What time is the scan today?
Still 3 o’clock!!
The doctor didn’t repeat the early scan they did when Lisa thought she had miscarried so this will be my first time seeing the baby. Beanie is twenty-two weeks now and I’ve been so impatient. I was reading online that some women have their twenty week scan at eighteen weeks – every NHS hospital is different, Lisa’s midwife said – but that doesn’t stop me wishing we were one of the ones who had it early. Beanie is about as heavy as a bag of sugar. With eyelids and eyebrows developed and tooth buds in place. A proper little person. A mini ‘Jake’, I think but I brush the thought away as Nick sticks his head around the door.
‘I’m off.’
‘Wait!’ I hurry across the kitchen. ‘Kiss?’ I stand on tiptoe and he wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
‘Ketchup,’ he says before dropping his lips onto mine.
‘Hungry?’ I ask.
‘No.’
He’s not sleeping properly either. Or eating. He tells me not to worry about the business, but it’s hard not to when he so obviously is. I wish he’d talk to me properly.
I don’t know how much trouble we are in. It’s impossible not to fear the worst. It’s selfish, I know, but I wonder whether we will have to move if Nick can’t sort things out. If we’ll lose the house. Where would we bring the baby up? I could get a full-time job, but what would happen to the charity? If I draw a salary, we’d have to cut down the counselling we offer and I’d hate for that to happen. It’s so important to people.
‘I wish you could come to the hospital today. I can’t believe you’re missing it.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ve so much on. You’ll get a photo though, won’t you, and I’ll get to meet him or her in person soon.’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘Me neither.’ He rubs his nose against mine. ‘It’s getting real now, isn’t it?’
‘Very. I woke at 3 a.m. thinking I could hear a baby crying. My subconscious must be preparing me for sleepless nights.’ I am trying to convince myself that almost every night I am dreaming of the baby we are about to have, rather than ones I have lost.
‘Are you sure you will be okay today?’ He tucks my hair behind my ear. ‘It’s a long drive. For you. And you’ve been… fraught lately.’
‘I am not imagining things.’ I step back.
‘I know you think you saw footprints—’
‘I did.’ I can’t help snapping.
‘They weren’t there when I looked.’
‘The rain had washed them away.’ By the time Nick ventured outside the lawn was a mass of sludge and there was nothing to be seen. If there ever was.
Ten years.
‘I’ve told you there’s been someone hanging around outside too.’ There have been several times this past month I have tried to go out, and each time I opened the front door, there was someone stalking down the road, hands thrust into pockets, or a shadow crossing our driveway. It’s not as though there are many houses in our cul-de-sac. It’s rare to notice anything out of the ordinary. I am staying in more and more, unable to shake the slithering uneasiness in the pit of my stomach.
‘Like the other night?’
‘Do you have to bring that up again?’ I had stood at our bedroom window, eyes fixed on the motionless figure half-hidden at the end of the driveway. My palms began to heat, my fingers tingled and, by the time Nick came out of the shower, I was gripping the windowsill, body rigid. ‘He’s watching me.’ It had been an effort to speak through my shortness of breath, and Nick had looked at me, his blue eyes darkening with sympathy. ‘Kat, it’s just the black bin. I put it out earlier.’ He had gently drawn the curtains and led me to the bed where I lay waiting for my heart rate to slow. The buzzing in my head to stop.
‘What’s going on with you lately?’ Nick had asked, the mattress dipping as he curled himself around me.
You mustn’t tell, Kat.
My lips were pinned together as I turned to the wall.
‘Clare hasn’t seen anyone lurking around,’ Nick says now, as though that makes everything okay.
‘You’ve been talking to Clare about me? When?’ Yet again I have a cold feeling writhing around inside of me and I rub my arms as though I can warm myself.
‘I don’t have time for this.’ Nick picks up his briefcase.
‘You don’t have time for me.’ The words scorch my tongue.
As I watch him leave I want to call him back. Tell him I am sorry. I take a step forward but the outside world rushes in at me and, in my peripheral vision, I see movement. I twist my head but it’s only the wind battering the cherry tree. Nick climbs into his car, but before I can catch his attention, there’s a sound to my right. I jump. It’s only an empty can of lager clanking across our driveway. Hurriedly, I slam the door closed and lean against it.
