before they are successful.’

  I stiffen at his words, and he puts his hand on my knee and squeezes. ‘We both want to be parents,’ he continues, ‘but it hasn’t been an easy couple of years trying to adopt from another country. Emotionally, we’re exhausted. Both of us.’

  ‘All the more reason not to try to adopt again,’ says Lisa.

  ‘So how does it actually happen… the insemination?’ I can feel the heat radiating from Nick as he speaks, and I reach for his hand.

  Lisa opens her handbag and pulls out a small package. ‘I’ve brought a home kit with me in case you wanted to see how it would work without a clinic. It’s all very above board. No physical contact needed between me and Nick.’

  ‘And you’d try this more than once around ovulation?’ I stare at the syringe. It’s incredible to think a piece of plastic could help me become a mum.

  ‘Yes. I know I’m ovulating today so I’ve worked out the dates for January, but I’m on a work course that week so the timing wouldn’t fit. I could come and stay in February if you choose to go ahead.’

  Although we are forming plans, my immediate reaction is one of disappointment. February seems so far away. When I look at Nick he is rubbing his scar on his forehead and I know he is thinking. I wait, wondering if he feels frustrated by the delay too.

  ‘I can see the benefits of a clinic,’ he says. ‘Particularly when dealing with a stranger, but with you and Kat going back such a long way, I’m not sure it’s necessary.’

  ‘It’s certainly an advantage to know each other so well. It’s unbelievable to think I can be the one to change your life completely, Kat. I’m very much looking forward to it.’

  I can feel Lisa’s eyes on me but I can’t tear my pleading gaze away from Nick; I’m willing him to read my thoughts.

  The silence is unbearable. Dozens of words swim around my mind and I fish out the phrase I am looking for. ‘No time like the present?’ I say but my voice is small and uncertain.

  ‘I think so too,’ Nick says, and I fling my arms around him.

  ‘Today?’ says Lisa, and for one split second I think she’s going to say no, but she shrugs ‘why not’, and she slips into our hug, and somehow we feel like a family already.

  Lisa wriggles free of our embrace and passes a pot to Nick. ‘If we’re doing this you need to—’

  ‘I know.’ Nick’s tone is terse and his muscles tighten, and as excited as I am, I can’t imagine the embarrassment he must feel. Part of me wonders whether we should wait for a clinic – if a sterile environment and nurses would make this situation that is anything but normal slightly easier for him to bear.

  ‘Look, Nick.’ I drop my arms and step back so I can read the expression on his face. ‘We don’t have to try today. There is no rush really.’ The words almost stick in my throat, and my heart is hammering a tattoo inside my ribcage. My hopes are floating like a helium balloon and I can’t tug them back down. ‘Do you want to wait until February?’

  Nick taps on the lid of the pot with his fingertips and it seems an age before he answers. ‘No, it makes sense to start now while Lisa is here.’ He takes a step towards the door, and Lisa says: ‘Wait.’ And there is a horrible moment where I think she’s going to tell us she won’t do it. Nerves writhe in my stomach.

  ‘I hate to bring this up.’ She bites her lip. ‘But it is usual to pay some of the expenses before conception. I did travel here and buy the kit, not that I dreamt for a second we’d be using it today.’

  ‘Of course.’ I feel terrible she had to mention this first. I’d hate her to think we’re not grateful. I glance at Nick. ‘We could do a bank transfer, now, couldn’t we?’

  I know he doesn’t want to delay any more than I do when he says: ‘How about £1k now as a goodwill gesture and we’ll draw up an agreement for the rest?’

  ‘Perfect. But only if you’re both sure?’

  We reassure her we are. Lisa hands Nick her bank card and he transfers the money on the iPad, and when it’s done he stands, the pot in his hand.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ My face reddens as I feel Lisa’s gaze on me.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Nick kisses the top of my head.

  ‘Just leave
the pot by the side of the bed when you’re done, and I’ll go up and do my bit,’ Lisa says, and as Nick paces across the room I can hardly believe we could be creating a baby today.

  Nick’s heavy tread mounts the stairs, and I spring from the sofa and envelop Lisa into a hug. ‘Thank you for this chance,’ I whisper into her hair. ‘I never thought I’d be a mum. I never thought I deserved it.’

  Lisa squeezes me tightly. ‘Kat,’ she says softly, ‘we always get what we deserve.’

