Lisa is back in my life.
I am Maria.
Oh God. I am slipping back into the past.
The good. The bad.
All of it.
10
Now
It’s my first rehearsal and I’m terrified. Nick had left a ‘good luck’ message on the worktop spelled out in Cadbury’s Buttons. Although I felt sick with nerves I still popped them onto my tongue, letting the chocolate dissolve as I dragged a brush through my hair and changed into clean leggings.
Alex has already ordered my costumes: ‘you’re committed now’. He passes me a gold dress that shimmers under the spotlight. ‘Want to try it on? We’re starting with the dance at the gym.’
‘Talk about throwing me in at the deep end! I’ve no idea if I’ll remember the steps,’ I say as if every single move isn’t still embedded into my memory. It’s the scene where Tony first meets Maria, and is one of my favourite parts of the show. What I really mean, but cannot say, is that I’ve no idea whether I am still agile enough to carry it off. Not for the first time I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. If I’m too unfit. Too old. ‘You’re not thirty until next year!’ Clare had laughed as I’d expressed my concerns over coffee. ‘Go for it.’ But now, under the harsh lights, with all the attention on me, I can almost see my confidence skittering across the stage, slipping down the trap door, swallowed by blackness, never to be seen again. The dress feels snug. I’d had to draw my navel to my spine to yank up the zip, pulling so hard the metal imprinted on my fingertips. I smooth the satin of the dress over my stomach, wishing I didn’t mindlessly eat so many Hobnobs as I work at the kitchen table.
‘We might as well go the whole hog and put the backdrop up?’ Alex says. ‘Any volunteers?’
‘I can help.’ I step forward.
‘It needs securing properly,’ Tamara says. ‘We’ll show you how another time.’
‘I’ve done scenery before.’ I’m eager to prove my worth. I still feel terrible about taking the part away from Tamara, although she has been really gracious about it.
My fingers are shaking as I secure the backdrop, looping rope around the rings. Muscle memory kicks in and I automatically tie knots as my mind wanders to the last time I did this. To the kisses I’d sneak with Jake backstage when we thought no one was looking – there was always a wolf whistle from another member of the group. Some secrets can’t be kept.
The music blares, jolting me from my memories, and I hurry to take my place. Alex smiles reassuringly, and the stage vibrates with the clump of footsteps. All too soon the muscles in my legs are shaking. I hunch over, chest burning as I drag in air. ‘Sorry,’ I manage to rasp out.
‘Not to worry,’ Alex says. ‘You’ve months to get your fitness up. This is only day one. Ready to go again?’
I nod as I straighten, trying to ignore the stitch burning in my side.
‘Run!’ Tamara screams, and at first, I can’t understand what’s going on but out of the corner of my eye I see the backdrop wobble. My heart leaps into my throat and I instinctively raise my arms, but it’s too late as the scenery falls, falls, falls, crashing against my skull.
* * *
I’m sitting on the edge of the stage. Pressing a tea towel full of ice cubes to my temple but my head doesn’t hurt as much as my pride.
‘Are you sure you secured it properly?’ Tamara asks for what feels like the hundredth time.
‘Yes,’ I say again but I am not sure. Not really. My mind is too full of Jake. Of Lisa. The past. The future. I realise how little headspace I am giving Nick and I feel sick with guilt.
‘Kat!’ Tamara shakes her head in exasperation, and I realise she had been talking to me.
‘Sorry. What did you say?’ I really have to pull myself together. I can’t fall apart. Again.
The rest of December passes in a blur. It is the week before Christmas and I’ve been fundraising like crazy – everyone is so generous around this time of year. We’re both so busy we only put the decorations up last night. As usual we’ve gone for a real tree, and drank hot chocolate laced with brandy, wearing Santa hats, as Nick wrapped the lights around the branches and I hung baubles.
It’s hard to focus on the paperwork today. Thoughts of Lisa constantly creep in my mind. I rattle off yet another text, asking if she is okay when what I really mean is does she think she’s pregnant, although she’s assured me countless times she’ll let me know as soon as there is news. Good or bad.
Lisa replies to say she’ll call later. She’s busy at work. Again.
