A Million Dreams

by Dani Atkins

  The only time I’d closed the shop before had been when Tim had died, but doing so today felt like the right decision. I’d kept my family out of the picture for too long, but now events were too big, too life-changing for me to tackle alone. I needed their advice; I needed their support; I needed… I needed them.

  I drove via the shop, stopping briefly to stick a notice on the door apologising for the unexpected closure due to a ‘family emergency’. My lips twisted bitterly at those words, but I could think of no others to take their place. That was going to be the issue in the weeks and months ahead; even this early I could see that. This situation was so rare, so horribly unique, I would continually be swimming through uncharted waters. But I would go wherever I had to go, and do whatever I had to do, until the decision I’d reached in the early hours of the morning became a reality. I would find my child, and somehow I would get them back. And the person I needed to consult first on that long and impossible task was my father.

  *

  I visited my parents every six weeks or so, if their social calendar (which was far busier than mine) permitted. This unplanned trip, just a fortnight after I’d last seen them, was bound to trigger alarm bells. I stopped twice during the motorway drive: once for a breakfast that I couldn’t eat, and just moved from one side of the plate to the other; and the second time for a much-needed reviving coffee. Three hours behind the wheel after a largely sleepless night wasn’t exactly a great combination. I leant up against the bonnet of my car, sipping my latte in the watery morning sunlight, and wondered if I should phone ahead and tell them I was on my way. But to do that would raise inevitable questions, questions that would be far easier to answer in person.

  My parents still lived in the home on the coast Karen and I had grown up in. It tethered me to the past in a thousand different ways. A lifetime of memories was locked into the mortar of the building, every one of them as substantial as the grooves notched into the doorframe charting our height over the years. I tried to shake off the ache of nostalgia I was feeling. I was hankering for the past, which was no surprise when the future I’d planned on had suddenly been snatched away.

  Although I had my own key to their door, I rang the bell, not wanting to scare either of them into an early heart attack by strolling in unannounced. As I waited, I looked down at the bunch of flowers in my hand, as though noticing them for the first time. I always brought something from the shop whenever I visited, and this morning I’d reached blindly for the first thing my hand fell upon. My lips twisted as I studied the bouquet of black-eyed Susans, feeling it was something more than coincidence that my subconscious had chosen these particular flowers – the flowers of justice.

  I heard my mother’s footsteps crossing the parquet flooring to the front door, and was surprised to discover I was actually shaking with nerves.

  ‘Beth!’ she exclaimed, her hand going to her throat in a very theatrical way. Her recent enthusiastic involvement in the local amateur dramatic society had a habit of spilling over into real life. It was something both Karen and I found hilarious.

  ‘Whatever are you doing here?’ And then, before I could decide which of my prepared white lies to go with, she jumped in with a fairly accurate guess. ‘Is something wrong? Has something happened?’

  I leant forward and kissed her soft cheek, mindful not to ruin her carefully applied powder and blusher.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, Mum.’

  ‘Is Karen okay? What about the boys?’

  I shook my head and gently slipped my arm around her shoulders, steering us into the hallway and shutting the front door. ‘Everyone is absolutely fine, Mum. Can’t a person just decide to drop in on her parents for a surprise visit?’

  My mother’s periwinkle-blue eyes were magnified behind the lenses of her glasses, but I suspect she didn’t need them to see through my flimsy explanation. She kept looking at me curiously as we entered the bright modern kitchen, which smelled pleasantly of the bacon they’d had for breakfast.

  ‘Is Dad not around?’ I asked, feigning a nonchalance I was far from feeling. Now that I was here, I had a sudden burning desire to get this over and done with.

  ‘He had an early round of golf at the club. He’ll be back soon.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, disappointed that my big reveal was now going to have to wait a little longer.

