She turned her head slowly and met his eyes again, searching them in the twilight. His gaze was steady, serious. Did he...?
‘I thought you said...?’
‘I know, I did, but—do you think Isla was serious? About me?’
He did mean that. ‘I’m sure she was. I didn’t really think so at the time, but she’s mentioned it again, and I told her about our row in the layby and the lorry driver because I thought she’d laugh, but she was gutted that she’d caused a rift between us.’
He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a rift, it was me being overly defensive and running scared, feeling I’d been tricked when I thought I’d gone to the wedding to help you out of a fix that I could understand and empathise with. And I know you didn’t trick me, I know you wouldn’t do that, to me or to anyone. And the more I know you, the more I realise what a fool I was. I can’t believe I was that stupid or that unkind.’
‘So—have you seriously changed your mind about doing it again? Because you were so emphatic—’
‘Not as emphatic as you. “I don’t want your bloody sperm” is pretty emphatic,’ he said drily. ‘And maybe you meant it, but when you read my profile you said you’d put me on the shortlist, so I thought it was worth asking if you’d even contemplate carrying my baby for them, because it certainly didn’t sound like it in the layby.’
Carry his baby? Her heart gave a sudden little hitch. ‘I didn’t mean it—not like that. I just meant I wouldn’t ask you because I realised after we talked about it that you’d say no, so I never really even considered it after that, but now it seems you’ve changed your mind, so if you’re asking me how I feel about that, then, yes, of course I would, because I know you’re a really decent human being and you care about people. So the answer is, yes, I would happily carry a baby if you were the father—even if you are a bit of an idiot at times and inclined to be arrogant and patronising,’ she added, smiling to soften it, ‘but hey. Nobody’s perfect.’
He gave a soft huff of laughter. ‘Thanks—I think.’
She smiled fleetingly, then snapped a breadstick in half and dipped it in the hummus, trying to take in what he’d said and what the implications were. ‘So why the change of heart? You’ve been so against me doing this, spent hours trying to convince me I was making a huge mistake, and now apparently you want to be part of it? What made you think again?’
He sighed and took a breadstick from her and dunked it in the hummus. ‘I don’t know. Your desperation? Or, as my aunt said, because this would be different to what I did before, and it might be my only chance of having a child whose life I could have some feedback about, or maybe some involvement in? Not contact necessarily, but the odd photo, progress reports, snippets of information, that sort of thing.’
But she wasn’t listening any more, she was stuck on ‘only chance’ because it sounded so sad, and so empty. ‘Why your only chance? Did she really hurt you that badly?’
He met her eyes fleetingly and looked away, but not before she’d seen the desolation in them. ‘You really need to ask that, after what you’ve been through and what I told you? I’m not putting myself in harm’s way again, Iona. I was devastated when I caught Natalie with that guy, and to learn that he wasn’t the first—no way. I’m happy to have an affair with someone who doesn’t expect anything else of me, but anything that could remotely be called a relationship is definitely off limits. And I wouldn’t want to have a child of my own if I wasn’t in a strong, solid relationship with a woman I could trust absolutely, and I can’t trust anyone, because I can’t trust my own judgement—and I know you can understand that, you said it yourself the other day.
‘And besides, I don’t have time. I need to be able to work, to concentrate on my studies, to secure a consultancy. That’s as far ahead as I’m looking at the moment, and there’s no way a child features in that. So my aunt could be right. It might be my only chance to have a child and follow its progress, however remotely. And if Isla and Steve were happy with that and you felt OK with it, then—I don’t know. Maybe we could meet up, get to know each other better, find out if we think it could work for us all, with any of us able to walk away if we didn’t feel it could.’
She stared at him, speechless, almost overwhelmed at what he’d just said. Then she put her breadstick down, leant over and hugged him. Hard.
‘Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll talk to them—ask them how they feel. They’re actually coming down this weekend. How about coming to mine? They’ll be staying with me because my flatmate, Libby, is away for the weekend. I could cook for us.’
‘Is it big enough, or do you all want to come to me? They can see more of me, then, find out how I live, what I’m really like. You could all stay, if you wanted to. I’ve got plenty of room and we’d have more privacy.’
‘How can you cook for four in that kitchen?’
He smiled. ‘Easy. I told you, the pub does takeaways. Or we could go to the pub—neutral territory, public place, no awkward questions, just friends having a meal and a chat.’ He stood up. ‘Think about it. Don’t say anything to them today, just think about it and talk to me again before you speak to them. You never know, you might decide you meant what you yelled at me in the layby.’
But his eyes were smiling, and he bent and brushed her cheek with his lips before he turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving her there in turmoil, because she’d just realised that the slender hope she’d been cherishing that this might blossom into something more intimate between them had been nixed by this new development.
Sure, she was delighted for Steve and Isla, but it meant putting her own needs on the back burner, and for the first time ever, she felt a tiny twinge of resentment.
No. That was just selfish. She’d been fantasising about a bit of fun, a bit of hot sex and lazy Sunday mornings, and he’d offered her something else altogether, something much more fundamental, and possibly even more intimate.