‘You need to slow down,’ I had said the last time we spoke. ‘You do so many hours. Can’t you stop your overtime, for now?’
‘That’s what the relaxation coach says but I can’t meet the rent without the extra cash.’
‘But you have our first payment now. The £3,000. Isn’t that enough? Do you need more?’
‘No, you’re already being generous, and you’re right. That will cover the shortfall in rent. It’s not just about money, I suppose. I enjoy keeping busy.’
‘I know but it’s not just about you now, is it?’ I felt horrible, almost as though I was bullying her, but she sighed and agreed to turn down extra shifts.
Later, I’m jotting down a list of things we need from town, when my mobile rings. Lisa. My stomach flip-flops. I’m torn between wanting to hear what she has to say and being utterly terrified she’ll tell me her period has started.
‘Hello.’ I am cautious as I answer.
‘Hi. Sorry for the radio silence. I’m having a nightmare.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Hang on a sec,’ she says. I hear her speaking in hushed tones to someone else, and I want to scream down the handset ‘are you pregnant or not’, but at least this way I can have a few more minutes of pretending before she comes on the line again.
‘Sorry, Kat. I’m really busy. You know what this time of year is like, and my car’s broken down and garage says it will be £2k to fix. I can’t afford it without my overtime so I’ve been taking the bus to work.’
‘That must be inconvenient,’ I say my mind racing to find a solution.
‘I don’t mind the bus usually, but—’
‘But what?’ While I wait for her to speak, I scribble tangerines onto my shopping list.
‘I’ve been feeling a little queasy lately.’
The pen slips from my grasp and I watch it roll off the kitchen table and onto the floor. Everything is moving in slow motion. ‘Do you think?’ I trail off.
‘Perhaps. I’ll do a test if my period doesn’t start on time but I just wanted to touch base. Explain why I haven’t been in touch. The extra travelling time, you know.’
‘You can’t get the bus,’ I blurt out.
‘I don’t have a choice.’ Lisa’s tone has cooled, and I am worried I have offended her.
‘I just meant if you are pregnant. There’ll be appointments, won’t there? You have to be mobile. I’ll transfer some money across.’ Even as I speak, I have crossed the kitchen and am logging onto internet banking on the iPad.
‘I can’t let you—’
‘Don’t be silly. If you’re pregnant, we will be starting the monthly payments anyway, won’t we?’ I brush aside her concerns. Lisa’s account details have been stored from Nick transferring money before. ‘There. Two thousand. It should be with you this afternoon.’
‘Thanks so much, Kat. You’re a star. I’ve got to fly.’
She hangs up before I can say ‘you’re welcome’.
The streets are crowded, everyone in a rush, bumping carrier bags and jagged elbows, but I’m in such a daze I barely notice. Lisa feels sick. This really could be it. I don’t have much to buy. There will just be me and Nick on Christmas Day. I squeeze through M&S to buy Nick’s favourite red onion chutney. I round a corner, bumping straight into a pram, jolting the handle, waking the baby snuggled in a navy padded snowsuit with Rudolph on the chest. Instantly, I look for the mother, to apologise, but there are so man
y people crowding around the shelves I don’t know who she is. Despite ‘Santa Baby’ blaring out of the speakers, and the hum of voices, the baby’s cry cuts through to my very core and, ever so gently, I start pushing the pram back and forth trying to soothe the infant back to sleep. His mouth is in a perfect ‘O’, beet red, chubby legs kicking angrily. Unsure, I look around before picking him up and making soft shushing noises in his ear. His wisps of hair are plastered to his damp scalp. It is unbearably warm. Too warm. After a moment of hesitation, I ease down the zipper on his snowsuit.
An angry voice shouts. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my baby?’
A woman snatches him from my arms, her ponytail swinging as she backs away from me as though I might try to grab him back.
‘He was crying. And hot. I’m sorry.’ I stutter my apologies while she glares at me.
‘You’re a fucking lunatic.’ She spins the pram around and pushes her way down the aisle. My legs are boneless and I have to cling onto my trolley to support my weight but it isn’t the woman’s words that have upset me so. It is the shame in knowing that just for a split second I had been tempted to take the baby that was too hot. Too distressed. Too alone. Sometimes it scares me how far I’ll go to have a baby to call my own. Sometimes I think there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.
