Soul to Take

by Helen Bateman

  A new set of candles and that CD Ric got me for Christmas, would have made anyone glad to be back from work and as we settled down on the sofa after our meal, I felt closer than we’d been in a long time.

  Hours seemed to go by before we’d run out of things to chat about, not about Rosie or the restaurant but about life, like we used to in the old days. We did laugh when we dreamed about the holiday we would like to have this summer and then compared it to the one we can probably afford! And I do love his version of the story of our first date, when Ric pretended he had a car and said that had to take me home by bus because it was in the garage being repaired!

  Luckily, the miscarriage never came up because in a way, it was nice not to think about it for an hour or two. And when Ric silently held my gaze for that extra second, I knew that it was time.

  After he held my hand and led me up the stairs, we kissed and touched, like strangers exploring each other’s bodies for the very first time. For that moment, I wasn’t anyone’s mother or wife, I was just me. And Ric, well, he was someone else, someone who made me feel important again. Making love has never felt as special as it did last night. I was a china doll which Ric desired but was afraid to break. What we have lacked in words, recently, we communicated with our bodies and I felt re-connected to Ric once more.

  When we lay on the bed and Ric asked me if that had been okay, I couldn’t help but hope that a new life had been created in that spark that had ignited between us. I know it sounds silly, but I have a strange feeling that something did happen in my womb last night. I read on the internet about the rise in fertility after a miscarriage and that your chance of having twins is increased! Now I’m not quite sure how we’d cope with that! But what I am certain of is that we’re back on track and whatever Ric chooses to do outside of our marital bed cannot match what I can give him inside it.

  SHANNON

  Shit, shit, shitty shit! Where did that go? I swear I ’ad it in my ’and when I stood up from the sofa. I must’ve dropped it on the carpet in there ’cos it’s defo not in this bathroom. Let’s ’ave a look. Christ this carpet is ’orrible. I mean who’d put this thing on their floor anyway? I know it’s only a caravan but can you imagine lookin’ at all the carpets in the shop and decidin’, “Yes please, I’ll take this one. That’s right the one that looks like a scruffy brown dog.” An’ it smells like one when you get down close to it like this. I wonder if Rhys’ mam’s ever hoovered in ’ere. There’s all sorts of crap trodden into it. Everythin’ but my pill.

  I knew my plan was goin’ too well. Rhys hasn’t suspected a thing. My pill packet has stayed on the shelf next to the telly, like the nurse said, so we can both take responsibility for them, an’ as long as they disappear on the right day, 'e’s none the wiser whether they’ve gone down me neck or down the bog!

  Sex has been much nicer since we stopped using the condoms. I know the nurse said that we should still use them, just to be doubly sure, but like we said when we got back ’ere, we both know that neither of us ’ave been with anyone else so we’re well safe. Rhys can’t stand using a condom and ’e’s right, it does stop the flow of things and feels a bit funny. Now, it’s much more natural and I think we’re both gettin’ better at it.

  Bloody ’ell, that nurse at the clinic would ’ave a fit if she knew ’e’d ditched the condoms an’ I was flushin’ me pills down the bog. Kind ’o defeats the point o’ goin’ really. But Rhys’ mam would’ve chucked a benny if we ’adn’t made the appointment. “I can’t afford to feed no more little buggers,” she said. It was proper embarrassin’.

  But at least Rhys came with me. An’ the nurse was alright. I liked they way she didn’t say we shouldn’t be doin’ it an’ she talked to us like we were grown ups, not kids. She gave us a whole pile of free condoms. I’ll give them to Sian at school on Monday. I’ve actually read those leaflets too, when Rhys ’as been at work. I know they’re meant to tell you ’ow not to get pregnant but from what I can see, if I don’t take the pills the nurse prescribed me, an’ we do it every day, then we stand a fair chance of me gettin’ up the duff.

  An’ then it’s free ’ouse ’ere we come! I can’t wait. I wonder what it’ll be like. It’s gotta be better than this shit ’ole. I’ve given up lookin’ for that pill. The scruffy dog’s probably eaten it or somethin’. One thing’s for sure, Rhys’ll never find it in there.

  I think I do actually love Rhys. Sian says you just know when you find the right one; ’er mam and dad met at school when they were thirteen and still get off with each other on the sofa when they think no-one’s lookin’. Gross! An’ I was thinkin’ about that this mornin’ an’ I do just know I love Rhys. I mean, I know our ’ouse isn’t perfect yet but I do love livin’ with ’im. He makes me laugh all the time and ’e shares all ’is money from work with me. It’s well sweet ’ow ’e brings me a bar of chocolate ’ome every night when he goes for his scratch card and ’e makes me guess which one it is. I’ve only got the KitKat right so far.

  ‘An if I am goin’ to ’ave a baby with someone, then I can’t think of anyone I’d rather ’ave one with, not even Evan Jones. Rhys is proper nice to his little brothers and sisters so I think ’e’d be good with ’is own. I mean, I’m guessin’ ’e wouldn’t want his own yet, out of choice, an’ that’s why I can’t tell ’im what I’m up to. But if it were to just ’appen ... Well, I think he’d be well excited.

