Their Own Little Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Calorie? No. Ridiculous idea. They do great puds, as well,’ he added with another mischievous grin, and sank his teeth into a slice of fresh, warm baguette slathered with butter.

  She couldn’t help but smile.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘WOW. THAT WAS so tasty.’

  ‘Mmm. And positively good for you.’

  She used the last sweet potato fry to mop up the remains of the crayfish cream. ‘Really?’ she said sceptically.

  He laughed and speared a fat, juicy flake of fish. ‘I doubt it, but one can live in hope. So, what were you doing at the speed dating gig?’ he asked, and she frowned, hugely reluctant to go back to that and wondering why she’d opened her mouth and blurted it out.

  ‘I told you.’

  His eyes widened, the fish on his fork frozen in mid-air. ‘You were serious? I thought you were winding me up.’

  ‘No. You probably deserved it, but I wasn’t.’

  He laughed, then looked back at her, those incredible eyes searching hers thoughtfully. ‘You’re genuinely serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I genuinely am, but it’s not why I was there, not really. I was helping set it up, and they talked me into taking a table, but a bit of me was wondering if anyone appropriate might rock up.’

  ‘Iona.’ His voice dropped, becoming quieter but somehow urgent and his eyes were suddenly deadly serious. ‘Sorry, I know it’s really none of my business—’

  ‘No, it isn’t, and I don’t think this is really the time or the place.’

  He frowned, nodded and let it go, but only with obvious reluctance. ‘Yeah, you’re right. OK. So—tell me about yourself. Apart from that.’

  No way. ‘I’d rather talk about you,’ she said, smiling to soften it. ‘What brings you to Yoxburgh?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy. As I said, my aunt lives here in a home and I spent a lot of time here as a child, the hospital has an expanding IR department, they were looking for a specialist registrar, I wanted to broaden my experience and it seemed like a perfect fit. Plus I get a free house to live in,’ he added with a little quirk of his lips that drew her attention back to them.

  She wondered what it would be like to kiss them...

  ‘So, why are you here?’ he asked, and she hauled her mind back into order and edited her answer because the truth was too messy.

  ‘Oh—similar reasons, really, work-wise. They’ve got a great ED department, I was looking for my first registrar’s job, I’d worked in Bristol up to now but frankly I’d seen enough of it—’ That was putting it mildly, but she wasn’t going into that. ‘And my family are based in Norfolk so it’s not too far from them, and it’s a great hospital, and I love the seaside. Not that I’ve seen much of it because the summer’s been rubbish and, anyway, my shift pattern’s pretty crazy and I haven’t had a lot of time because I’ve been studying, too.’

  ‘All work and no play, eh? Don’t do that, Iona. Keep your work/life balance. It’s really important.’

  She tilted her head slightly and searched his eyes, because there’d been something in his voice...

  ‘That sounded like personal experience,’ she said, and his eyes changed again.

  ‘Yeah, kind of. I know what it’s like. My shift pattern’s crazy, too, and on top of that I’ve got a mass of courses and exams coming up in the next year, but that’s IR for you. It doesn’t matter how hard I work, how much I learn, there’ll always be more.’

  ‘Is that “Do as I say, not as I do”?’ she asked, and he laughed and nodded.

  ‘Pretty much. Work can easily take over—not that I’m the best person to tell anybody how to run their life since I seem to have trashed my own, but there you go. You could always learn from my experience,’ he said, and went back to his fish and chips.

  ‘They look tasty. Can I pinch a chip?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ he said, and she took the last one off the plate as a shadow fell over the table.

  ‘Was everything OK for you both?’

  ‘Great, thanks.’ He looked up at Maureen and smiled. ‘Filling. I’ve eaten myself to a standstill.’

  ‘So you don’t want dessert? That’s not like you.’

  ‘Not tonight, I don’t think. Iona?’