My mobile vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. My heart sinks a little when I see it is Tamara.
‘Morning, Tam.’
She skips the pleasantries altogether. ‘You missed another rehearsal yesterday afternoon, Kat. What’s going on?’
‘Sorry.’ I don’t explain I was fully intending on coming, but I thought I saw someone crouching by the side of my car, and I had shrugged off my coat, slipped off my shoes and gone for a lie-down instead.
‘We open soon. We’ve sold tickets already.’
‘I know. I’ll be ready. I will.’ But we both know I won’t be. I’m constantly forgetting the words. The dance steps. I can’t seem to concentrate.
‘You’re going to die on stage if you’re not careful. I could take over—’
‘No,’ I bite, sharper than intended.
‘I only want what’s best for the play.’ I hear the desperation in her voice, and I feel a stab of guilt. I’ve grown quite fond of her these past few months and we’ve become friends, of sorts. Her life revolves around the company, and I should make more effort. I’m not being fair.
‘I’ll be at the next rehearsal. I promise. We can talk everything through properly then. Sorry, got to go.’
I cut the call. I’ve got hours before I have to leave to meet Lisa. I look out of the window. The street is quiet. Silent. Inside, the clock ticks. ‘Die on stage.’ It’s a throwaway comment. Just a word. I am anxious and tense as I wait to see if I have another panic attack. Sometimes the fear of having one is the worst fear of all. My breathing is shallow but I think I’m okay. There’s a knocking as the washing machine starts to spin, startling me.
I stuff my feet into my shoes and open the front door. Clare is home. Her car is in the drive. My skin is tingling. I can just cross the road to Clare’s and have a coffee. Something small. Something normal.
I can do this.
I can.
‘You don’t look fine.’ Clare starts to pass me a mug, but she glances at my shaking hands and places it on the side table instead.
‘I am.’ Tucking my legs under me, I make myself as small as possible waiting for my pulse to slow.
Ada is building a tower on the rug in front of the fireplace. ‘Look!’ She widens her big blue eyes as she places another brick on the top.
‘She’s growing so quickly,’ I say feeling calmer now. I reach forward for a custard cream.
‘It will be your turn soon. How is Lisa?’
‘She’s good. It’s the scan this afternoon.’
‘You’re going?’ Clare asks.
‘Yes. It will be a relief to see everything’s okay.’
‘Are you worried?’
‘A little. It’s been tougher than I’d thought. Not being in control, I suppose.’ I don’t know where Lisa is. What she’s eating. If she’s taking her folic acid. It’s not how I imagined it would be. I place my hand across my middle, longing to feel the bubbling of a new life. Tiny kicking feet. Sharp elbows.
‘It will be worth it though. When he’s here. Or she.’
‘Yes, not that long to go really. Next week Lisa will be twenty-three weeks, and
the baby’s lungs could be developed enough to survive if they were born early. Imagine that! Beanie will be the size of a large mango.’
Clare laughs.
‘Sorry, I get a bit carried away. Nick doesn’t seem interested in this stuff.’ I feel disloyal voicing my concerns, and I stuff another biscuit in my mouth as though I can force the words back in with it.
‘Men often aren’t. Akhil practically rolled his eyes every time I asked him for a foot rub or if he’d massage Aveeno into my stretch marks. You’d think he had nothing to do with the conception.’
‘And now?’ I haven’t seen him for a while.
‘He hasn’t seen Ada for ages. It’s his mum, really. She never approved of me and was disappointed Ada was a girl, her skin was too light, we gave her a Western name. Mother-in-laws.’ Clare rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t you worry though. Nick will be a great dad. You only have to look at him with Ada to know that. Did you bring the tickets? For the play?’
‘No. Was I supposed to?’
‘Last week I asked you for three. I’m bringing my parents.’
‘God, sorry.’ My mind is full of gaping holes – my memories slipping through the gaps. It’s stress, I know. ‘I’ve probably blanked it from my mind. Tamara has just rung to tell me I’m going to die on stage. I can’t say I blame her. I’m rubbish.’
