by Frances Pye
And how about Terry? A bright, independent woman having trouble with a teenage boy. Well, he could help there also. He’d got on well with Paul at Lily’s wrap party, and had liked Terry the moment he’d set eyes on her. Why shouldn’t he act as a surrogate father for the kid? What harm could it do? They both supported Charlton, that was a starting point, and they could go from there. Yes, Paul wasn’t his and could never, ever be so, but if he could fill even a tiny bit of the gigantic, gaping hole Mark and Ben had left…
Okay, the whole thing seemed a bit odd. But then Lily herself was a bit odd. And she definitely wanted her friends helped. She would be pleased with Sean for having done so, but did he want to get that involved with people he hardly knew? It was a huge commitment, fathering a child. Even if Jules was serious about not needing contact afterward, he was not about to donate his sperm and then just disappear. And what if Paul became attached to him? Then it wouldn’t be a matter of only a few trips to see Charlton, would it? He’d have to be around for ages. Paul was what, fifteen? It could be years and years and years. That or end up hurting the boy and destroying any effect he might have had…
“Hey! Hey! Boss?” A hand touched his arm. “Boss?”
Sean turned away from the contemplation of a pile of rust-reddened chains, old tires, and rotten wood and focused on his foreman on the job. “Sorry, Joe. Dreaming. What is it?”
TERRY STOOD on the corner of the street, in the shadow of an enormous horse chestnut, early conkers scattered on the ground under her feet, and stared past the small triangle of garden, down the hill. Where the hell was Jules? It was almost nine o’clock; Terry had been waiting for at least twenty minutes and there was no sign of her. The two were supposed to arrive at eight forty-five. Lily would be going crazy.
“Here I am.” Jules’s voice came from behind Terry. “Sorry. Traffic was a complete nightmare.” Jules kissed her friend on the cheek.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“I’m here now.” She nodded toward Lily’s house. “Anything happening?”
“Not really.”
“How do you think it’s going to go?”
“No idea. If I were him, I’d refuse.”
“Why?”
“It’s a hell of a lot to ask.”
“No it isn’t. Besides, it’s what he wants. Lily said so.”
“Maybe.”
“Please, please, please may he say yes.”
“Well, Lils has been softening him up. They were in the bedroom for ages.”
“You little voyeur.”
“I am not. Anyway, you can’t see anything from here.”
“Then you did look?”
Terry ignored this. “Ready?”
“Do you want to go over your story?”
“God, no. I’ve been practicing all evening.”
“Then it’s time you started crying. Come on, tighten up your throat….”
Inside the house, Lily and Sean were lying on a sofa in the drawing room, the remains of a picnic of charcuterie and cheese and salad spread out on the large, square, bird’s-eye-maple coffee table. They had finished one bottle of South African red and were making inroads into another when the doorbell rang.
“Don’t go.” Sean was comfortable, he was happy, and he didn’t want to lose any of his time with Lily.
“Probably a delivery for next door. I’ll get rid of them. I won’t be a sec.”
Lily left the room. Sean could hear the sound of her footsteps on the parquet floor in the hall, then muffled voices, and then multiple steps coming back. Damn.
“It’s Jules and Terry.” Lily came in first, followed by the girls. As she went toward Sean, she mouthed the words, “Sorry. Terry’s upset,” at him.
Sean glanced at Terry and saw tears glistening on her cheeks and shadows of run mascara around her eyes. His irritation faded. He was a complete sucker for tears. “Maybe I should go?” he asked.
“Course not. You can help. We’re going to cheer Terry up a bit. Come on girls, a drink, a drink.” Lily disappeared to get glasses. Jules sat opposite Sean on another sofa. Terry hunkered down on a warm-brown-and-red Persian rug in front of the fireplace. She tightened her throat and squeezed out another tear or two.
Jules reached over and touched her shoulder. “It’ll be all right. He’ll change, grow up, honestly he will.”
“Yeah, but when? People’ve been saying that for ages, but nothing seems to happen, does it?”
“It’s teenage behavior. They all do it, I’m told,” Jules said, delivering her lines.
“They all stay out till four in the morning? Then abuse their mothers when they come home?”
“That’s what he did?” Sean asked.
“Yes.” Terry turned to him. “I mean, a bit of rebellion is normal, I know that, but does he have to be so hurtful? I thought I’d be pleased he was speaking to me again, but now I think I liked it better when he was all silent and grumpy.”
At that, Lily reappeared, glasses in hand. “Talking has to be better,” she said. “Doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know.” Terry buried her head in her hands. “I just don’t know what to do,” she said between sobs.
Sean looked at her bent head, her shaking shoulders. She was crying out for his help and he felt selfish for having ever thought of withholding it. Then he glanced at Jules, who was kneeling next to Terry, her arm around her, trying to comfort her. Suddenly, he wondered why he had agonized so much over Lily’s suggestion that he assist her friends. The answer was simple. Both women needed him and it would be cruel to refuse either of them. He could help and therefore he should. Tentatively, certain that neither of them knew that he and Lily had discussed his getting involved, he said, “Perhaps…perhaps I can help.”