It is nine when we wake on Christmas morning, and Nick lies spread-eagled in the bed while I pad downstairs to make tea. I can’t wait for the day I’m woken up at 6 a.m., bleary-eyed from staying up late, filling stockings and dusting the patio with icing sugar reindeer prints.
‘We said no presents!’ I say as I return with our drinks to see a large gift, wrapped in sparkling purple paper, resting on my pillow. We’re okay for money, for now, but we need to be careful. If Lisa falls pregnant, her expenses will wipe out the majority of our savings. Shaking my head as though I am cross I pull open the wardrobe and lift out a box that I hand to Nick. As usual when we both have something to open we count to three before simultaneously tearing off the paper.
‘It’s great!’ In my peripheral vision I can see Nick wind the scarf I bought him around his neck. It’s cashmere but it only came from TK Maxx and didn’t cost the earth. The blue should match his eyes perfectly but I can’t look at him. Can’t stop staring at the framed poster of West Side Story in my hands.
‘Thank you! Is it?…’
‘Original, yes. All the autographs from the cast are real too.’
‘It’s incredible. I love you.’ Finally, my eyes find his.
‘I love you too.’ Nick rests the picture on the floor, tugs at the belt of my dressing gown and it is another hour before we make it downstairs.
We play a logo quiz on the iPad while we wait for our M&S turkey to cook, and after lunch, Nick and I cuddle on the sofa, the fairy lights on the tree glowing muted cream, the scent of pine heavy in the air. Our mobiles rest on the coffee table along with a bottle of Baileys and two empty glasses. I am just scanning through the Radio Times deciding what we can watch next when Nick’s phone flashes. It’s a text message from Natasha.
‘What does she want?’ I ask, my words as sharp as the pine needles that lie scattered over the carpet. ‘I didn’t know you were still in touch?’
Before he can answer there’s another beep for an incoming message but this time it comes from my phone. I crane my neck to peer at the screen, snatching at my handset when I see Lisa’s name flash up.
The sofa seems to shift and sway as I read the message. I am floating towards the ceiling.
‘What is it?’ Nick asks but I cannot answer.
I cannot speak. I want to pass him the handset to show him, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the message that reads:
Happy Christmas Mummy
Along with a photo of a positive pregnancy testing kit. All thoughts of Natasha vanish. I’m going to be a mum.
11
Now
Usually I dread playing the hostess – perfect smile and perfect canapés – but I’m actually looking forward to our New Year’s Eve party. This time next year, it will be a much quieter affair, night feeds and nappy changes, but tonight, I’m going to let my hair down. I wriggle into my bottle green sequinned dress.
Nick is subdued as he threads the brown leather belt I bought him for Christmas through his jeans, which are hanging looser than they used to.
‘Hey.’ I run my hand over his flat stomach, feel his muscles tighten. The soft roll of flesh he usually carries at his waist has shrunk. ‘You’re supposed to put on weight, not lose it, this time of year.’ I’m worried about him. Ever since Christmas Day he’s been quiet. Distracted. Spending too much time in the basement, feet pounding on the running machine. Lisa is pregnant and I can’t stop talking about it; Nick, on the other hand, has little to say.
‘Lisa’s definitely coming tonight? I really want Richard to meet her.’ Nick tips aftershave onto his palms and slaps it against his cheek. He smells of wood and spice.
‘Yes.’ I check my watch. It’s almost eight. The guests will arrive soon, and I had hoped Lisa would come early, give us a chance to really catch up. These past couple of days I had tried to ring her several times but she hadn’t picked up, sending a text instead, saying:
I’m with my family.
I know what that means. It means she is having to pretend I don’t exist. She said she’d come to the party, though, and I can’t wait to find out how she’s feeling – really feeling – about it all.
Tonight will be mostly people connected to the charity or Nick’s employees or clients, although I’ve invited the theatre group and, as an afterthought, I’d pulled on boots and gloves and thrust thick silver invitations through every letterbox in the cul-de-sac. We’ve haven’t got to know our neighbours yet, not beyond raising our right hands in some sort of wave, like it’s a code, whenever we pass them in our cars.