  ‘Do you think Lisa could be pregnant?’ It’s ridiculous, I know. She only left three hours ago but already I can’t stop thinking about it.

  I’m half-lying on Nick on the sofa, my head resting on his shoulder; each time he exhales warm air kisses my ear. Stacked on the coffee table are the remains of a takeaway, plates stained yellow with turmeric, the smell of spices hanging in the air. I love evenings like these. Our stay-at-at-home date nights.

  In the background, Spotify streams. Mumford & Sons promise ‘I Will Wait’. I run my hand under his shirt, his skin soft and warm, heart slow and steady beneath my palm.

  ‘I doubt it darling.’ Nick’s fingertips caress my forehead. ‘Please try not to get your hopes up.’

  ‘Was it awful? You know…’ I reach for his hand and feather kisses on his fingertips. ‘Into the pot.’

  Lisa and I had sat in awkward silence on the sofa, both painfully aware of what my husband was doing upstairs. Time was long and slow until Nick shuffled back into the room, not looking either of us in the eye.

  ‘I’ve had better experiences.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I tilt my face so I can see his expression ‘And…’ I swallow hard. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for.’

  ‘If I could conceive—’

  ‘Kat.’ Nick hitches himself up on his elbow so he can look at me properly. ‘I love you. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I’d do anything to make you happy.’

  ‘Even if it makes you unhappy?’ I trace his jawline feeling the faint stubble under my fingertips. ‘Nick.’ I clamp my lips together in a bid to contain the words that I don’t want to say, but they seep from my mouth all the same. ‘You do want children, don’t you?’ If it wasn’t for the wine, the emotions of the day, I wouldn’t ask.

  ‘You know I do. We’ve tried to adopt twice.’ He leans over me and picks up his wine glass from the floor but rather than his usual sip, he takes a large gulp. I fiddle with the buttons on the front of his shirt, undoing the top one. Black hair coarse on his chest. It would be easy to become distracted. To forget he hasn’t actually answered my question.

  ‘You’re not just doing it for me?’ I prod.

  Nick sits up and tops up both our glasses before handing me mine, and as I drink, the alcohol slides through my veins, leaving courage in its wake.

  ‘Talk to me. Please,’ I ask.

  ‘I didn’t have the best childhood, Kat. You know that.’ I nod, although I don’t, not really, but I know it isn’t only the scars on the outside he carries. ‘I don’t want a child to go through what I did.’ His voice cracks.

  ‘It’s important to me we both want this,’ I say. ‘My parents…’ I drain my glass too quickly and hold it for refilling. Dutch courage. I think it is Lisa coming back into my life that has stirred up the past, and for once I feel the need to share. ‘I never felt loved as a child, but I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately. Maybe not them specifically, but aunts and uncles. Cousins. Our child won’t have a family other than us. Don’t you think that’s sad?’ I’d loved my grandma when I was small. She was warm, funny, and kind. Everything my own mother wasn’t. Apple crumble and custard. Pound coins pushed into my hand each visit.

  ‘It is what it is, Kat.’ Nick puts his glass down. ‘We have enough love to go around. Look. Let’s have a holiday. Get away. We’ve always fancied Italy, haven’t we? It’s been nothing but babies for the past couple of years, and I don’t want to lose sight of us.’

  Rather than having big holidays, we prefer long weekends. It’s easier workwise and always seems more romantic somehow. I’m reluctant to make plans though. ‘Let’s wait and see if the surrogacy works.’

  ‘I want this as much as you do.’ Nick takes my empty glass. ‘But we must be cautiously optimistic.’ The scar on his forehead crinkles.

  I lean over and lightly kiss away his doubts. He takes my face between his hands and his lips brush mine, electricity sparks as his tongue snakes inside my mouth. The sofa creaks as we shift until he’s lying on top of me. We tug at each other’s clothes, and we touch each other, properly touch each other, our ragged breath audible over ‘The Sound of Silence’ drifting from the speakers. This isn’t the perfunctory Friday night fumble that has somehow become part of our routine. As Nick runs his hand up the inside of my thighs, I part my legs wider, feeling his touch in each and every nerve ending in my body. This is love. Real, solid, and tangible. The way babies should be made goads the voice in my head, and immediately I feel less of a woman. The touch that was making me moan with pleasure now brings tears to my eyes and I bury my face in Nick’s shoulder so he cannot see them.

  Lisa’s words grow louder in my mind.

  We always get what we deserve.