Terry looked up, her eyes highlighted by the growing black smudges around them. “Wh…what do you mean? Help? How?”
“I just wondered, maybe contact with an older man might be what he needs? Because his father’s dead? And he and I seemed to get on well at Lily’s party, and then there’s the Charlton thing and…” Sean ran out of steam. God, maybe Lily had gotten this wrong. Maybe Terry would see this as him butting in on something that was none of his business.
“Sean. That’s really nice of you. I never thought…But he did seem to get on with you, didn’t he? Yeah, he even mentioned Finn to you.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Lily chimed in.
“It could be exactly what he needs,” Jules said, adding her support.
“A father figure.”
“A role model.”
“Well, I’d try. I’m not sure how much of a role model I can be. Aren’t they supposed to be footballers or movie stars or something?”
“Who cares? You’d be an older man, taking an interest in him. Giving him a little of what he never had from his father. Like I said, it’s a great idea,” Lily added.
“I don’t know. It’s a lot to ask. Sean hardly knows me or Paul.” The group had agreed that one of the two women had to seem a bit reluctant when Sean offered his help—presuming he did—in case he smelled a large and long-dead rat. Terry had volunteered.
“No. But I like him. And I like kids. It’d be fun.”
“Maybe.”
“Look, it’s up to you. The offer’s there. Okay?”
“Thank you. Really, I’m very grateful. Can I just think about it for a day or two?”
“Of course. Of course you can.”
“Now, I’m taking you upstairs to get you cleaned up. You look like a panda. Come on.” Lily led Terry out, leaving Jules on her own with Sean. The non-waterproof mascara had been a stroke of genius.
“You know, you’re a very nice man,” Jules said as she poured herself some wine and then refilled Sean’s glass.
“Because I offered to help Terry?”
“He’s a difficult boy.”
“Not really. He reminds me of me. An only child missing his dead father. And I was just as spiky.”
“I find it hard to imagine you being as rude to your mother as Paul is to Terry.” Jules smiled.
“Maybe not. But I was a handful, believe me. And I bet my mum would’ve been delighted if someone had come along and taken me off her hands every now and then.”
“She must be proud of you now.”
“She died twelve years ago. Poor Mum.”
“Sean, I’m sorry….”
“It was just after I’d finished my first building. She was very proud of that. Her son, his own boss. She insisted on having my headed notepaper framed and hung by her bed. ‘Sean Grainger Construction.’ Bless her.” Sean raised his glass as if in tribute, took one sip, and then stared into the remaining wine, half smiling at the memory. Then he made an effort to shake off the past. Lily and Terry would be back any minute and he’d prefer to offer his services to Jules in private. But how to bring the subject up without embarrassing them both? “How’re things with you?” he asked.
“Okay. Summer party season’s almost over. There’s a bit of a lull at the moment.”
“Right.” Well, that hadn’t helped. He was going to have to be more obvious. He cast around for some tactful way to introduce the subject.
“And of course, if I mention the words ‘sperm donor’ to anyone, they run a mile.”
“That’s…that’s terrible.” He sighed with relief. Jules had done his work for him.
“To be honest with you, I’m finding it hard to think of anyone else to ask. It’s not exactly an everyday kind of request.”
“No, I suppose not.” Sean took a deep breath. “Um…would you consider me?” he asked.
And Jules’s body pushed him back against the sofa cushions, her two hands holding his head while she deposited quick kisses on his cheeks, his lips, his forehead.
“Hey! Hey,” he spluttered, “hold on.”
Jules climbed off him. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I got a bit carried away.”
“Do I take it that’s a yes?” Sean asked, smiling.
Jules beamed back. “Oh, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.”
TERRY SAT in her cluttered kitchen, cup of ginger tea in hand, Minnie on lap, telephone waiting in front of her. It was two days since Sean had made her his offer and she was still trying to understand her feelings in all this. When she’d thought she couldn’t have Sean’s help, she was desperate for it; now it was on offer, she kept going over and over the possible pitfalls. What if Sean found out the girls had made a deal among themselves and manipulated him into sharing himself? What if Paul discovered that his mother had arranged for Sean to be his friend? What if on meeting Sean again Paul decided he didn’t like him? What if Lily got jealous and called off the scheme? What if Sean again asked for commitment from Lily and was once more dispatched into the ether? What if he decided that he preferred Jules to Lily? What if he fancied Terry?
Okay, a number of these were unlikely, but that didn’t stop Terry from worrying about them. And she was a talented worrier, capable of descending into a vortex of anxiety over the smallest thing. Deep down, she wanted to back out of the whole Sean deal, but Paul had either refused to talk at all or had shouted insults since the night he’d stayed out until four A.M., and she was close to the end of her tether. She had to do something—and Sean was her only option. She couldn’t ignore her son’s unhappiness because she had a few worries about taking up a solution to his problems. Quickly, before she could dither anymore, she reached out, picked up the phone, and dialed a number.
“Sean? It’s Terry.”
nineteen
“You look tired.” Lily leaned against Mara’s cracked counter and watched her friend scuttle about, making tea for the two of them.
“Do I? Oh. No, I’m fine.” Mara had no intention of discussing the recent sleepless nights, the problems with Jake’s parents, her need for money. The trouble was, that didn’t leave her very much to talk about.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course. Really.”