The doorbell chimes. I stand on tiptoe to kiss Nick before I brush my thumb over his lips removing the trace of pink lipstick. I pelt down to the hallway and fling open the front door.
‘Happy New Year!’ Alex hands me a bottle of champagne.
‘We can’t stop for long.’ Tamara air kisses hello. ‘We have another party to go to.’
I usher them inside, along with Clare who was standing behind them, balancing Ada on one hip.
‘Hello, sweet girl,’ I say to Ada. She’s dressed as Snow White and looks adorable with her long dark ringlets, blue eyes, and porcelain skin. She’s already stunning and she’s not yet two.
‘Hello, beautiful!’ Nick clatters down the stairs.
‘Hello, Nick!’ Clare laughs.
‘I wasn’t talking about mummy, was I?’ Nick holds out his arms, and Clare passes Ada over, and she wraps her legs around his waist like a baby monkey. ‘Glad you made it.’ Nick smiles at Clare.
‘Not often I get the chance to go to parties nowadays. It’ll be your big birthday bash next, won’t it?’ She jabs me with her elbow.
‘Not a chance.’ A look passes between them but I don’t care. I really want something low-key. ‘Let’s get some drinks.’
In the kitchen, I introduce Nick to Tamara and Alex as Clare prises off lids from Tupperwares she has brought with her in a carrier bag. Her nails are impossibly long and embellished with Santa faces.
‘These goodies are leftovers from the café yesterday.’
‘You’re a lifesaver.’ I pull a plate from the cupboard, grateful for Clare’s part-time job. It’s beyond me how she can afford her big house on her wages from the café. We’d shared a bottle of wine before Christmas, and she’d let slip how tight money is. It didn’t sound like Akhil, her ex, was paying maintenance, for some reason, but I didn’t pry. Our friendship is too new.
I lift out vol-au-vents filled with creamy mushroom and prawns, cheese straws sprinkled with sesame seeds, and filo parcels. I bite into one and my taste buds tingle as cranberry explodes onto my tongue, drawing out the flavour of the Brie.
‘Gorgeous,’ I say. �
��And speaking of gorgeous – check you out!’
‘I hope you won’t be the only one checking me out,’ she says fluffing her long blonde hair and pouting with red lips. ‘I’m single and I’m going to mingle.’ She winks as she walks away, and I want to laugh but I’m on edge, constantly listening out for the doorbell, desperate for Lisa to arrive. Where is she?
Tamara helps me plate up the rest of the food.
‘Are you really okay, Tam? With me playing Maria? I don’t mind being Anita.’
‘It’s fine.’ Her smile is warm. ‘I’m just glad we’re finally putting on West Side Story. We tried a few years ago but—’
‘But?’
‘The lady playing Maria died.’
The house is filling with people, with laughter. The smell of mulled wine wafting from the slow cooker. Alex and Richard are chatting in the corner. Clare is deep in conversation with Nick. Even the nosy woman with red hair from a few doors down has come. I should be happy but there’s an uneasiness in the air and, as I take a deep gulp of my wine, I wonder whether anyone can feel it but me.
* * *
The starlight projector in the nursery hums as the motor rotates, casting a solar system on the ceiling. It is hypnotic rocking back and forth in the nursing chair, my head resting against a cushion. I’m transfixed by the moon and stars. The sense I could stretch out my fingers and touch them. Downstairs the party is loud; raucous laugher increasing in volume. The Rat Pack Christmas songs I’d been streaming earlier, has been replaced by an eclectic mix of pop songs. Mark Ronson’s ‘Uptown Funk’ fades out and Brotherhood of Man urge ‘Save your Kisses for Me’. Earlier, I had switched on the patio heater as the string of fairy lights glowed prettily around the pergola, and placed ashtrays on the garden table. I didn’t want anyone smoking indoors. Now, the smell of cigarette smoke wafts up the stairs but I find I don’t care whether there is ash over the carpet or fag burns on the sofa. I don’t care about anything except the fact Lisa is not here.
The Surrogate Page 7
