Magpie

by Elizabeth Day

  ‘Do you remember this one?’ Kate said. ‘Such a fucking classic.’

  ‘Yeah. Love it.’

  They didn’t see Marisa at the door. It was only when she shouted ‘HELLO?’ that they realised she was there. Kate was startled. They looked at Marisa, with her untidy hair falling snake-like over her shoulders, and Kate noticed an electric shimmer to her eyes that she hadn’t seen before.

  ‘Could you turn the music down?’ Marisa said, her voice still raised, as though she couldn’t control it; as though she didn’t even notice herself how loudly she was speaking. ‘I’m trying to work.’

  Her hands were twisted together, the nails of one scratching the back of the other. She seemed jittery and unmoored, like a ball pinging against metal.

  ‘The music?’ Kate said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s really not that loud.’

  ‘It’s loud enough that I had to put in earplugs,’ Marisa said.

  Kate’s throat constricted. She felt like a child who had just been told off by a teacher. She should be penitent, but instead she found herself on the verge of giggling. The dancing had unleashed something in her. She was free and young again.

  She caught Jake’s eye and saw he was also struggling to hold it together. There was something about the way Marisa was standing there, arms now folded over her lumpy cardigan, that made it even funnier.

  ‘Ooookaaaaayyy,’ Jake said. ‘Sorry about that.’

  He stopped the music. Marisa stood there for a few more seconds, glowering at them both. Then she turned and left the room. Kate waited until they could hear her tread on the stairs and then she could hold it in no longer. She started to laugh, helplessly until tears rolled down her face. She gripped her mouth in her hands, trying to stem the flow of it and Jake was shushing her but he was laughing too and then their laughter stopped, just as unexpectedly as it had begun, and the room was empty and silent and the afternoon suddenly felt ruined, as if oil had seeped into clean water and slicked the feathers of all the swimming birds until they drowned.

  At the scan, Marisa was back to her usual self: smiley and polite and so friendly to Mr Abadi that Kate felt it was almost flirtatious. Marisa’s eyes shone as she talked and outlined all the early pregnancy symptoms she’d been experiencing: tiredness and tender breasts and an aversion to green vegetables.

  ‘Jake’s been making me lots of lovely dinners,’ Marisa said, catching Jake’s eye. ‘He’s been a lifesaver.’

  Kate was taken aback. She was the one who did most of the cooking. Perhaps Marisa had misremembered.

  ‘Good, very good,’ Mr Abadi said, genially.

  Kate and Jake sat next to Marisa as she lay back in the reclining chair. They held hands as Mr Abadi squeezed the ultrasound gel over her tummy, ever so slightly sticking out now if you knew what you were looking for, and then he placed the transducer to the left of Marisa’s navel.

  ‘Now then,’ he said, angling the screen so that Kate and Jake could see it more clearly. ‘Let’s see what’s going on in here.’

  Kate felt sick, and prepared herself for the bad news she had been given so many times in the past. She shut her eyes against the unbearable blackness of the screen.

  ‘And there’s the heartbeat …’

  She opened her eyes to see Mr Abadi’s smiling face.

  ‘A strong, healthy heartbeat.’

  Her chest expanded and she whimpered, the sound escaping before she knew she was about to make it. She saw a beautiful pixellated beating white dot. She was engulfed by love.

  ‘But,’ Jake said, ‘where’s the second one?’

  There was no second heartbeat.

  Mr Abadi told them that one of their twins had ‘vanished’. This was the word he used, as if he were recounting a magic act involving sawn-through boxes or whipped-away silk curtains revealing an empty space where previously there had been a whole person.

  ‘OK,’ Jake said. ‘OK.’

  Of course, Kate thought. Of course there would have to be sadness too, piercing like a splinter into a moment of joy. That was what she had come to expect of fertility. There was never an uncomplicated reason to be happy.

  On the chair, Marisa’s eyes glazed over and she turned her face away from them.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Mr Abadi said. ‘But here’ – he gestured to the screen – ‘there is a great deal to be cheerful about. This, I am very pleased with.’