  She would have loved a dessert. She’d spotted one on the specials board, but Joe didn’t seem inclined.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to share the baked chocolate fondant?’ she asked wistfully, and he just groaned and laughed.

  ‘There’s my resolve going down the drain.’

  ‘That’s a yes, then,’ Maureen said with a smile. ‘One, or two? And do you want coffee with it?’

  He shook his head. ‘Just one, and no coffee for me, Maureen. Iona?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks. The fondant will be more than enough.’

  It took ten minutes to come, but it was worth the wait and she was enjoying the view and the company.

  Maureen put the plate down between them, they picked up their spoons and Iona waited for him to cut it in half, but he didn’t, just dug his spoon in, so she joined in and kept eating until their spoons clashed in the middle.

  She glanced up, their eyes locked and he smiled and put his spoon down. ‘Go on. Finish it. It was your idea.’

  She didn’t argue, just pulled the plate closer, scraped it clean and put the spoon down a little sadly.

  ‘That was delicious. All of it. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Shall we go?’

  She nodded, and he got to his feet, dropped a pile of notes on the bar in front of Maureen and they headed out into the darkness and a light drizzle.

  ‘Oh. I didn’t know it was going to do that,’ she said with a rueful laugh, but he just reached out and took her hand in a firm, warm grip and they ran, guided by the light of his phone, and got back to the house before they were more than slightly damp.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked, heading for the porch and standing under the shelter.

  She hesitated on the drive. ‘I thought you didn’t want coffee?’

  ‘No, I didn’t want coffee there. I prefer mine, but I can’t say that to Maureen, can I? It would break her heart.’

  It made her laugh, as it was meant to, and she suddenly realised she did want a coffee, and she was also curious about the house, and his aunt, and—well, him, really.

  And she was getting wet.

  She stepped under the shelter of the porch and smiled. ‘Coffee would be lovely. Thank you.’

  He put the key in the door, turned it and pushed it open, flicking a switch that flooded the hall with light.

  ‘Welcome to the seventies,’ he said wryly, and stepped back to let her in.

  * * *

  It was stunning, and completely unexpected.

  The walls were a pale acid green, but that wasn’t what caught her eye, it was the way the ceiling sloped steeply up from right to left, rising along the line of the stairs and over the landing, creating a wonderful, open vaulted entrance hall.

  ‘Wow! I love this!’

  ‘Me, too. It goes downhill a bit from now on, mind,’ he said with a low chuckle that did something odd to her insides. ‘Come into the kitchen, I’ll make you a coffee.’

  She followed him through a glass door into a large rectangular room that ran away to the right across the back of the house. To the left were double doors into another room, in front of her beyond a large dining table was a set of bi-fold doors, opening she assumed to the garden, and on her right at the far end of the room was the kitchen area.

  Not that there was much kitchen.

  ‘Ahh. I see what you mean.’

  He chuckled again. ‘Yeah. It’s a mess. I got the bi-folds put in and the dividing wall taken out, so I lost most of the units, but to be honest I haven’t got the time or energy to decide what I want in here and it’
s a big job, starting with taking the floor up and re-screeding it because they weren’t quite level. So I’m learning to love the tiny scraps of seventies worktop and the ridiculously huge sink and the utter lack of storage, but it’s only me so it’s fine. And the pub’s handy when I get desperate,’ he added with a grin. ‘So, coffee. Caf, decaf, black, white, frothy?’

  She stared at him, slightly mesmerised by the sight of him propped against the sink with his arms folded, relaxed and at ease. It was gradually dawning on her just how incredibly attractive he was, how well put together, how confident, caring, thoughtful, sexy—

  ‘Hello?’

  She pulled herself together and tried to smile. ‘Sorry. I was just a bit stunned by the kitchen,’ she lied. ‘Um—can you do a decaf frothy?’

  ‘Sure, that’s what I’m having.’ He flipped a capsule into the machine, put a mug under the spout and pressed a button, put milk into the frother and then propped himself up again and frowned thoughtfully at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Well, nothing you want to hear. You told me to butt out.’