  Mum looked at me, her brows furrowing as though concentration alone would enable her to work out why I’d unexpectedly come home. Good luck with that, Mum. She was torn, that was easy to see. Should she attempt to winkle the truth out of me (in a way we both knew she was perfectly capable of doing), or let me explain it in my own time? I shouldn’t have been surprised that her maternal radar had picked up on something. She’d known when I’d scraped her car shortly after passing my driving test; she’d known about the secret party that had left wine stains on the carpet; and she’d known, just from my voice, that the news was bad after Tim’s first doctor’s appointment. But however good her intuitive powers were, there was no way she would ever guess the reason I was there today, because it was – even to me – still totally unbelievable.

  Luckily, my interrogation was put on hold by the timely ringing of the telephone. I wandered into the lounge, grateful to the unknown caller who’d distracted her with questions about rehearsals, understudies and script changes. ‘Sorry about that,’ my mum apologised when she joined me fifteen minutes later. I was staring at the row of family photographs on the mantelpiece as if I’d never seen them before. There were several of Karen and me when we were younger, but most of the newer frames held images of my nephews. I’m not sure what expression my mother saw on my face as I stared at the photograph of Karen in an Australian maternity ward, a newborn Josh cradled in her arms, but it was enough to make her hurry across the room to my side.

  ‘Beth? What is it? What’s wrong?’

  I shook my head and grappled for a lie she might possibly believe. I couldn’t find a single one. ‘It’s nothing, Mum. Honestly.’

  Anxious to escape her probing gaze, I carried my small overnight case up to my old bedroom. A mosaic of old photo-booth images, many curled with age, were still held in the frame of my dressing table mirror, but none of them looked anything like the pale, haunted woman staring back at me in the glass. Tim would have been disappointed in me; I was disappointed in me. I pinched my cheeks hard enough to make the pallor disappear, but the look of vulnerability wasn’t so easily fixed. I would need to work on that.

  *

  The sound of the front door closing was followed by a low rumble of conversation that was impossible to decipher. It was time. They were in the kitchen, and my dad got to his feet and enfolded me in a hug, which I held on to for a little longer than normal. Today, thirty-five didn’t feel too old for that kind of support.

  ‘What a lovely surprise, darling,’ he said, doing a careful scrutiny of my face before gently releasing me.

  I sat down at the kitchen table and my parents pulled out chairs opposite me. It felt horribly similar to another table, where twenty-four hours earlier I’d learnt the news I was about to share. Wordlessly, my mother slid a hot drink towards me, and then sat back and folded her arms expectantly.

  I took a moment to draw strength from the love and concern on their faces and felt a pang of guilt for the weight I was about to place on their shoulders. I’d already ruined their retirement plans once, and unless a miracle occurred in the next few minutes, I was about to upset them all over again. I took a fortifying gulp of tea and jumped straight in.

  ‘Firstly, I want you to know that I’m not sick. It’s nothing like that.’ I saw the relief course through my mother like a sound wave. That was her greatest concern, and it felt good to dismiss it. ‘And I’ve not broken any laws, so I’m not going to jail.’ I wasn’t being deliberately flippant. This time it was my father who sighed thankfully. As a retired solicitor, that would have been his personal nightmare.

  ‘But there is something you want to tell us?’ pr
obed my mum, like a Spanish inquisitor.

  I nodded, staring into my mug as if the script I needed might miraculously have appeared inside it.

  A chair scraped across the tiled floor as my mother suddenly sat up straighter. There was excitement and hope in her voice. ‘Have you met someone, Beth? A man?’

  My head shot up. For one split second, Liam Thomas’s face had flashed ridiculously into my head. I blinked it away, annoyed with my subconscious for having conjured it up. There was only one man I cared about. Tim. And I still felt very much married, rather than widowed. Somehow, I suspected I always would.

  ‘Mum, please stop guessing. You’re making this even harder.’

  I saw the disappointment on her face. She really had hoped that had been my news. My father reached for her hand and gave it a loving squeeze. His solicitor’s patience was kicking in. He inclined his head, waiting for me to disclose whatever it was I’d come there to say.

  ‘You remember before Tim died we tried several rounds of IVF with the embryos we’d had frozen?’

