‘Where’s your lunch?’ I asked.
‘I’m on a diet,’ she snapped.
‘But still, you have to eat.’
‘My sister has just lost loads of weight,’ Aaron said. ‘She ate proper food too. I could help you if you wanted?’
‘I can’t be arsed counting calories. I’d rather do something quick, like SlimFast.’ Lisa stood and the tumble of buttercups on her skirt scattered over the grass. ‘I’m going to the loo.’
‘What’s up with her?’ Jake asked, shielding his eyes from the sun as we watched her stalk towards the school.
Without answering, I grabbed my bag and followed her.
* * *
The toilets were stifling. We stood in front of the cracked basins. The smell of bleach and stale cigarettes thick in the air.
‘Are you pissed off about me and Jake?’ I spoke to her reflection in the mirror as she dragged her brush through her hair. It seemed easier somehow than facing her directly.
‘No. You’re both free agents. You can do what you want.’ She winced as the bristles of the brush caught in a tangle.
‘So why didn’t you meet me this morning? Sit with me in English?’ I removed the brush from her hand and started to work the tangle free with my fingers. ‘What was that about on the field?’
‘Dunno.’ I heard the catch in her voice. Could almost feel the tears burning hot at the back of her throat, transporting me back to a time she’d fallen over in the playground, chasing Reece Walker after he’d stolen my Kit Kat out of my hands. Her knee was bloodied, bits of gravel embedded in the skin but, although her bottom lip jutted out, still she didn’t cry. She always found it difficult opening up, being honest about her feelings.
‘Nothing will change, Lis.’ I rested my chin on her shoulder, our eyes meeting in the mirror.
‘It’s not going to be a casual thing, is it?’ Her voice was small. ‘I could see that from the way you looked at each other.’
‘I really like him, but if it’s going to upset you…’ I didn’t finish my sentence. I didn’t know how to. Really, I didn’t want to choose. What would I do? It would have to be her, wouldn’t it?
‘Everything’s changing.’ She didn’t elaborate but I knew what she meant. Soon we’d be leaving school. I’d be leaving town. She’d be staying. Lisa didn’t want to go to uni; she didn’t know what she wanted. Often, she was like that, ignoring decisions, unable to weigh up options, as if she hoped the future would never come. Me, my path had been mapped out for years.
‘Nothing stays the same,’ I said gently.
‘I know. It’s fine.’ She sniffed. ‘I’m just being silly.’
‘I’ll still spend lots of time with you. We won’t leave you out.’ I meant every word. ‘You’ll find someone too.’
‘Who’d want me? Lardy Lisa.’
‘No one calls you that!’ I checked my watch as the bell rang. ‘I’ve got to go. History.’ I rolled my eyes.
‘I’ll miss you, Kat,’ she blurted out as I tugged open the graffiti-covered door.
‘I’ll see you after school?’
‘I meant when you’re at uni.’
‘I’ll be back every holiday. It won’t be that different.’
I didn’t know then, of course, we weren’t just approaching the end of school. In a way, it was the end of everything. None of us would ever be the same again.
14
Now
‘Are you okay, Kat?’
Lisa touches my arm, and I start. I hadn’t heard her come back up the stairs from the basement.
‘It’s really cool down there. I’d love a man cave!’
‘Let’s go and sit in my equivalent.’
I lead Lisa through the dining room and open the door to the conservatory. The difference in air temperature is startling. Bending, I flick on the fan heater, and it whirrs into life; the smell of hot dust is unpleasant.
‘I thought I’d spend all my time out here when we moved in, but in the summer it was roasting and now it’s freezing.’
‘It’s such a pretty view, though.’ Lisa curls up in one of the two armchairs in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooks the winter-drab garden, covering her lap with the thick faux fur throw slung over the back of the chair. I sit in the other chair and do the same, drawing my feet under me and tucking my throw around my knees.
We sit in silence watching the birds swing on the feeder, pecking at the fat balls I’d made myself from pine cones, lard, and seed. Next door’s cat slinks into the garden through a gap in the hedge and prowls over to the pond where he taps the thin layer of ice with his paw.