  Maybe it already ’as ’appened. I could be sittin’ ’ere preggers now. Now there’s a thought. It’d be wonderful, really. Whether Rhys sticks around or buggers off like ginger Chantelle’s boyfriend, I know I’ll love my baby. Even if I’ve got no money and can never go out anywhere, I’ll be the best mam I can. I’ll feed my baby and bath him or her every night and change their pyjamas all the time. I’ll always have time to play and never say I’m too busy. I’ll listen to them too. Not like hear what they’re saying while I’m watchin’ telly but really listen and try to help with whatever they’re worried about. I will try to get a job eventually and work hard to make sure my child has what they need. And no man will ever be more important to me. My child will always come first and I’ll always take their side over anyone else’s.

  SARAH

  I’m so tired and yet I can’t sleep. Usually, listening to Tim’s choice of radio station and their ‘discussion topics’ is more than enough to send me off to the Land of Nod when he’s driving us somewhere but not today. My body aches for my bed and that’s where I’ll be headed as soon as we get home but my mind is whirring to say the least.

  Never in a million years did I think this whole process would happen so quickly. I imagined we’d have appointment after appointment and months of waiting lists in between. It’s amazing what they can do when money is involved. No-one at work would believe that they had an initial meeting with us only two days after I rang the fertility clinic. How different it all is to my hospital!

  It’s a good job Tim didn’t need any persuasion, really. Poor thing looked so hungover when he got back from his stag do that weekend but he lit up when I mentioned that I’d been doing some reconsidering. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking!” I remember he beamed. I’m sure he’d agree with me if I said the sky was green and the grass was blue, sometimes. He’s like a little puppy, so eager to please and do the right thing. I do find myself wondering what he really feels and thinks. But surely he wouldn’t just be saying what I wanted to hear about something as monumentally important as this.

  When I explained that I didn’t want to go down the long, laborious route that we’d been pursuing before, he did point out that it was sensible to just pay for some IVF right away if that’s where we were going to end up anyway.

  After lots of research, the clinic I finally chose almost bent over backwards to get the ball rolling. A doctor’s referral wasn’t necessary in this case, they said. Thank God we had to book our individual medical examinations on different days as our shifts were both funny that week. So it wa
sn’t even difficult telling them about my previous pregnancy and asking them to keep it confidential. Tim was ten foot tall when he came home with the news that he had a clean bill of health and some Chinese food to celebrate!

  In fact, it’s all been almost too good to be true: the ovulation prevention drugs were fine, the baseline ultrasound showed exactly what it ought to and my ovaries were stimulated after only about a week. As I had the trigger shot the other day, I kept thinking of Ellie. I mean, I know that selfishly, I might get my baby out of all of this, and I cannot thank her enough for that. Without her youthful optimism that anything is truly possible when you put your mind to it, Tim and I would never have come this far. But more than that, I feel like for the first time in her short life, I am her mother. She needs me and I am trying to help her. And there’s no feeling as wonderful as that. Even through the discomfort of the egg retrieval today, I focused on her pain and what she has already been through, never mind what she may have to come. That part doesn’t even bear thinking about.

  Of course, Tim still has no idea about Ellie. I know he is an easy going man and would understand my past. But there’s just never been an appropriate moment to tell him about it all before and I don’t think now is the right time. What if he didn’t agree with the ethics of donor babies? This could be the one time he doesn’t simply let me have my own way. Time is of the essence for Ellie and I can’t afford any hesitations. No, this whole can of worms is not to be opened yet. It can wait. The way I justify in my head, we could easily be going through this process for ourselves; Ellie has just been a Guardian Angel pointing us in the right direction. In time, when things have settled down, and if we’re lucky enough to have a successful pregnancy, I’ll introduce him to Ellie and I’m sure that I can talk him round to the idea once he meets her.

  For now, I’m taking each day at a time and enjoying my run of good fortune. I pray that it will continue and as we’re driving home, Tim’s little swimmers are fighting their way through the wall of my microscopic egg. It’s not a very romantic start to life, I know, but I don’t remember anything very romantic about my adolescent fumblings the first time I conceived. In the grand scheme of things, that bit just doesn’t seem so important any more. Tim and I have the rest of our lives to be romantic together. All I hope is, that with God’s grace, an embryo is developing in that laboratory, a miracle that will not only create life but breathe life into my first born child.

  ME

  As my ethereal state is clearly ending and I am about to be become substance once more, I’m beginning to see why each of these women could, one day, deliver my soul back to Earth. If I gaze beyond the deceit, I suppose I am beginning to see that they are all determined people who will fight for what they believe in their hearts. Who can deny that this is an admirable trait? They are not harming or hurting anyone, just trying to make the best of their lot. Not one of them sees the obstacles in the way of their goal and I truly believe that they intend to be good people. That quality will be useful to guide me in the greatness I feel my future holds. Each of them has their imperfections, as I did each time I was Human, and I cannot condone their lies, but I do admire their fortitude and their resilience. In addition to this, I can now see that I will live in a land of vast opportunity, with a mother who, to varying degrees, will enable me to access such advantages. She will love me, protect me and fight for me, allowing me to be a child and experience even more privilege than she herself has known.

