She set the table and when she was finished she picked her phone off the granite worktop and checked it once again in case he had texted her but she hadn’t heard it.
Half an hour later there was still no sign of either of them and the fish was almost cooked. She had tried ringing them both again but there was no reply. Eventually her phone sounded with a text from Ryan: ‘Just getting food – see you soon.’
She felt the anger rise up inside her. They hadn’t asked her – she could have joined them on her way home from work, she would have liked that actually, but they never even thought to ask her. To her they had seemed to be as thick as thieves then – they probably didn’t want her there, she would cramp their style. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. The lines in her forehead had got deeper, her crow’s feet spread out from the corners of her eyes like tentacles. Ryan didn’t seem to be ageing as fast as she was. She had to get her colour done now every six weeks or her roots were silver grey. He had only a slight sprinkling of grey. It irked her how time didn’t seem to be catching up on him – it wasn’t digging its claws into him in the same way that it was doing to her. Réiltín never seemed to give him the disdainful treatment she meted out to her; she seemed to spare him the heavy sigh or the patronising roll of the eyes whereas Jo imagined that there was a reel playing inside her head on a continuous loop, which said ‘Here she goes again’. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if Réiltín even liked her. She longed for the closeness they once had, when she held her hand in hers when she was a little girl and Réiltín would bounce along beside her on the footpath. She had told her friends about it and they all told her not to take it personally – that it was a phase and perfectly normal teenage behaviour. But Jo couldn’t help worrying. What if they never regained their closeness? It seemed that Réiltín just tolerated her because she was her mother.
She was feeling the age-old insecurities raise their head again. Was this the normal way for a teenage girl to behave with her mother or, dare she say it, did Réiltín act like this because she wasn’t her biological mother? She hated those thoughts but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself,
Jo served up the food onto plates and put it on the table to grow cold. She didn’t bother eating herself. She was too wound-up to eat. She went into her study and started reading over a report into the economic benefits for establishing wind farms versus the possible negative impact on the landscape. A client had recently asked her for her opinion on whether it would have any legal implications for their future growth strategy. The report was dull and full of technical jargon, which she kept on having to stop and Google. She was beginning to grow frustrated with herself – what was wrong with her? She was used to reading reports like this but she just couldn’t get into it today. She seemed to be making such slow progress through it. Her concentration kept dipping and she would find herself staring out at the rain that was running down the windowpanes.
She looked back at the report again and read the same paragraph for the fourth time.
Eventually she heard the door open, after seven. She was fuming. She didn’t answer Ryan’s cheery “Hiya!”.
Then he walked down the hallway and stuck his head around the door of the study. “Hi there.”
She didn’t bother looking up at him.
“Réiltín wanted to call into Fiona’s house for a while to finish off some project they’re working on so her mum said she’d drop her home later,” he continued.
Jo got up off her chair, stormed past him and went into the kitchen. She pulled open the door of the fridge and started cleaning it out, throwing out the stuff close to going past its use-by date.
“Hey, what’s got into you?” Ryan asked from the doorway.
“You could have asked me to join you.”
“Oh sorry, I never even thought of it. We were both hungry so we said we’d grab some food. It was no big deal. I meant to say in my text not to bother making us dinner but I forgot!” He gestured to the now cold plates of food that were sitting on the kitchen table.
“Forgot?”
“Sorry.”
“Well, you could have asked me to join you, couldn’t you?” she said, moving around the room with swift, exaggerated movements.
“Right, sorry, I’ll ask next time!” he said huffily. He was tired; he’d had a long day in the office. His branch’s loan book was underperforming against the rest in the territory, his personal assistant had fallen over playing tennis and had fractured her wrist and would be out of action for at least two months. She took care of everything – he didn’t know how he was going to cope without her.
His response had angered her even more. She wasn’t going to let it go – she couldn’t help herself.
“I hate that cliquey little relationship that you both have – the whole ‘silly mum, let’s not ask her’ routine is growing tiresome.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Jo?”
“I just want to be included, that’s all.”
“We’ll ask you next time then!” Then he walked out of the kitchen and went into the living room, slamming the door shut, and turning on the TV.
Jo put her hands on her shoulders and started massaging her neck. She went back into the study and tried to read the report. She heard Réiltín come home a while later. She waited for her to come into the study but instead she went in to Ryan in the living room and then she heard her footsteps making their way up the stairs. Jo felt her heart sink. She felt as though she was losing Réiltín and she didn’t know how to get her back. They were supposed to be a family, yet here they were each of them sealed into their separate quarters. She was sure Réiltín had picked up on the atmosphere between her parents and she felt the guilt start to gnaw away at her.
When she was heading to bed she stopped on the landing outside Réiltín’s bedroom. She took a deep breath before knocking softly.
“Yeah?” Réiltín’s voice called out.