The fan heater clicks as it reaches temperature; the small space is soon heated, but it will quickly grow cold again. I sip my water. My head is throbbing.
‘I’m sorry I drank so much last night.’ I rub my temples.
‘It was a great party.’ Lisa turns to look at me. A wistful expression on her face. ‘You have a good life, Kat. I chatted to Clare for ages. She seems lovely. I’m glad she’s so close by.’
‘It is convenient. She works part-time so I often pop over for coffee when I want a break. Her daughter, Ada, is gorgeous. It’s such a shame her husband, Akhil, left.’
‘He’s Indian, isn’t he, she said? I wonder why Ada’s skin is so light?’
‘I think it happens sometimes with mixed-race children. The genes of one parent are stronger than the other. It’s so sad they split up. They don’t seem to speak; she never mentions him to me, really. We’re still forming our friendship, I suppose.’
‘We were good friends, weren’t we?’ There’s the smallest of nods as Lisa speaks as though trying to remind herself.
‘We still are,’ I say. ‘Not many people would do what you’re doing for me.’
A look of confusion flickers across her face for a second.
‘The surrogacy,’ I prompt.
‘Of course. But that’s not entirely for you. It’s for me too.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You remember when you used to stay behind after school to help the younger kids with maths club and I always thought it was because your dad made you?’
I nod. ‘I enjoyed it. The feeling I might make a difference. Who knows what those kids have gone on to achieve.’
‘Exactly. This is my difference.’
‘A bit extreme though, isn’t it? It’s hardly the same thing.’
‘But it is. I’m doing something for you but I also feel a sense of pride. Who knows who is in here.’ Lisa places a hand over her belly. ‘Or what they will be but I know I will have played a small part in that, and it feels good to do something selfless.’
‘Do you think it’s a boy or girl?’ I ask the impossible question. ‘We’re calling him or her Beanie for now but I’ve been thinking of proper names.’
‘Eva?’
I grin. I’d always said at school I’d name my daughter after my favourite actress. ‘You’ve guessed it. I said Nick could pick a boy’s name but he likes Basil.’
‘Don’t mention the war!’ Lisa howls. Her mum had loved Fawlty Towers, and by the time we were 14 we could quote the scripts from memory.
‘I know! Can you believe Nick’s never seen it? His grandfather was called Basil, apparently. He used to love going to stay with him in Cornwall when he was young.’
‘That’s where Clare’s from, right?’
‘Yes. A different part, though. She wasn’t near the sea like Basil.’
‘Basil.’ Lisa shakes her head. ‘Perhaps I should have the final say on the name?’ Lisa is still laughing, but I’m suddenly serious.
‘Have you given much thought about how this will work?’
‘How do you mean?’ Lisa picks at a stray thread hanging from the throw and begins to twist it round and round her finger.
‘With your appointments? I want to be as involved as I can. In six weeks you can have your first scan.’
‘You’ve been reading up?’
‘I’v
e been driving Nick mad. Do you know, by the time you reach the end of the first trimester the baby will be the size of a peach?’
‘You haven’t changed much. Still studying.’
‘I didn’t have a lot of choice, did I?’
‘You must go to university, Katherine. Don’t disappoint us.’ Lisa puts on a voice and looks down her nose like my dad used to. ‘I’d forgotten how hard you’d had it too.’
‘Do you ever see anyone? From school?’ I didn’t finish sixth form. I never went back after the accident.
‘Not really.’ Lisa shrugs.
‘Not even Aaron?’ Even saying his name makes me anxious.
‘No.’ Lisa shivers.
‘Let’s move somewhere warmer.’ I lean over and a whoosh of warm air blasts my fingers as I switch off the fan heater.
As we pass through the hallway, Nick is at the front door saying goodbye to Richard. Their voices are low but urgent. ‘You have to tell her,’ Richard says.
‘It’s too late now,’ Nick whispers, and I turn to Lisa and we share a look.
Richard catches sight of us. ‘We’ll talk properly later.’ He turns and stalks down the driveway.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask Nick.