  8

  Then

  ‘Stop moving.’ Lisa tilted my chin, sponging foundation onto my skin but I couldn’t help twisting my head again. Couldn’t tear my eyes away from the TV. Eva Longoria was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. ‘I’ll switch it off if you can’t keep still.’

  ‘Don’t you dare. It’s nearly finished.’ I wanted to see the end of Desperate Housewives. I couldn’t watch it at home if my parents were around. Dad only liked educational programmes, but to me, this was far more relevant to the future I dreamed of. I had wanted to be an actress since I was small. I loved the school productions, the smell of face powder and lipstick, the sound of applause. It was almost like stepping into another skin, I supposed. A more confident skin, a chance to become someone else, and even then, I wanted to be someone I was not.

  ‘Do you think her hair is naturally wavy?’

  ‘God knows. Bet she’s got a team of stylists. Who looks like that in the mornings?’

  Eva sashayed across the screen in a short silk robe, legs toned and tanned.

  ‘Who looks like that at any time?’

  ‘You’ll look better than that tonight, Kat. I’m going to give you smokey eyes.’

  ‘That sounds like a disease.’

  ‘Very funny.’ Lisa swirled a brush into eyeshadow. ‘I saw it on an online tutorial. You’d be amazed at what you can learn on that new YouTube.’

  ‘I’m not sure Dad would approve of me spending valuable revision time watching home-made videos.’ I had asked my parents for a make-up set for Christmas but instead had been handed an A4 brown envelope. Inside was an annual online subscription to Encyclopaedia Britannica. It made a change from the hardback versions that stood stiff and proud, spines uncreased, on my bookcase.

  Later, in the kitchen, mum had slipped me a small tin of Vaseline and told me I could highlight my cheekbones, use it on my lips and eyelashes. I had clutched the tin of possibilities tightly in my hand like the secret it was, as Dad’s heavy footfall grew nearer and Mum turned her attention back to peeling sprouts.

  ‘Does your dad ever approve of anything?’ Lisa asked but it was a rhetorical question.

  Dad thought I should spend every waking second studying. Every morning when I stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen and pulled cornflakes from the cupboard I couldn’t help seeing the university brochure Dad had left on top of the microwave. My offer letter pinned to the corkboard above the fridge. As I splashed cold milk over my cereal, my stomach would churn. It wasn’t as though I didn’t want to go to university. I had been doing some research of my own and there were some fabulous courses offering degrees in Performing Arts, but to appease Dad I’d applied for English and History. Dad a
lways wanted to be a teacher. ‘It’s a good, solid career, Katherine,’ he said, but he had dropped out of uni. He called himself a ‘financial advisor’ when he was trying to impress people, but when it was just me and Mum he complained he was nothing but a ‘glorified salesman’. But just because he wasn’t clever enough to finish his course, it shouldn’t mean I was forced to follow his dreams. I had my own.

  Lisa checked her watch. ‘If we’re ready in fifteen minutes, Mum said she’d give us a lift on her way to bingo. Dad’s working late again so she’s making the most of it.’ Lisa’s mum, Nancy, was lovely.

  ‘She’ll pick us up after, too, and as you’re staying here tonight, we won’t have to leave at some ridiculous time for your curfew. Almost done.’ Lisa swept bronzer over my cheeks.

  ‘I nearly wasn’t allowed to stay over. There was a problem when I told dad we were revising together.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He knows you too well.’

  ‘You’re hilarious.’ Lisa stepped back and studied me. ‘And I’m a genius. Take a look.’

  My reflection was stunning. Unbidden my fingers fluttered to my face as if checking it was really me.

  ‘I look—’

  ‘Oh God, don’t start singing ‘I Feel Pretty’ again. I’ve heard it so many times I swear I could be your understudy.’

  I was constantly practising for Maria in the sixth form production of West Side Story.

  ‘I was going to say, I look like my mum.’ I must take after her more than I had thought. I had never noticed a resemblance before but I had seen a photo once of her on stage when she was about my age. She looked so alive. When I had asked her if she ever wanted to be an actress instead of a secretary, she had said it was a one-off, but there had been a wistful look in her eyes. I had hoped that would be the moment she would open up, but she hadn’t, and she remained a stranger to me. This woman who gave me life but came home exhausted, her trouser suit and faded dreams hanging from her tiny frame. Occasionally there were flashes of kindness, like when she gave me the Vaseline, but mostly we felt like three entities under one roof, not like a family at all.