  ‘Are we back to that?’ she said with a sigh.

  ‘Yes, we are, because... Iona, if you want a baby, why wouldn’t you look for a partner?’

  ‘I’ve tried that,’ she said, really not wanting to go there. ‘And, anyway, that’s not what it’s about.’

  He looked puzzled, then shrugged. ‘OK, so why not go through a proper sperm bank or clinic? The risks to you are huge if you don’t use a donor regulated by the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority. They won’t have had genetic testing, no sperm quality check—it’s a minefield, even if you don’t take into account the risk of picking up a life-changing infection such as Hepatitis or HIV. The screening process is so thorough, so intensive, the physical and mental health screening, sperm quality, family medical history, motivation—and the children have the right to trace their fathers now once they’re eighteen, so nobody’s going to be doing it for anything other than the right reasons. Why on earth would you go anywhere else?’

  ‘I wouldn’t. I haven’t. I’m not that stupid, so you can relax and stop fretting. I wasn’t serious about picking up a random stranger, I was winding you up, really, but I am looking for a sperm donor. That much was true.’ She studied him thoughtfully. ‘You seem to know an awful lot about it,’ she added, searching his eyes, and something in them changed again.

  He looked away briefly, then back, the silence between them somehow deafening in the quiet room.

  ‘Yeah. I do,’ he said finally, as if it had been dragged out of him. ‘I’ve done it, but that was years ago, before I properly understood the knock-on effect of it.’

  Wow. ‘Knock-on effect?’ she asked, still processing the fact that he’d been a donor. Ironic, since she’d mentally given him ten out of ten, but he didn’t need to know that.

  ‘Yes. Wondering—you know—about the children, if there are any, if they’re OK? That sort of stuff.’

  ‘Can they contact you?’

  ‘No, because I did it before the law changed, but I can still provide contact details if I want to via the HFEA, and I could also find out how many children there are, their ages, their genders, but I can’t contact them to find out if they’re OK, and that troubles me. Are they happy? Are they safe? What are their parents like? Are they still together? Are they well? I just don’t know, and it’s unlikely I ever will, and it bugs me.’

  ‘But it’s not your worry, surely?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he said emphatically. ‘I know they aren’t technically my children, but in a way they are because without me they wouldn’t exist, so morally I feel responsible. What if they’re unhappy? What if someone’s hurting them? It’s unlikely, I know that, but still I worry. Of course I worry.’

  ‘But as you said, it’s highly unlikely and, anyway, you’ve signed over that right, that responsibility. They’re not your children, any more than this would be my child. I’m doing it for my sister, and I won’t have any rights, I know that because I’ll sign them all over to Isla and Steve when they adopt it, but I’m fine with that. That’s why I’m doing it, not because I want a child.’

  His eyes widened and his jaw dropped a fraction. ‘You’re going to give it away?’ he said. ‘Iona, that’s—Will you be able to do that? It’s going to take so much courage. What if you change your mind when it comes to it? Are you able to change your mind?’

  Her heart gave a little hiccup, but she ignored it. ‘I won’t change my mind, because there’s no room in my life for a child now, and I don’t know if there ever will be, and this is something I can do for Isla and Steve, and I want to help them because I love them.’

  ‘Yes, of course you do, but—’ He rammed a hand through his hair, his eyes troubled. ‘I only gave away my DNA and that feels hard enough sometimes. You’re talking about cradling your own baby inside your body for nine months! How will you be able to give it away, even if it is to your sister? I know you love her and you know her very well, so you know the baby will be safe and loved, but—what about you, Iona? How will you feel? And what if they split up? What if their marriage breaks down?’

  ‘It won’t! And this is my sister, Joe—my identical twin sister, so genetically it would be identical to a child of her own. It could be her own. It’ll be just like being the incubator for their own baby, and I want to do it for her because I love her and I want to help her—’

  ‘I know you do, but...?’