  They both nodded, and I saw my mother draw her lips tightly together, as though it took all her restraint to prevent them from asking another question.

  ‘As you know, we weren’t successful.’

  Sadness for my loss shone from their eyes, so poignantly that I had to look away. Just a few more sentences; that was all I needed to find the strength for. Then they’d know it all.

  ‘Well, what we didn’t tell you at the time was that there was one last embryo left in storage. Tim and I decided to leave it until… Well… we just decided to let it remain at the clinic.’

  I looked up, feeling almost like a teenager with my apology. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t tell you this at the time.’ They nodded, and I think they understood why. Shortly after my last IVF attempt, Tim’s health had seriously declined. It had been the beginning of the end.

  ‘Anyway, a few months ago, I made a really important decision. I decided I wanted to go ahead and use that final embryo. I wanted one last chance to have Tim’s baby.’

  ‘Oh, Bethie. Why did you never say anything?’ I counted the seconds in my head, waiting for the next, inevitable question. I only got to ‘three’ before it shot out on a huge gasp. ‘Oh my goodness! Are you pregnant? Is that what you’re here to tell us?’ My mother actually clapped her hands together in glee, something I truly don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do in real life before. She looked so happy for me, so thrilled that in the aftermath of such tragedy there would be something beautiful waiting for me. But this story wasn’t destined to have that type of happy ending.

  And that was when I began to cry.

  They were out of their chairs in an instant, with surprising speed for a couple in their sixties. They flanked me as I wept, face down against their kitchen table. Tears of empathy were already in my mum’s eyes, and she still had no idea why. I had to get this over with.

  ‘Yesterday, I visited the clinic and was told that there’d been the most terrible mistake.’ There was no easy way to say these words. They spilled out of me like a sickness. ‘Our embryo was given to another patient. Another woman got pregnant with our baby.’

  Shock is a funny thing. It affects people differently. My mother’s face drained of all colour, whereas my father’s went bright red, as though rage was a hue, and its pigment was seeping through his pores.

  They were stunned, starting sentences then leaving the words hanging in the air as their thoughts were whipped away. Strangely, telling the story out loud for the first time had given me a strength that I hadn’t felt since those first dreadful moments in the clinic.

  My father got to his feet, using one hand to steady himself on the chair before moving to a kitchen cabinet and reaching for a bottle of Scotch. My mother was more of a Harveys Bristol Cream kind of person, and I seldom drank spirits, but neither of us said anything as he poured three sizeable measures into glasses and brought them to the table. It was only midday, but I was grateful for the cauterising effect of the fiery liquid as it burnt its way down my throat.

  ‘Obviously, I wanted to tell you this in person,’ I said, shaking my head when my father offered to refill my glass. I’d not eaten anything since the day before, and the single shot was already coursing dangerously through me. His hand shook as he replenished his own drink. He’d always been a quiet man; moderate in temperament and slow to anger. But when it came to his girls – and I included my mum in that description – he was a fierce David who any Goliath should fear.

  ‘I need your advice, Dad,’ I said, wondering how many years it had been since he’d heard those words from me. ‘I need to know what my rights are. Whose side is the law on? Is it the other woman’s, or mine?’

  It was several years since he’d retired, and I was asking him questions I doubt had ever cropped up when he’d overseen a thousand house sales, or drawn up hundreds of wills. For a moment he looked older than his years, as he ran his hand through a head of hair that was considerably less plentiful than it used to be.

  ‘To be perfectly honest, Beth, I don’t have a clue. It’s not my area. But don’t worry,’ he urged, reaching for my hand and sandwiching it between his. ‘I’ll make some calls. Talk to some people – experts in this field.’ It was the answer I’d driven three hours to hear, and tears of relief sprang to my eyes.

  ‘We’ll sort this out, I promise.’ The adult in me knew better than to believe him, but the child in me gave a sigh of relief and nodded fiercely.