  Leaving the hospital was a mixture of emotions. Kate was surprised how sad she felt at the loss of one of the embryos, and at the same time, there was still a healthy pregnancy and she couldn’t help but feel simultaneously elated at the idea of a baby in her arms. Her baby. Theirs.

  Strangely, it was Marisa who took it the worst. In the taxi on the way back from the clinic, she kept apologising and saying how she felt she was letting them down. They reassured her as best they could, but when they arrived back at Richborne Terrace, she said she wanted to be alone and was going to take a nap.

  Jake asked if he could get her anything, but Marisa shook her head and went up to her bedroom where she slept for the rest of the day. Kate and Jake were worried, but they were also excited and they hugged in the hallway. Jake said they should open a bottle of champagne, but to Kate that felt too precipitous, as though they would be tempting fate, so they compromised on a vodka and tonic. Jake made them, pouring triple measures of vodka and barely touching it with the tonic. He squeezed fresh lime juice into each, topping the glasses up with ice cubes from the fridge dispenser and then handed one to her and suggested they sit in the garden.

  They took the drinks outside and were silent for a bit, not feeling the need to say anything and also aware that Marisa’s room was just above where they were sitting, so they shouldn’t make too much noise.

  After the first round, Jake made another two drinks and Kate began to feel fuzzy-headed and warm.

  ‘This is one of the advantages of surrogacy,’ she said, holding up her glass. ‘Being able to drink.’

  ‘We’ve got to take our pleasures where we find them,’ Jake agreed. ‘We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?’

  ‘We have.’

  At the end of the garden, the council estate tower rose high into the sky. Lights flickered on and off in the narrow windows. An aeroplane flew past, leaving a vapour trail across the dusk sky like unravelling cotton wool. As the light failed, they moved back indoors, taking their drinks to the sofa. Kate removed her shoes and socks, placing her legs across Jake’s lap so that he would take the cue to massage her feet, which he did.

  He started rubbing her toes, and then her ankles and then he moved up her jeans to her thighs and then her waistband and his breathing shifted and she felt a twinge of pleasure as she imagined what would happen next. He moved her legs apart, sliding in between them and lifting his face to press his mouth against hers. She grabbed hold of his neck with one hand, and put her other hand over his cock, which stiffened obediently through his trousers.

  ‘We shouldn’t,’ she whispered. ‘Not here.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, but he carried on kissing her and she carried on touching him and the weight of his chest made it impossible for her to move, so she kept kissing him back, knowing they shouldn’t but being turned on by the shouldn’t and then allowing the shouldn’t to become a must.

  They were kissing as Marisa came into the room unnoticed. They were still kissing as she announced, ‘I thought I’d have a baked potato,’ at which point, Kate pushed herself away from Jake. He tried rapidly to compose himself, standing too quickly and wobbling slightly as he swept his hair back into place. He tried to act as though nothing had happened while Kate did the buttons back up on her shirt and smiled at Marisa, seeking to ease the mutual embarrassment.

  But Marisa didn’t seem embarrassed. She seemed disgusted, her face wan as she clutched at her stomach. Kate open
ed her mouth to apologise, but stopped herself. It was their house, after all. They were a couple. They were allowed to show each other affection. They had been so careful, so considerate for months not to make Marisa feel excluded, but they couldn’t carry on like that indefinitely.

  Jake was making polite chatter about baked potatoes and grated cheese, trying to gloss over the discomfort as he usually did, but Kate, fuelled by the alcohol, was unrepentant. She’d had enough of Marisa making her feel like an unwanted visitor in her own home. So she stood there, meeting Marisa’s eye, refusing to back down. She was astonished at the anger she sensed radiating from the other woman, as though she were being issued a challenge of ownership or possession. Kate kept staring at her, waiting for Marisa to turn away first. It was important to Kate that she did this and that her power was re-established as the owner of this house and as the mother of this baby. Eventually Marisa blinked and walked out of the kitchen.

  Jake, holding a baking potato in one hand, asked if she still wanted it.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ Marisa said, pausing at the door.