‘Fine,’ he mumbles.
‘What do you have to tell me? What’s it too late for?’
‘We’d planned to play golf but I slept in too late.’ His eyes are fixed on a point behind my head. There’s a stretched out beat while I’m aware of Lisa hovering awkwardly next to me.
‘Don’t you like Nick playing golf?’ Lisa asks as we finally head upstairs but I don’t answer. Reluctant to admit Nick rarely plays. I can’t shake the image of the lipstick on his shirt.
At the top of the stairs I pause in front of the nursery.
‘Ready?’ I ask.
‘For what?’
The door is stiff, it catches on the thick carpet, and as it slowly opens, I watch Lisa’s face but I can’t tell what she’s thinking. She steps into the room and spins 360 taking in the shelves crammed with soft toys, the bookshelf full of the old-fashioned Ladybird books. The castle and knights I’d bought for Dewei stand on the floor next to the doll’s house I’d ordered for Mai. I can’t face parting with either of them, and my mind races ahead wondering if after this Lisa would do it again. I might have a boy and a girl, kneeling together, playing with the wooden farmyard I couldn’t resist buying, with its handcrafted animals brightly painted, the smiling pink pig and the almost glow-in-the-dark orange chickens. Lisa stands still as she reads the ‘Together We Make a Family’ picture, the words shaped like a house.
‘You really want this, don’t you?’ Her voice is thick with emotion as she crosses to the window and gazes out at the garden. Nestled under the pergola is the rose bush we had planted for Dewei. In the spring, we will plant one for Mai too.
‘Yes. Even more than the adoptions, if that’s possible. This will be Nick’s baby. Part of him,’ I say. Outside the sky is clear and bright but snow still clings to the branches of the skeletal trees standing like soldiers in front of our fence. ‘If I had one wish, this would be it.’
Lisa turns to me, and I see the anguish in her eyes and I know at once I’ve said the wrong thing and, worse than that, I’m not sure if it is true. If I had one wish it would be for the events of that day never to have happened, and although I haven’t seen Lisa for such a long time, I think she would wish for the same thing too.
* * *
‘I hate to ask, Kat but I don’t suppose you can cover the taxi fare home?’
‘Of course.’ The horn beeps again outside and I hurry into the study, open the safe and pull out two hundred pounds. It’s a bank holiday so it should cost the same as last night, I reason. ‘Are you going to get your car looked at again?’
‘Yes. I think it’s the cold. I’ll get it checked out,’ Lisa says, holding out her hand. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve a bit extra, have you? I wouldn’t ask but once the sickness wears off mid-morning I’m ravenous. My food bill has doubled, and December’s payday seemed to disappear over Christmas. I can pay you back end of the month.’
‘Don’t be silly. If it wasn’t for us you wouldn’t be eating more and turning down overtime. You must say if you’re short. It’s important you keep up the relaxation classes.’ I push £20 notes into her hand.
At the taxi, we hug tightly.
‘Thanks for coming,’ I say. ‘It means a lot. Everything means such a lot.’
‘I know it does,’ Lisa says. ‘I know exactly how much this means to you.’
15
Now
January passes quickly. I check in with Lisa most days. You can’t be too careful during the first trimester. I’m constantly on edge, worried something will go wrong, but the month passes, and I cross off each day on the calendar. Suddenly we are in February and I allow myself to relax a little as we inch past that magic twelve-week point. Now the baby’s fingers can open and close, their toes can curl, and their mouth can make sucking movements. I read if Lisa prods her belly, the baby will squirm in response, although she can’t feel it yet. It’s all such a miracle.
Today is grey and dull. I feel I’ve made a million phone calls but nobody wants to discuss donating to charity at this time of year. There’s an increase in the demand for counselling too, and I’m already shattered. I sing songs from West Side Story to keep myself alert as I sketch out my ideas for an Easter fundraiser. I can’t decide on a theme and screw up yet another ball of paper, adding it to the others in a pile on the floor.