The chance to have a child for Isla. How could she put anything above that?
CHAPTER FIVE
HE’D ASKED HER to think about it, and she did.
Constantly, for the next twenty-four hours.
She couldn’t think about anything else, and the more she thought, the more convinced she was that they should do it. So she rang him as soon as she got home on Wednesday evening.
‘Did you mean it?’ she asked without preamble.
He didn’t pretend not to understand. ‘Yes, I meant it. And before you ask, yes, I’m sure. How about you?’
‘Yes. I want to talk to Isla and Steve. Is that OK?’
‘It’s fine. Oh, and there’s something you might want to tell them. I contacted the HFEA and found out about...the children.’ She heard a little pause in there, almost as if he’d been about to say ‘my children’ and thought better of it, but then he went on. ‘Apparently there are six boys and five girls, in five families. One egg split so two of the boys are twins and they already had a daughter. The others are pairs.’
Eleven children. She felt suddenly a little breathless. ‘Gosh. So they all worked. How did you feel when you found out?’
‘A bit stunned? It made it all much more real. The oldest is fourteen, the youngest is eight.’
‘Wow. So everything’s working, then.’
‘It would seem so. Anyway, feel free to pass that on. They might want to know—oh, and if they say yes, I’ll go and get all the necessary checks done again to make sure everything’s still all right. OK?’
‘Very OK. Thank you, Joe. Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome. Right, I’m working so I need to get on. Let me know what they say.’
* * *
They were stunned.
‘He said yes? But I thought—?’
‘So did I, Isla, but for some reason he’s changed his mind and he wants to see you again for longer, so you can get to know
him and vice versa, and he suggested we all stay at his house instead of mine this weekend if you’re up for that? It’s out in the country, and it’s lovely, and there’s a great pub right on the doorstep, but if you’d rather not, if you don’t feel comfortable with that, we can do it at mine—or not at all. It’s up to you. There is something I haven’t told you, as well, that you need to know,’ she said, and told Isla all about him, his donor history, his children, then added, ‘He said he’ll have all the appropriate tests again before we did anything, assuming you decide you want to go ahead.’
‘Wow. I had no idea. I don’t know what to say. How would you feel about him being our donor?’
Her heart thumped. ‘Me? I’m fine with it,’ she said, trying not to think about what it might cost her in terms of a relationship with Joe, instead of what it could give her sister, which was far more important. And anyway, what relationship? He hadn’t said anything about them having any other sort of relationship...
‘Great. Let me talk to Steve and come back to you.’
It didn’t take her long. Steve said yes immediately, and Iona rang Joe straight back as soon as they were off the phone.
‘They said yes, they’d love to meet up. Are you sure about it being at yours?’
‘Yes, that’s fine, but I’m working on Friday night so if you all come over at say two on Saturday, after lunch? That should give me a few hours to sleep, but I’m off all day Friday so I can sort out the house and do a food order. If I book it now we can go to the pub on Saturday evening and I’ll do breakfast.’
‘Let me pay for the food.’
‘No. This was my idea. Right, back to the paperwork—Ah. Any dietary things I need to know?’
‘No. Totally omnivorous, like me. They’re not fussy.’
‘Great. Right, well, I’ll see you on Saturday,’ he said.
After he’d hung up she sat motionless, staring blindly out of the window, her thoughts in freefall.
It was going to happen. If they all got on, and she couldn’t see why they wouldn’t, she might end up having a baby. Unless she didn’t get pregnant with Joe, either. Maybe there was something wrong with her, too?
Well, it looked like she was going to find out—assuming the weekend was a success.
There was a strange, tight feeling in her chest.
Fear?
No. Not fear. There was nothing to fear. It would be fine.
Maybe—anticipation?
* * *
Ten to two.
Would they be early? Late? Right on time? Iona had been late once, but that was because of work. Would they bring two cars? He’d put his in the garage out of the way, so there was room for two just in case.
The fridge was full, the house was clean, the beds were made, the dishwasher, his only concession to a new kitchen, was on. He glanced at the clock again.
Seven minutes to two.
His palms prickled, and he realised he was nervous. Nervous that they wouldn’t like him, or nervous that they would? He felt as if he was about to be interviewed, but he’d been through that process before and passed the clinic’s test. Not with the intended parents, though. Although they would have seen his—
Profile. Damn. He’d updated it last night at work in an oddly quiet interlude, but he hadn’t printed it.
Too late. He heard the crunch of tyres on gravel, doors slamming, voices, and he unclenched his fists, walked into the hall and opened the front door.
Iona was there, Isla and Steve beside her, and they all looked as nervous as he felt.
He stifled the laugh, stepped back and welcomed them in. He had a weird moment when he didn’t know how to greet them, but Isla took the decision out of his hands and gave him a quick, warm hug and kissed his cheek.
‘This is so kind of you, Joe,’ she said softly, her eyes so like Iona’s that he felt he could read every emotion in them—and there were plenty.
‘I just felt it would be easier for all of us. We’ve got more space here, room to get away from each other if necessary.’
