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The Surrogate

Page 18

by Louise Jensen


  * * *

  ‘Please help.’ It was almost a whisper. I had been alone for hours and my throat was sore from shouting. My hands stinging from banging on the door that rattled and reverberated every time I hit it. I have to believe he won’t hurt me, but I’d seen the look in his eye and I wasn’t sure.

  ‘Please. I’ll be good. Please.’ My hands were clasped together, and I thought I was speaking to God but he didn’t answer. No one answered. It was hot. The air stagnant with the smell of my own fear. My hands flew to my throat. I was drawing in oxygen through short, sharp bursts through my nose and there was a mounting pressure in my chest. I was going to suffocate. I was going to die here. ‘Please!’ I shouted this time, rattling the door as hard as I could. ‘What do you want?’ But even as I ask there’s a horrible dawning realisation, and I know what he wants. I lie on the floor and curl into a ball. ‘No. No. No. I won’t do it. I won’t.’

  * * *

  ‘Kat?’

  ‘Lisa. Thank God. I can’t get out.’ I tug at the door.

  ‘Hang on.’ There’s a pause. The handle turns and the air cools as the door falls open. ‘It was stuck, that’s all.’

  ‘I thought…’ My distress rises again.

  ‘I know what you thought.’ Lisa strokes my hair. ‘I know.’

  And I cling to her, grateful she is here.

  31

  Then

  The handle to the locker was pressing hard against my spine but my body was turning numb, the feel of Aaron’s hands squeezing my throat fading away. My fingers clawed at his grip. It felt as though my skull was expanding, a balloon inflating inside my head. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow. My eyeballs ached, the edges of my vision blurred and darkened and I felt myself slipping, sliding. Just as I was surrendering to the feeling of nothingness, light and noise came rushing back. I slumped to the floor where I covered my throat with my hands as I sucked in air.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Aaron.’ Lisa was thumping him on the chest.

  ‘I didn’t…’ I could feel his gaze on me. ‘I wasn’t…’

  ‘Just fuck off.’ Lisa shoved him. Hard.

  ‘But if Kat—’

  ‘I’ll talk to Kat.’

  Their words were muffled. My body shaking with shock.

  Aaron ran his fingers through his hair and, for a second, I thought he wasn’t going to leave, but he said: ‘you’d better keep her quiet, Lis.’ As his footsteps pounded down the corridor, I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t support me.

  ‘Let’s go and talk.’ Lisa gripped my hands to pull me up, and for the first time I noticed how frail she had become. How awful she looked. Huge purple shadows under her eyes. Skin pale. I’d thought it was the pressure of the exams – what sort of friend had I been?

  ‘I said I’d meet Jake.’ It hurt to talk. I brushed at my throat, still feeling a pressure there.

  ‘Jake? It’s always fucking Jake, isn’t it?’ Suddenly she was furious. ‘This isn’t about you, or Jake, or Aaron. It’s about me. For once, it’s about me.’

  ‘You need help,’ I said in a voice that sounded nothing like mine. The balloon inside my head was deflating, dizziness tilted the floor.

  ‘For what? Wanting to be thinner? If that’s the case most of the girls in our year need help too.’

  ‘There are healthy ways…’ I couldn’t think straight, my head swimming.

  ‘It’s no different to SlimFast shakes or those herbal tablets that promise quick weight loss. You can buy those everywhere. If they were that unhealthy, they wouldn’t sell them, would they?’

  ‘It’s not remotely the same as SlimFast. Why didn’t you tell me, Lis? I’m here for you.’

  ‘That makes a bloody change.’ She turned and ran, and I stumbled as I tried to catch her, my shoulder crashing into the metal lockers.

  ‘Lisa, wait.’

  * * *

  We were halfway to hers by the time I caught up with her. She spun around to face me.

  ‘You mustn’t tell, Kat.’ It was the first time I was to hear those words that week. The second time… I try not to think about the second time. It’s almost more than I can bear.