‘I’m sure you’re not. It’s just her manner, isn’t it? Try to relax. You’ll be fantastic.’
‘That’s what Nick keeps saying.’
‘You’re lucky to have him.’ Clare nods as she speaks. ‘Most women would give anything to have a husband like yours.’ Her eyes glisten as she watches Ada’s tower wobble precariously. One false move and it will tumble to the ground.
Clare’s mobile phone lights up. She practically dives on her handset and turns it over but not before I’ve seen the name on the display.
Lisa Sullivan
‘Why is Lisa texting you?’ They’d only met once at the party, I’d thought.
‘Oh. I…’ Clare looks away before she meets my eye again. ‘We’ve just been comparing pregnancy notes. Exchanging experiences. I hope you don’t mind?’ Her cheeks are patched red.
It brings it home to me, once more, that no matter how many books I read, I will never fully understand how it feels to have a life growing inside me – acid reflux, swollen ankles, morning sickness – and all at once I want to weep into my coffee.
27
Now
Seeing Richard is the last thing I want to do but there’s some charity paperwork that needs signing. It’s on my way to Farncaster, and I’ve time before the scan. Normally I avoid seeing Richard on my own. The conversation is always strained and awkward.
‘Can I leave this with you?’ I ask the receptionist but the phone rings and, as she picks up the receiver, she gestures at me to go upstairs.
I tap on the door and push it open. Richard’s office is stifling, as always. Aftershave thick in the air.
‘Morning.’ I keep my voice bright and breezy, hoping he doesn’t realise I’m holding the envelope to my chest as though it’s a shield.
‘Kat.’ Something flashes across his face, and I can’t tell if it’s irritation or panic as he stuffs papers into his drawer before slamming it shut. I wonder if they are to do with Nick’s business and I feel a shift of discomfort that I don’t fully know what’s going on, how bad it is, and although I had intended to leave, I pull out a chair and sit.
‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’ Although, by the tone in his voice, Richard doesn’t think it’s a pleasure any more than I do.
‘I’ve brought the proposal for the sponsorship. Could you look it over, please?’
‘Now? I’m very busy.’ There’s a coldness to his voice that unnerves me and I suppress the urge to bite it was his idea to form the charity. For his grandma. At the very least, he could take more of an interest; he always acts as though it’s such a chore, or perhaps it is only me he finds tiresome.
‘I can leave it with you.’
‘I wanted to talk to you anyway. About Lisa.’ He steeples his fingers, his expression unreadable.
‘I’m off to meet her. It’s the scan today.’
‘You’ve been authorising extra payments, Nick says? We had an agreement—’
‘Nick and I are more than happy with our arrangements,’ I say a little too forcefully, although I’m not too sure whether Nick is happy. A rush of heat sweeps over me. I’d tried to ask Nick whether I should be spending less with the trouble the business is in, and he’d told me not to be silly and my anger had flared that he wasn’t treating me like an equal.
‘I run the charity almost single-handed. I’m hardly some helpless female,’ I had snapped.
‘Funny. That’s how you come across when you think you’ve seen someone skulking around outside and want protecting,’ he had bit back, and although we had both quickly calmed down and apologised, the gap between us had widened that little bit more.
We never used to argue. We should be enjoying our last few weeks as a family of two, and I vow to make more of an effort.
‘Perhaps it’s time I drew a salary from the charity if it’s that bad?’ I ask Richard but I’m tentative. Reluctant to take the money I’ve worked so hard to raise.
Richard leans back in his chair and holds my gaze for so long I am reminded of the staring competitions we used to have: me, Lisa, and Jake. I’d always look away first. As I do now. Averting my eyes to the window and watching the sun bouncing off the rooftops outside.
‘Is it you?’ I ask as the silence becomes insufferable. ‘Who’s supposed to apply for planning permission for listed buildings?’
‘Of course.’
‘And yet you didn’t?’
‘Didn’t I?’
‘The stately home…’ I root around in my memory. Where did Nick say it was? ‘Is it in a lot of trouble? The business?’