Isla returned his smile, her face relaxing slightly. ‘I’m sure it won’t be.’
‘I hope not. Steve—good to see you again.’ He shook his hand, felt the firm, warm grip, met the clear blue eyes that searched his and maybe found what they were looking for, because he smiled, his face relaxing just as Isla’s had.
‘You, too. And thank you so much for inviting us here.’
‘You’re welcome. Hi, Iona. You OK?’
She nodded, hesitated a moment and then gave him a quick hug. ‘You?’
‘I’m fine. Come on through.’
* * *
He made coffee, and they took it in the sitting room and he answered all their questions, and they answered his. So many questions, Iona thought, and the more openly they talked, the more she realised what a good fit he was with them.
They felt so much the same about so many things, and whether you believed in nature or nurture, that was important. Biologically his role, like hers, was clearly defined, to provide Isla and Steve with a child as genetically close to their own as possible. OK, he wasn’t a dead ringer for Steve, but apart from his hair colour he wasn’t a million miles off and other things were more important. And, as Joe had so succinctly put it, they were both just a means to an end—and that end was now in sight. So she took herself off into the kitchen, put the kettle on again and made a pot of tea.
She’d baked a cake this morning while she’d waited for them to arrive, and she went out to the car and brought it in, just as Joe came out of the sitting room.
‘Wow, that looks good.’
‘I hope so. It’s my mother’s apple cake recipe and it’s usually pretty reliable. So how’s it going?’
He shrugged. ‘OK, I think. They haven’t got back in the car yet, at least.’
That was said with a slight lift to his lips, not quite a smile, but his eyes were gentle and she put the cake down, put her arms around him and hugged him.
‘I’m so grateful to you for doing this,’ she mumbled into his chest.
‘They haven’t said yes yet.’
‘They will. Cake?’
‘Definitely. I haven’t eaten since last night.’
‘No lunch?’
He shook his head. ‘I wasn’t hungry. The nights mess with my body clock.’
She felt her mouth tilt. ‘I reckon you’re saving yourself for Maureen’s fish and chips. Did you book a table for tonight or did you forget?’
He laughed and got some plates out. ‘No, I didn’t forget. Our table’s booked for seven thirty. Is that OK?’
‘Sounds fine. We’ve brought walking shoes, by the way. I thought maybe we could go for a stroll after we’ve had cake?’
He nodded. ‘Great idea. It’s easier to talk while you’re walking. No eye contact. You can say the things that are harder to say face to face.’
‘What, like “no”?’
He laughed again. ‘Hopefully not, although it’s down to them. Shall we have tea on the veranda?’
* * *
‘So, did I pass?’
They were standing in the hall, bags packed and ready to go, after what he hoped had been a good and constructive weekend. He’d meant to leave it up to them to tell him how they felt after they’d had time to consider it, but the suspense had got the better of him.
Isla’s jaw dropped, and then her eyes filled. ‘Did you pass? I thought you were vetting us? Did we pass?’
He laughed, the tension going out of him like air out of a punctured balloon. ‘Of course you passed. That was never in question. And—if you decide to go ahead, I just hope it works for you, because I’ve seen the grief of childlessness at first hand, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone,’ he added quietly.
‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’ Steve hesitated a second, then wra
pped his arms around Joe and hugged him hard. ‘You’re a good man.’
Steve let him go, and he caught Iona’s eye and she winked at him and turned to the others. ‘Well, if you’ve all finished your mutual love-in, maybe we’d better get on the road because you’ve got a long journey back and I’m absolutely sure Joe has a heap of work he wants to do before tomorrow.’
They said their goodbyes, Iona kissed his cheek and whispered, ‘Thank you,’ and he closed the door, turned around and leant on it with a sigh of relief.
He was drained. Physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, and oddly flat, because—ah, no point thinking about what might have been with Iona. This was far more important than scratching an itch, and she was turning into a cherished friend. He should concentrate on that, be there for her, not worry about what he might or might not be missing. And anyway, he wasn’t ready for that and she deserved better than what he could offer. He’d already proved that with his stupid accusations after the wedding.
He levered himself away from the door and went into the kitchen. It was a mess, strewn with the remains of brunch. He emptied and reloaded the dishwasher, switched it on and went out onto the veranda, too tired to think about working.
The Indian summer seemed to be lingering indefinitely, and it was a beautiful early October day. He lay down on the wicker sofa, shifted the cushions until he was comfortable and closed his eyes. Just five minutes...
* * *
He was fast asleep.
He hadn’t answered the doorbell, so she’d walked round the side and there he was, sprawled out across the sofa, one foot on the ground, his other leg draped over the end, sleeping like a baby.
She perched on the chair by his feet and waited, but it wasn’t until the squirrel ran along the veranda and its tail whisked past his trailing hand that he woke with a start.
‘Iona? I didn’t know you were here. What was that?’
She was laughing. ‘The squirrel. Its tail brushed you.’
He yawned hugely and sat up, stretching, and she sat down beside him on a nice warm patch. ‘Are you OK?’
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