  ‘Lisa, it isn’t just you. What if someone has a bad reaction? Dies? Do you want that on your conscience?’

  ‘No one is going to die. It’s not heroin, Kat. So yeah, it gives me a bit of a buzz but not in a bad way. It feels good. Happy. You should try it and then you’d see it’s not so bad.’

  ‘Lisa, listen to yourself.’

  ‘I have to! You never listen to me any more.’

  ‘That’s not fair, I—’

  ‘It’s all about my brother, isn’t it? You don’t care about me.’

  ‘I do.’ That much was true, but maybe I didn’t care in the all-consuming-centre-of-my-world way I had before. The fabric of our relationship had become unravelled, knitting back together in an entirely different way. The edges no longer seamless. Sometimes it was dizzying keeping up with the ever-shifting dynamics. The vying for attention.

  ‘Jake. Jake. Jake.’ Lisa spun around slowly in a circle, hands clasped over her ears like a child. It was frightening. I almost didn’t recognise her.

  ‘Stop it.’ I grabbed her wrists tightly and pulled her hands down.

  ‘Jake. Jake—’

  The slap I gave her stung my palm, cracked like a whip. To this day I don’t know which of us was more shocked. I stood rooted to the pavement long after Lisa had disappeared around the corner, and as I turned and began to walk home, my hand still tingled.

  That night I had told my parents I felt too sick to eat dinner. That was true, at least. I texted Jake to tell him that I had a headache and was having an early night. I didn’t know what to say to him. Lisa was his sister and he had a right to know, but she was also my best friend, and my loyalty felt shredded. What should I do? It took me ages to make a decision as I tossed and turned in the heat, kicking the covers off before dragging them back up to my chin again when I felt cold.

  At midnight my phone vibrated. Jake.

  Do you feel any better? Missing you.

  Missing you too.

  Fancy meeting in the park – it’s too warm to sleep?

  I hesitated. I was going to have to face him some time. Talk things through.

  I’ll meet you in 20.

  A clamp tightened around my chest as I silently crept across the landing, being careful to avoid the loose bit of carpet at the top of the stairs Dad still hadn’t fixed. One step. Two. The third creaked, despite my carrying my shoes in my hand. I froze, waiting for the hallway to flood with light. For my parents to shout: ‘Where do you think you are going?’, but there was nothing. Somehow, the silence seemed the loudest thing of all. I pressed forward, descending the rest of the staircase as quickly as I could, holding my breath as though they might be able to hear me exhale, but I was unable to quieten the thudding of my heart which sounded terrifyingly loud. The hallway was shrouded in darkness. I caught my hip on the handle of the cupboard under the stairs, and the sharp pain tugged a cry from my lips. I clamped my teeth together and hobbled into the kitchen. It was lighter in there. Moonlight pouring through the window. My stomach rolled at the stale smell of the fried eggs mum had cooked for dinner. What was I doing? I reached for the back door, my fingertips gripped the key. Every instinct in me was telling me to go back to bed; I was bound to get caught. And yet I slipped on my shoes and turned the key. The back door creaked open.

  I tiptoed down the side of the house. Paused as the latch on the gate squeaked open. It wasn’t too late. I could go back to bed, but while my mind wavered, my feet didn’t falter. I ran as fast as I could, not slowing until I reached the park.

  He was there, in shadows, slowly spinning on the roundabout that squeak, squeak, squeaked.

  I suppose if I had slowed down, I might have realised the figure was too tall to be Jake. Too stocky. I suppose I might have noticed the white van parked outside the park gates. But as it was, it wasn’t until I dr
ew alongside him I realised it wasn’t Jake at all.

  It was Aaron.

  The initial stab of betrayal I felt as I realised Lisa must have texted me from Jake’s phone paled in comparison to the fear that rose as Aaron stood and loomed towards me. A twisted expression on his face.