  But time is running out though. In a matter of days, one of these women will have undergone the miracle of conception. Each of them has set the scene for my new story to begin but that very performance, by which we were all created, is an epic tale in itself. Of the three hundred million players sent on stage by the male, very few will survive to the last act. The challenges they must encounter and defeat make it a true marvel that any of them could greet the damsel in the finale. It is true that every Human Being has endured their toughest test of character before they even take recognisable form. And all of this presumes that the script writers time the last scenes to perfection; if the damsel is not ready or has already exited the stage, then there can be no conclusion. The miracle continues as the actors must deliver the exact words to one another so that the information they carry can be shared as they take that last waltz across the stage and enjoy their happily ever after. It is hard to believe that my new life will have faced and overcome these incredible physical odds before it can encompass my soul.

  As if Nature’s party trick wasn’t awesome enough, my mother will have to carry and nurture my body within her own for over nine months. I will be a parasite, greedily taking what I need to grow and she won’t mind at all, taking great delight in bearing the burden of another she has not yet even met. Her physical agony will bring forth joy as I take my first lungfuls of air and she won’t begrudge a single second of the toll I have taken on her exhausted frame.

  And so our relationship will continue; I will demand and she will give. She will teach me all that she knows and divert me from dangers I will encounter. She would lay down her life for me, given the chance and love me no matter what.

  Just as I thought my future was finally eclipsing my reveries, I am recalling that I have lived this powerful relationship between mother and child before. I must let it flow and remember, for there may be something more to be learned.

  KLARA

  This existence is the most disturbing so far; blurred sensations just beg to be untangled. I see no images yet but feel love of the most overwhelming kind, love for a child growing inside me. I have wanted this so much and am savouring every day that I carry around my swollen abdomen. I feel my child moving and stretching in her limited space and I smile each time she hiccoughs.

  But I also feel hatred. Hatred for the man who gave her to me but will take her from me soon. I remember that once, I felt something for him, when he showed me kindness me and then gratitude for what he had done. But never love. And certainly not now, since things have changed.

  Wrestling inside of me are feelings of envy that I have for the poor women that he employs. Despite their ten hour days in the factory, their hunger and their disappointment that really, life in the city is not so very different to that which they had on the farms, I admit that I am jealous.

  It’s all coming back to me now. Each morning as they gingerly pass my window on their way to the spindles and the looms, I look down as they walk across the courtyard and hear them laughing about the life their parents promised them when their families became emancipated from serfdom. I cannot help but agree that they are very unfortunate indeed and then I pray that the Tsar will soon see how much reform is actually needed in our vast and suffering land. But when they finish their day, and return to the dormitories my husband has provided for married couples, oh how I wish I could trade places with any one of them.

  These lucky ones go home to someone who loves and cherishes them. Someone who speaks to them in a civil tongue and doesn’t come back each evening with a belly full of vodka. That would be more valuable than any cotton mill owner.

  I remember the day my parents introduced me to this portly gentleman who had travelled all the way from Moscow. I thought he must be a friend of my father’s, considering his age and appearance. But it was not my father, or my mother, or my sisters he was interested in over dinner; it was me. He asked what I wanted to do with my life and when I told him I wanted to study and to read medicine, he laughed and told me he could take me past the University in his city one day if I went to visit him. My naivety told me that this was an opportunity and I answered all of his questions with eager anticipation that he might fulfil his promise.

  Over the next few months, Shapiro visited frequently and then one day I was told that I was to go and live with him as his wife. Too young and inexperienced to disagree with my parents, I went. Never before had I considered marriage or husbands and as the eldest child, had no knowledge of how this arrangement would be made for me
. It seemed like an adventure going to the city and as this kind gentleman drove his carriage into Moscow, I’m sure I caught a glimpse of the University. But my days of cooking and cleaning taught me nothing of medicine. I wanted for nothing though and Shapiro showered me with gifts, treating me like nobility rather than a mere farmer’s daughter. For this I was grateful and tried to love him in return.

  But after only a few short weeks, I became acquainted with the real Shapiro Ivanov. Every evening, I could predict his return from his revelries; a loud thud would alert me that his massive body had shook the door frame once again. As he bounded in and tried to regain his balance, I would scurry around making sure that supper was ready quickly, for the sooner he ate, the sooner he would go upstairs, fall asleep and my peaceful evening would resume.

  Things got worse the evening that I attempted to make borscht. I’d watched my mother make it so many times and was convinced that mine tasted every bit as good as hers. But Shapiro clearly did not agree. He took one sip and threw it across the room; the blood-like stains ran down the walls, warning me of my fate.

  Of course he was remorseful the next morning and he sent one of the factory girls to the door of our house to deliver a pair of the softest leather gloves I had ever seen. And I forgave him. Without vodka, he could be such a kind and loving man.

  But it seemed that this flash of his true soul had opened the floodgates for further revelations of character. Less than a week later, he deemed the house unclean and asked what I had been doing with my day. As my mouth opened to explain, it was met with a meaty fist and this time the blood splatter was real.