‘You can always find trouble, Kat. If you go looking for it.’
I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. I sigh. I know I am not going to get anything like a straight answer. ‘I’ve got to go. Are we seeing you this weekend?’
‘Not sure. I’ll speak to Nick about it later.’
I nod. There’s nothing more to say. I thought over the years Richard would soften towards me but, if anything, his disdain has grown. Nick can’t see it; he says it’s just the way Richard is; yet, if he cares so much about Nick, he should be more supportive about the surrogacy, shouldn’t he? It feels like a constant tug of war for Nick’s attention, and increasingly, I am wondering how much longer I can keep pulling. Something’s got to give, I just hope it isn’t me.
The hospital car park is full of vehicles circling like sharks, and it takes twenty-five minutes to claim a space. I clatter all my change into the parking machine and display the white ticket that cost almost as much as a pub meal on my dashboard.
I am late. I run towards the main entrance, almost turning my ankle as I swerve past a wheelchair, and am relieved to see Lisa is still there, shifting her weight from foot to foot, checking her watch.
‘Sorry,’ I pant. ‘Couldn’t park.’
‘You needn’t have rushed.’ Lisa pulls a face. ‘I’ve just been to check in and the sonographer is off sick today.’
‘What? No!’
‘Sorry. You’ve had the drive for nothing.’
‘Let’s go and talk to them. Explain I’ve come a long way. There must be someone else?’
‘There isn’t – it’s a small department.’
‘Have they offered you another appointment?’
‘I’ve got to ring next week. See if he’s back.’
My disappointment must show because Lisa squeezes my arm. ‘If it’s a long-term sickness they’ll get cover or refer me to another hospital. They promised we won’t have to wait too long: a couple of weeks at the very most.’
‘Do you think you could call your midwife and ask if I can hear the heartbeat today?’ My voice is small. Lisa’s mi
dwife sounds lovely, always setting her mind at rest. When Lisa was worried about stretch marks – she’s so self-conscious when she speaks about them – her midwife gave her some bio oil to try. ‘It’s one of the most common things for expectant mums to worry about. The size of their bump,’ she had told Lisa. ‘Each woman grows and shows at her own rate. Stretch marks will fade.’ She sounds nurturing and it brings me comfort to know she is taking care of Lisa.
‘She’s based at my doctors and she gets really booked up. I think you can buy the monitors to listen yourself.’
‘Really?’
‘You wouldn’t believe half the stuff you can buy on eBay! I’ll ask my midwife how effective they are. Let’s go to the canteen. Have a mug of hot chocolate.’
As though the cream and sugar could make up for the loss I feel. I press my palm to Lisa’s bump. ‘I guess I’ll see you another day?’ I say but there is no wriggle to tell me the baby has heard, and even if he had, for I am thinking of him as a boy now, he wouldn’t know I am his mum. Lisa’s is the voice he hears every day. I am nothing but a stranger. Self-pity springs tears to my eyes, and Lisa gently draws my hand away from her belly.
‘Come on.’ She leads me into the hospital. Back into the place I was admitted after the accident. I grip her hand tightly as we weave through corridors, and it is only as we join the queue for drinks I release my grip, and she shakes her fingers as though they hurt as much as my heart.
* * *
‘So this is where you work?’ I ease the plastic lid off the cardboard cup and am hit with a cloud of chocolatey smelling steam.
‘Yes. Well not in the canteen, obviously.’
‘How can you bear it?’ I am not talking about the constant noise, the rattle of trollies, the stench of neglect, but Lisa instinctively knows.
‘I think of that night all the time. Did you see those black plastic chairs in A&E? That’s where we sat. I felt sick as the nurse came over but I thought she must have good news. I thought if it was bad we’d be taken to a little room, like they do on TV, with shiny leaved pot plants and comfortable sofas, but it wasn’t like that. When she told us Jake had died, we left the hospital, and I hoped I’d never come back. Even the smell of the disinfectant made my stomach churn for years. But not coming back…’ She gives a small, sad shake of her head. ‘It doesn’t change what happened, and it’s a good place to work. I’m helping people.’
The Surrogate Page 15