  *

  I left on Sunday afternoon, with the kind of pang I hadn’t felt since my university days. I named the emotion as I rejoined the motorway and began my journey back. I was homesick and missing a time when no problem was so great that your parents couldn’t fix it.

  My dad had disappeared into his study shortly after I’d dropped my bombshell, and hadn’t emerged for a great many hours. Occasionally, snippets of his telephone conversations filtered through the closed door. Words like ‘negligence’, ‘paternity’ and ‘compensation’ made me flinch, as if they were bullets travelling across the hallway to find me. Eventually, my mother had reached for the TV remote, turning up the volume and drowning them out with the banality of Saturday night entertainment.

  *

  I’d slept surprisingly well, but I think that had more to do with emotional exhaustion than the comfort of my old bed. I was just finishing my breakfast when my dad entered the kitchen and handed me a single sheet of paper with a name and telephone number written on it.

  ‘Everyone I’ve spoken to agrees this is the guy you need to talk to. He’s a medical negligence lawyer, and he’s expecting your call.’ I gave a huge gulp, and reached shakily for my coffee. It was suddenly sounding very, very real and incredibly scary. And there was an important question, that I could no longer avoid asking.

  ‘This kind of thing… This kind of case… do you happen to know how much it’s likely to cost me? I mean, I’m pretty sure I can get a second mortgage against the house or—’

  My dad shook his head and looked across the room at my mum, who’d been standing at the sink washing the same plate for the last two minutes. She gave him a small nod and my dad reached into his pocket and drew out a slip of paper, sliding it face down across the table towards me, as though we were playing poker.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked, reaching for the slip, which I already recognised as a cheque. Even so, I repeated those words at a considerably higher pitch when I saw the number of zeros and my own name on the payee line. ‘I can’t take this. This is a huge chunk of your savings. This money is supposed to be for both of you. It’s for your retirement.’

  ‘You’re going to need it if you decide to pursue a legal claim,’ my father said, ever the pragmatist.

  ‘You’re both going to need it too. This is the money you’ve set aside to visit Karen to see your new grandchild.’

  My mother abandoned the ridiculously clean plate and came to lay one soapy hand on my dad’s shoulder, letting me
know this decision was unanimous.

  ‘Well, now I’m using it so I can see my other grandchild,’ my dad said, his voice not entirely steady. There were no words to express my gratitude, and thankfully they didn’t seem to expect any.

  *

  My parents’ unswerving support left me more than a little emotional and also totally unprepared for my sister’s reaction. Just half an hour into my journey home, her name had lit up my phone screen, and I’d happily switched on the loudspeaker. I’d been intending to call her, and it didn’t surprise me that she’d had the same impulse. It happened so many times, we’d finally stopped finding it remarkable. What did surprise me was her reaction to the news.

  ‘Mum’s just told me what’s happened,’ Karen began with absolutely no preamble. This was clearly not the kind of conversation that was going to start with Hello or How are you? ‘What an absolute disaster. I can’t believe it. How are you holding up?’

  ‘To be honest, Karen, I don’t really know. I don’t think it’s even sunk in properly yet. It’s just such a nightmare.’

  ‘Do they know how it happened? I thought that kind of screw-up was meant to be impossible?’

  ‘So did I,’ I said despondently. ‘I guess I’ll find out more when they’ve done their investigations. Did Mum tell you I’ve got an appointment with a medical negligence expert?’

  ‘Yeah, she did,’ confirmed my sister. From somewhere behind her I could hear a background soundtrack of screeching lorikeets, and my nephews’ laughter. The distance between her life and mine suddenly seemed far greater than the miles between us. We were living in different worlds.

  ‘Although compensation isn’t what I’m interested in,’ I said, carefully switching lanes as I drove, both literally and metaphorically.

  ‘Well, you should be. Those bloody idiots should be held responsible for what they’ve done to you.’ The line went quiet for a few seconds, and when she next spoke Karen’s voice was suddenly more cautious and tentative. ‘What is it you’re interested in, Beth?’