“Okay. If you say so.” Lily sounded doubtful.
To avoid any further questions, questions she wouldn’t and couldn’t answer, Mara tried to change the subject. “So where are you filming?”
“Nowhere. I was just passing.”
Mara handed over a mug of strong-looking tea. “Lily, love, you don’t just pass Chiswick.”
“I might. If I was going to the airport.”
“Yes, you might. But you aren’t.”
“Well, no. There is that.”
“What is it? Problems?”
“No.”
“You came all this way for a cup of tea?”
“Would you believe me if I said yes?”
“Of course I would.”
“You’re a saint. I’d be lying.”
“I had a feeling you might be.”
Lily laughed. “I came to tell you something.”
“That you’ve decided to go ahead with your scheme.”
“Hell, I told Terry you’d’ve worked it out. You’re not still shocked?”
“I was, when you first mentioned the idea. But you can’t keep up shock for weeks.”
“You disapprove, though.”
“Nooo.” Mara smiled to hide her continuing dislike of the plan. No point in debating something if they’d decided. “Not really. It’s fine. If you’re all pleased, then that’s good.”
“Really?”
“Really. I want my friends to be happy.” No need to mention that she hardly thought this was going to make them so.
“So have you thought again about joining in?” Lily looked around her, at the dilapidated house, at her proud friend who refused all offers of help and yet still somehow managed on so little to keep herself and her daughters going. Who deserved something better than being alone, struggling to make ends meet, dreaming about her dead husband. “You could do with someone—”
“No.”
“Are you sure? It doesn’t feel complete without you.”
“I’m sure. Totally, totally sure. Jake would hate it.”
“Sweetie, it doesn’t matter what Jake would feel. He’s dead.”
“Not to me.”
“It’s been four years.”
“That makes no difference. It’s kind of you to think of me, but I don’t want this. Truly, I don’t.”
“Okay. But I hate to see you missing out.”
Mara couldn’t help but smile. No one could ever accuse Lily of not trying. Or persevering. “Has it all started? How did you persuade him?”
“Jules has her first date with him tonight….”
twenty
Rules had been around for over two hundred years. Inside, it looked more like a gentlemen’s club than a restaurant. Well, what Sean imagined a gentlemen’s club would look like. Personally, he’d never been in one. He didn’t come from the right part of town for all that. But he liked the look of Rules: discreet lighting, old leather, heavy curtains, and very private tables. And it felt like the kind of place Jules would enjoy. She’d certainly seemed pleased with her dinner, eating her steak with every evidence of genuine delight.
But she was perhaps less pleased with her companion. Apart from all the business of ordering, Sean had been worse than uncommunicative. He hadn’t said a word unless prompted. The question of his sperm and exactly how Jules was going to extract it was hindering his efforts at dialogue. Visions of syringes, turkey basters—or the more traditional method—were blocking out all attempts to concentrate on what was being said. He couldn’t quite forget those kisses Jules had rained on him when he’d offered his sperm that night at Lily’s. Had that been natural enthusiasm? Or was she expecting him to have sex with her?
It wasn’t that Jules hadn’t tried to get him to talk. So far, she’d touched on Lily, work, the weather, the traffic, the wine, and the food, all to little effect. Now she was attempting to discuss the merits of sea over ordinary salt.
“I believe chefs prefer sea salt, but I find it can be a little crunchy when scatte
red on food. How about you?” Jules was running out of ideas. She hadn’t thought it would be this difficult. Why wouldn’t he say anything?
“I’m sorry. I’m not much fun tonight, am I?”
“Well, no. Not much.”
“It’s only, you see, I can’t stop thinking about the…” God, this was difficult.
“The what?”
“The…the insemination,” Sean finally managed to get the word out. “About how you’ll do it.”
Jules heaved a massive sigh of relief. Was that all. Thank God, she’d thought he’d been having second, third, and even fourth thoughts. “Don’t worry. It’s very simple.”
“I’m sure. Only…I sort of need to know what I’ll be expected to do?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You see, sperm stays alive outside the body for three or four minutes. You just have to provide it. And I’ll do the rest.” Oh, he was embarrassed. It was so sweet. At first, Jules had seen sex with him as a nice added extra, but she was beginning to look forward to it for its own sake as well as for the expected result. She could almost wish she didn’t conceive the first time so that they could do it again.
“No syringes?”
“No syringes. Leave all that to me.”
“God, what a relief. I don’t know why, but I had to know. I’m not normally all that imaginative, but I kept seeing snapshots of…of…”
“Forget it. Please. You’re the donor. You only need to donate.” Rather more than he knew, but time enough for that on the night. He might be mad keen for Lily, but he was a man and therefore eminently seducible. Jules had yet to hear of one who could resist a concerted effort at seduction. She leaned back in her chair, picked up her wine, and took a sip. Yes. He’d do. He would very definitely do.
“We have to get the timing right. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to jump to whenever the ovulation test tells me I’m at my most fertile. There’s a small window, twenty-four, forty-eight hours, when conception’s most likely to happen. And I’ll need you then.”