She pushed open the door and poked her head around the side. “I’m just saying goodnight.”
Réiltín was sitting back on her bed with her laptop resting on her knees. “Night.” She didn’t even look up at her mother.
Jo closed the door behind her and went into her bedroom. She already knew that Ryan wouldn’t sleep with her that night; it seemed as though lately he was in the spare room every night. Everything they said or did these days seemed to get on each other’s nerves. It would only be something small to set off the gunpowder and then the fighting would start. Sometimes she felt like he was deliberately trying to press her buttons; it seemed as though he was almost enjoying himself when the arguments would start. She was trying her best to shield Réiltín from it but at times her temper was so quick and intense that she couldn’t keep a lid on it. And that was always when Ryan, the model of a good parent, would throw down his trump card and say, “You know it’s not healthy to fight in front of children”. And of course the battle was lost then.
Jo stopped the car at the school the next morning and put on the handbrake. There it was again, that sinking, sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t felt it in years. Why, she wondered, had it decided to return now? Why today?
“Where’s your tie, love? I don’t want you getting another note home,” she said, turning to her daughter.
“It’s here,” Réiltín said, dragging the crumpled blue tie out of her school bag. “I hate wearing it – it makes me all scratchy and hot.”
“Well, you only have to wear it for a few more hours and then it’s the weekend. Are you doing after-school study today?”
“Do I have to? It’s Friday. I was going to go to Dundrum with some of the girls for food.”
“Well, I’d like you to, yes. It’s important you get into a routine of studying. You have a big year this year.”
Silence.
“So did you finish that Irish essay?” Jo said to change the subject.
“Yes, Mum.” Réiltín sighed and rolled her eyes, then she opened the h
andle of the car door and went to get out. Something urgent called to Jo. Something almost primal. She couldn’t explain it but she just felt so unsettled. Her stomach was churning and she didn’t know why.
“Réiltín?” Her voice sounded shaky.
“Yes?”
“You do know that I love you, don’t you? I love you very much.”
She watched her daughter’s face as her eyes narrowed in suspicion before she responded with a laugh.
“Of course I do, Mum. I love you too.”
“Okay, well, have a good day in school.”
She released her handbrake, checked her mirrors and drove on to the offices of Lawson-McBride-Williams Solicitors.
Chapter 29
Discovery
Jo was working in her study on Saturday afternoon. She was bent over her laptop, her keys clacking rapidly as she worked.
“Mum, can I have some money?” Réiltín swung her head around the door.
“How much do you need?”
“Thirty?”
“Thirty?”
“Well, we’re going to the cinema.” She was meeting Fiona.
“Right,” Jo sighed. “Bring me in my purse – my bag is in the kitchen.”
Réiltín returned after a few seconds and handed her mother the purse. Jo unzipped it and gave her daughter the money.
“We’ll have dinner at six so make sure you’re home before then.”
“Okay, Mum.” She leant in and kissed Jo goodbye.
“Have a nice time, see you later.”
Jo heard the door slam and then turned back to her laptop and continued typing out the email she was drafting. After a few minutes she felt a presence in the room. She looked up and saw Ryan’s broad frame shadowing the door.
“Hi there,” she said.
“You’re hard at work?”
“I’m just catching up on my emails – what’s up?” She took off her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Réiltín’s been asking what’s going on with yourself and Isla.”
“What’s she been saying?” She sighed wearily.
“She was asking me in the kitchen earlier. She knows there’s something up between you and she wants to know what it is.”
“It’ll all blow over soon.”
“Are you sure about that?” He walked over and sat down on the ottoman in front of her.
“Of course I am! Look, just because I don’t want to give Isla that embryo doesn’t mean that we have fallen out with each other.”
“Does Isla see it like that, I wonder?” There was an unmistakable trace of sarcasm in his voice.
“Why do you always have to take her side, Ryan? I thought you said it was my call?”
“Yeah, but I just don’t see your logic. We’re never going to use it.”
“You know that I have my reasons.”
“What? You’re worried that Réiltín will find out that she was conceived using Isla’s eggs?”
“Well, yes, that’s part of it.”
“Well, maybe she’d take it better than you give her credit for! She’s fourteen years old. I think at this stage she knows who her parents are!”
“Finding out something that big about your origins could really be detrimental to a teenager – it could irreparably damage her trust in us.”
“Well, I wanted to tell her all along, I don’t agree with her not knowing something so important about herself. It’s her whole identity – it’s who she is!”
“She does know who she is – she’s our child, Ryan – yours and mine!”
“You can’t just keep ignoring the situation, Jo!”
“What’s going on, Mum? Dad? What are you two talking about?”
Jo felt everything stop. The blood rushed into her ears and started to make a ringing sound.
“What are you doing back here, Little Star?” she said, doing her best to keep her voice calm. “Did you forget something?”