  ‘But? How many siblings do you have?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘None?’ She laughed disbelievingly. ‘None. So how can you possibly judge my motives?’

  ‘I can’t. I’m not judging your motives, I wouldn’t presume to do that and I’m sure you’re doing it for the all right reasons. I have immense respect for your courage in even contemplating it. I’m only thinking of the impact it would have on you, knowing how hard it’s been for me, and what I’ve done is nothing compared to what you’re talking about. Please tell me you’ve thought it through.’

  ‘I thought you were making me a coffee?’ she said, changing the subject abruptly, and he swore softly, threw away the one he’d made ages ago and dropped another capsule in the machine. Then he scrubbed a hand through his hair again and sighed as he turned back to her.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Are you?’

  He sighed again. ‘Yes and no. I know I keep banging the same old drum, Iona, but I’m really worried about you now.’

  ‘You really don’t need to be, Joe, I do know what I’m doing. It’s not an idle thought. I’ve researched it, I’ve considered it at length, discussed it endlessly—I’m not stupid.’

  ‘I never said you were. Just maybe too kind for your own good. Whose idea was it?’

  ‘Mine. All mine.’

  ‘And they said yes?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, they said yes, but not until they’d tried to talk me out of it, but I could tell they didn’t really want to do that, they just wanted to be sure that I was sure, and I am.’

  ‘Have you ever been pregnant?’

  She shook her head, feeling a pang of regret because they’d tried and failed. ‘No. Have you?’ she asked, and he laughed.

  ‘I don’t believe so.’

  ‘Then how can you lecture me on what it’ll feel like?’

  ‘Because I have imagination? Because I have empathy? Because I know how hard I’ve found even doing what I did?’

  ‘But it’s different to your situation. I know who the baby’s going to, and I know it’ll be loved and cherished and brought up with my values. Did you have any control over who had your sperm?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. And that’s at the root of my worries, I have to admit, because I can never be utterly sure my ch—’ He cut himself off. ‘My offspring will be loved and cared for as I would have loved and
cared for them.’

  She searched his eyes—those gorgeous, penetrating, honest eyes—and she could read them clearly, could see the genuine worry he felt for his unknown children, the responsibility he felt for their happiness over which he had no control.

  ‘You’re a good man, do you know that?’ she said softly, and he laughed and turned away, making a production of spooning out the froth onto her new coffee.

  ‘Chocolate sprinkles?’

  ‘Is it powder?’

  ‘No, it’s flakes of real chocolate.’

  ‘Oh, yes, please. I love those.’

  ‘Me, too. Here.’

  He handed it to her, and she went up on tiptoe and brushed a kiss against his cheek.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He looked slightly startled. ‘It’s only a coffee.’

  ‘It’s not for the coffee, it’s for caring—about the children you don’t know, about me—just—for caring.’

  He hesitated, staring down into her eyes, and then he gave a fleeting smile.

  ‘You’re welcome. I didn’t mean to interfere, but I can’t stand by and watch a friend sleepwalk into potential unhappiness without saying anything.’

  ‘Am I a friend?’ she asked, and he gave her a thoughtful half-smile.

  ‘I think you could be. I’m not in the habit of spilling my guts to people who aren’t.’

  He turned back to the coffee maker, and she perched on a chair at the big old table, a funny warm feeling inside, and watched him make his own coffee, his movements as deft and sure as they’d been in Resus. He rinsed out the milk frother, sat down opposite her and met her eyes.

  ‘Talking about spilling my guts, it’s a bit late to worry about this, but you’re the only person outside my family who I’ve ever told about any of this stuff, so I’d be grateful if you’d keep it to yourself.’

  She nodded, surprised that he’d even felt he had to ask her. ‘Of course I will. I’m amazed you told me. It’s not the sort of thing people talk about—and snap, by the way. Only my sister and brother-in-law know. We haven’t even told the rest of the family.’