  ‘You should eat something, Marisa,’ he implored.

  ‘I told you, I’m not fucking hungry.’

  ‘Wow,’ Kate said.

  Jake shook his head, uncomprehending.

  She left, without apology or humility.

  ‘I guess today took more out of her than we realised,’ he said as he put the potato back into the fridge.

  He had an everlasting capacity to think the best of people and sometimes she wished he wouldn’t.

  ‘Maybe,’ Kate said. But there was a deep, silent part of her lying buried within that knew something was wrong. She poured herself another drink and ignored the creeping disquiet.

  Now

  24

  Jake is home.

  Sitting on the hallway floor next to Marisa, Kate knows not to make any movement towards him. She has only just managed to calm Marisa down, to get her to put the knife on the hallway table and to untie the rope around Kate’s ankles. She does not want to do anything to upset this precarious equilibrium. Next to her, Marisa is whimpering, her shoulders hunched forward, her head curled in as if she is collapsing internally, like those buildings you see on slow-motion newsreels, imploding from the inside out. The initial terror has passed and Kate now realises that they are dealing with a person who is not in her right mind and that anything they try to do has to be carried out with extreme caution. She is deathly calm. The most important thing is the safety of their baby. Everything else can be sorted out after that.

  She stares at Jake, willing him to understand.

  ‘What the fuck …?’ he says, taking in the scene: the two women sitting with their backs pressed against the skirting board, the kitchen knife, the rope, the damp patch leaking across the floor, the bloodied smear of Kate’s tooth on the patterned tile.

  ‘Are you both OK, oh my God, oh my God. Is the baby OK? What’s happened? I’m going to call the police.’

  He drops his briefcase and his keys and he is about to rush to Kate’s side when she says ‘No, Jake,’ as coolly as she can manage. ‘Don’t call anyone.’

  He stops, stunned by an invisible current.

  ‘Look after Marisa,’ Kate says. ‘She’s upset.’

  Marisa is sobbing now, but the sobs are melting into each other so that it sounds more like wailing. She is struggling to catch her breath because she’s crying so hard.

  Kate looks at Jake again in desperation, trying to impart meaning in her steady gaze, trying telepathically to convey the seriousness of what is happening.

  He seems to get it. Or at least a version of it.

  He kneels down beside Marisa and puts his arm around her.

  ‘You’re all right,’ he says to her. ‘You’re safe. You’re all right. It’s all going to be OK.’

  Marisa leans her wet face against his shoulder and her hair comes loose from its elastic. Her grubby T-shirt gapes open.

  ‘Oh Jake,’ she says, gulping in air. ‘Why have you done this to me?’

  ‘I … what have I …?’

  He looks at Kate over Marisa’s head. She smiles at him shakily. ‘Trust me,’ she mouths.

  ‘Marisa thinks we’ve been having an affair,’ Kate says out loud, keeping her voice as firm and clear as she can. Her tongue slips into the gap left by her tooth and she slurs the final word.

  ‘You have been,’ Marisa says, rocking against Jake’s chest. ‘I saw the texts. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Marisa is upset because I’m the lodger,’ Kate says, slowly so that Jake can get a sense of the shifting landscape. She has made the split-second decision to go along with Marisa’s story in the hopes that it will keep her stable for long enough to get outside help. ‘That’s why she followed me to work that time.’ She pauses, making sure Jake is with her. He gives a tiny tilt of the head and she knows that he is. ‘And I said we can sort it all out when Jake gets back.’

  Marisa stops crying and raises her face to Jake.

  ‘I just wanted to see you,’ Marisa says plaintively. ‘Because I’m having your baby.’

  ‘You are,’ Jake says.

  Kate is relieved. He is going along with it, even if he doesn’t yet understand why. His jaw is stiff, the tendons in his neck sticking out. He doesn’t like it, but she can’t do anything about that. Not yet. Her priority has to be the baby’s safety and, by extension, Marisa’s too.