“I left my phone in the kitchen,” Réiltín said angrily. “Look, I know there’s something going on here. I’ve known for weeks there’s something up. You’re not talking to Isla, Mum, and now you two keep arguing! So either you’re going to tell me what it is or I’m going to go and ask Isla again and this time I’ll make her tell me!”
“Again? You’ve been asking Isla?” Jo was horrified. “There’s nothing to ask her, Réiltín!”
“Stop lying, Mum – stop lying to me!” said Réiltín in a stony voice. “There has been something going on for weeks now and I want to know what it is.”
“There’s nothing going on, love – I’ve already told you that!”
Jo looked desperately at Ryan who remained infuriatingly silent.
“You – Dad – even Isla – you’ve all been lying to me!” Réiltín was screaming now.
“No one has been lying to you –”
Ryan cut her off. “It’s time to tell her, Jo, come on!” He was looking at her angrily. “You can’t keep it a secret forever!”
Jo’s very worst fears were being realised. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t be the one to crush her daughter’s world like that. She couldn’t do it. She felt as though her whole existence, everything that she had wanted for so long, was falling apart. It was falling down around her in a million dusty fragments and she couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening. She could feel the rattle of her heartbeat against her ribcage. Her chest felt tight as though somebody was sitting on her chest. Breathe in, breathe out, she told herself, breathe in, breathe out.
“Please, Ryan, don’t do it, please –” Her voice was trembling.
“Right, well, if your mum won’t say it, I will, Réiltín. As you know we tried for a long time to have you. We had a difficult journey where we tried fertility treatment, which didn’t work for us, and eventually the doctors told us that we were never going to be able to have a child of our own. Isla did something for us back then that was very generous: she donated her eggs to us so that we could have you. Do you understand what I’m saying, love?”
She was looking at him blankly.
“You were conceived using Isla’s egg and my sperm.”
They both watched the expressions change on her face as she tried to process what her father had said to her.
Finally it registered.
“So Isla – not you,” she pointed at Jo, “is my real mother?”
“She is not your mother, Réiltín!” Jo started to cry. “I’m your mother and you know that! I’m the one who carried you for nine months and gave birth to you!’’
“Oh my God, I can’t believe this. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Look, love, I realise that this is an awful shock for you,” Jo said, choking back tears, “but, believe me, if you knew everything that we went through to have you, you’d know you were a much-wanted baby. I’d go as far as to say the most wanted baby ever.”
“But I’m Isla’s child! Dad is my dad but you’re not my mum!” Réiltín said with disbelief.
“Stop saying that! I am your mother and you finding out that Isla donated her eggs to us won’t change anything! She gave them to me as a gift and it allowed me to have you. I wouldn’t change a thing though because it made you.” Jo was sobbing now. “We got you and never have two people wanted a child so badly and been so happy to finally get her.”
“But no matter what you say, Isla is my mother!”
“It’s not that simple! I carried you, Réiltín, I gave birth to you, I am named on your birth cert – you’re my child. No matter what you may think or what you believe, I’m your mother, Réiltín. I carried you in my womb – my blood flowed through you.”
“But my whole entire life has been one big lie! You’ve turned everything that I’ve ever known upside-down. Do you realise how horrible it is to learn something like this now? Is everything else that you’ve told me a lie too?”
“Oh, honey, look,” Jo said, “when a woman donates an egg she loses all rights to the eg
g with the act of donation. So once Isla donated those eggs, you became my child. We used your father’s sperm and I carried you. Everything else from that point on was our child and not Isla’s egg. Without me, Isla’s egg would still be Isla’s egg, but together with your dad we made you. We created you. If we didn’t do that, you would never have been born. Can’t you see that?”
“You keep telling yourself that if that’s what makes you feel better – you can twist it around whatever way you want to but at the end of the day it’s just like Dad and Isla had a baby together and that baby is me!”
“No, don’t say that! It’s way more complicated than that – there is so much scientific evidence to suggest that there are many more factors than just the simple egg and sperm. If your dad and Isla had a baby it wouldn’t be like you because it was my body that determined what way your genes were expressed. Do you see?”
“But why didn’t you tell me? Are you ashamed of me? Are you embarrassed? I can’t believe you were all in on this big secret together, you, Dad and Isla. I can’t trust any of you . . .” She spun around to face her father then, her green eyes blazing. “Did you ever plan on telling me, Dad? Or were you going to let me live my whole life with this huge secret about who my real parents are? Everyone knew about it except for me – the one person that it affects the most. Why would you keep it a secret from me?” Her anger gave away to tears. “I will never forgive you for this – never!”
“Please, love, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” Ryan said, distraught. “I wanted to, I swear I did, but your mum . . . well . . . she thought it would be better if we didn’t.”
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