By late afternoon, the house smells of chilli; the light glows on the slow cooker on the worktop in the kitchen. I snuggle in the armchair by the kitchen window, engrossed in Three Sisters, Three Queens, by Philippa Gregory. It’s sad when women don’t trust each other.
It’s hard to concentrate. I spoke to Lisa earlier and am so excited it will be her first scan next week. I was disappointed they didn’t do it dead on twelve weeks, like I’d been expecting, but apparently, that’s only a guideline. Anyway, babies are more developed at fourteen weeks. The size of an apple. Beanie’s hearing abilities are growing so I’m going to speak to Lisa’s bump at every opportunity so that when he or she is born there is a chance they might recognise my voice. I can’t believe I’ll get to see him or her, and I can’t wait to tell Nick today I’ve learned Beanie has their own fingerprints and impulses from their brain enables them to make facial expressions. I wonder if I’ll be able to see their face clearly on the scan? I do hope so.
Nick is late home and, as I look out of the window into the blackness, it doesn’t seem possible it is only half past six. Rain lashes against the windowpane and thunder rumbles low and menacing. I’ve never liked storms. I pick at a grape from the fruit bowl next to me, biting it hard between my back teeth and letting the juice trickle down my throat. The rice is measured and in a pan; the water has boiled in the kettle. It will only take a few minutes to pull dinner together once Nick is here.
By seven thirty, Nick still hasn’t arrived and I’m worried. The roads are treacherous. I try his mobile, but it goes straight to voicemail, and the office phone rings and rings. In my agitation, I tap my mobile against my leg. Nick definitely didn’t say he was meeting Richard after work, as they sometimes do, but I call Richard anyway.
‘Is Nick with you? He hasn’t come home and I’m worried, it’s so icy out there.’
‘I haven’t seen him today. Listen, Kat, we need to talk about this surrogate thing.’
‘You mean my baby?’ Instantly, I bristle. ‘I can’t talk now. I need to find Nick.’
Cutting the call, I close my eyes. It’s not like Nick to switch his phone off. Even when he drives, he has it on the dashboard in a cradle and whenever it makes a sound he peers at the screen, taking his eyes off the road. I always scold him. ‘It was just for a second,’ he will say but I know a second is sometimes all it takes to change your life. Cars are dangerous, dangerous things. Panic ricochets around my mind and I try t
o tell myself I’m overreacting, but it’s impossible to keep calm as I pace the kitchen, googling the numbers of local hospitals. I can’t decide what to do. Nick’s been so preoccupied these past few weeks, the last thing I want to do is cause a fuss about nothing.
I pick up my book thinking I’ll try to settle by the window in the lounge instead. That way I’ll see his car when he crunches into the driveway, and I can dash back to the kitchen, cook the rice and he’ll never know how much I’ve worried. I don’t immediately switch on the light in the lounge. I stare out the window. The blackness has turned the glass to a mirror and, at first, all I can see is my worried face reflected back at me, but my eyes gradually adjust until I can make out a shape at the end of the driveway. A car. Nick’s car. My spirits lift as I wait for the click of the door, the interior light to glow, but there’s no movement. The clock ticks. Minutes pass. I don’t know how long he has been there but he must be waiting for the pelting rain to slow, I reason; my breath is coming faster, fogging up the glass. There’s something about heavy rain that feels almost ominous. The atmosphere seems to thicken. I wish the thunder would come and lighten the air. The rain batters the window and through the cascading water I notice the light from Clare’s hallway spilling out into the blackness as it switches on. Unable to wait any longer I hurry to the hallway and jab my feet into shoes, plucking the large umbrella from behind the coat stand. Opening the front door, I step outside. The wind whisks the umbrella inside out. Grappling to hang onto the handle I almost don’t see the shadow moving across the street, stalking towards my house, and when I notice it’s Nick I step back inside.
‘I was waiting for you to get out of your car?’ I turn my face away as he wipes his shoes on the doormat, shaking his head like a dog, droplets of freezing rain splashing my skin. ‘Did you come from Clare’s?’
The Surrogate Page 9