  ‘I’m going to get us all a cup of tea,’ Kate says. She slowly levers herself up to standing. One of her legs has gone numb and she has to shake the pins and needles from her right foot, but otherwise she is relatively unscathed. She wipes the sweat from her face and when she looks at her hand, she notices blood. The blood seems almost totally removed from her physical self. She walks to the kitchen in a daze, detached from the reality of the situation. She watches herself as she fills the kettle from the tap and presses the button to make it boil. Then she picks up the cordless telephone they keep by the bread bin and takes the garden door keys from the top drawer and slides open the glass doors as quietly as she can. She steps onto the patio.

  She does not want to call the police or an ambulance or anyone in authority who will endanger the future of this pregnancy. What if Marisa is arrested? What if the stress causes her to miscarry? What if too many questions are asked and Marisa ends up keeping the baby? The agreement the three of them have signed isn’t legally binding. It can’t be until Marisa signs over legal parenthood to them after the baby is born.

  Nor does Kate want to call Carol or the surrogacy charity in case they, too, insist on reporting what has happened. Kate isn’t clear on what the protocol would be, but she refuses to take the risk. This needs to be dealt with quickly, calmly and privately, with someone who has medical expertise and whose discretion they can rely on. And so she thinks of Chris. Retired GP. He would be able to advise them on Marisa’s medical condition and check up on the baby, wouldn’t he? He would know what to do. But to get to Chris, she will have to call Annabelle and explain everything. It isn’t ideal, but it will have to do. There isn’t much time. She can hear the kettle coming to the boil behind her. She needs to act fast.

  She holds the phone in one hand, and dials Annabelle’s number.

  After she makes the call, Kate comes back inside and mechanically puts teabags in mugs and pours in boiled water and milk, adding extra sugar for everyone. She washes her face in the sink, patting it dry with the tea-towel. She catches sight of her reflection in the mirrored splashback. Her hair is sticking out at odd angles and her mascara has left the suggestion of dark trails across her face. There is dried blood at the corner of her mouth and a cut on her forehead. She rubs at the marks, and the tips of her fingers become grey. When she smooths her hair down, she looks almost normal again, apart from the blankness behind her eyes. She places the mugs on a tray and limps back out to the hallway.
Her legs are shaky now, the muscles aching.

  Jake and Marisa are still sitting on the floor. He has his arms around her and Marisa is calmer and no longer crying.

  ‘Tea!’ Kate says with a brightness she does not feel. She sets the tray down next to them.

  ‘Thanks,’ Jake says. ‘Are we—’

  Kate shakes her head, the movement so small it would be missed by anyone else.

  ‘Marisa,’ she says. ‘Have some tea. It’ll be good for you. It’ll make you feel better.’

  She holds out a mug to her, and Marisa takes it, looking up at Kate from the floor and tilting her head towards the light. She looks wary, untrusting, but she sips the tea as she is told, then turns back and rests her cheek against Jake’s chest.

  ‘I’m so tired,’ Marisa says.

  ‘Close your eyes for a bit,’ Kate says. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about any more. You need to conserve your energy. Are you comfortable there or do you want to move to the sofa?’

  ‘Here,’ Marisa says. ‘I want to stay here.’

  She slides her head down so that it rests on Jake’s lap. He unfolds his legs, straightening them across the narrow hallway, his shoes touching the opposite wall.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he mouths to Kate, above Marisa’s resting head.

  She nods. Her mobile phone is still in her handbag on the table. She reaches for it now, trying to be quiet. She doesn’t want to do anything to startle Marisa. If the other woman can fall asleep, then so much the better. She opens her Notes app and starts writing and when she is done, she holds it in front of Jake’s face so he can read it.

  ‘M attacked me when I got home. She’s lost it. Properly crazy. Thinks that you and her are together. Thinks we’ve been having affair. I’ve called your parents. They’re coming. Chris has sedatives. We need to keep her calm for next three hours.’

  Jake reads, his mouth setting in a grim line as he takes it in. Kate takes the phone back and types again: ‘Best to go along with her until we can discuss?’