  32

  Now

  The community centre shrinks in my rear-view mirror. Lisa chats about the singing, the dancing, but all I hear is white noise. The terror I’d felt at being locked in the toilet still nestles beneath my skin, and I drive faster than I should. Desperate to be home. To feel safe.

  ‘Shit.’ I’ve pulled into the cul-de-sac too fast, almost in the path of an Interflora van. My brakes squeal as I screech to a halt.

  As the van stops and cuts its engine, I put my car into neutral and pull on my handbrake. The delivery driver steps out, opening the back doors, and I am fearing the worst, but instead of a wreath, he pulls out a bouquet. Sunshine sunflowers and creamy roses. I puff out a sigh of relief. Sunflowers are my favourite, and Nick includes them in every bouquet he sends me. I think he must be feeling guilty about being away, although I see from his car on our driveway he is already back.

  ‘Are they for me?’ I step out of the car and flash a smile as I hold out my hands.

  ‘Number eight?’ the driver asks.

  ‘No. I…’ I glance over the road and gesture towards Clare’s house. He thanks me and I stand, hand shading the sun, and watch as Clare opens the door. Even from this distance I can see the joy lighting up her face.

  Inside, I call Nick’s name, racing through the house. In the kitchen I hear the gurgle of water gushing through the pipes above me. Nick must be in the shower. I tell Lisa I’ll be back in a sec and take the stairs two at a time, bursting into the en-suite.

  ‘You’re home!’ I state the obvious.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Nick studies me, and I don’t know what to say. How can I tell him I thought I was locked in a toilet? Someone delivered a wreath to the wrong address? Dialled the wrong number? It sounds ridiculous, and he’s already looking at me with concern, the way he does when my panic attacks are fierce. Snatching my breath. Rendering me helpless. He wouldn’t understand, and how could he unless I tell him the truth? The urge to be honest bites at me but the ramifications are enormous and I would crumble under the weight of them.

  ‘How was your trip?’ I deflect. Even in the steam of the bathroom Nick looks washed out.

  The minty shower gel swirling in soapy suds at his feet clearly hasn’t refreshed him. He has lost weight, his stomach almost flat. He twists off the dial and the showerhead drip-drip-drips. ‘It was fine. Everything is close to being sorted. I might need to go away for another weekend though.’ He yawns. ‘An early night is in order.’

  ‘I’m up for that.’ I’ll sleep easier with him next to me.

  ‘I might sleep in the spare room tonight. I’m so knackered. You can stay up late with Lisa and not have to worry about waking me when you come up to bed.’

  My protests gather and retreat. He’s never slept in the spare room before but his eyes are rimmed red and he does look exhausted.

  ‘‘I’ll start dinner.’

  ‘I’m not that hungry.’ He steps out of the cubicle.

  ‘You must eat with us. Lisa is here.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can cope with all the baby talk. The family stuff. Sorry,’ he adds as my face falls. ‘Of course I’ll join you. I’m just shattered. I’ll be down soon.’

  I hesitate for a second before leaving the room but he doesn’t speak again, scouring furiously at his skin with a rough white towel instead, as though he wishes he could rub himself away.

  * * *

  In the kitchen Lisa is lifting things out of the fridge. ‘I thought I’d cook.’ She sets a box of eggs on the side.

  ‘I’m supposed to be looking after you.’

  ‘I know it shook you up. What happened earlier.’

  ‘Do you think someone deliberately locked me in?’

  ‘Why would they do that?’ Lisa tilts her head to one side as she waits for my answer.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Outside the window the sky is darkening. Day dissolving into night. ‘What are you cooking?’

  ‘How about a frittata? Do you have a silicon dish?’

  ‘No, but Clare probably does. I need to see if she’s sold her raffle tickets yet for the bank holiday fundraiser.’ I jam my feet back into my shoes.

  Outside, the wind is whipping the cherry tree outside our house and it creaks and bends. I knock on Clare’s door and wrap my arms around myself to keep out the biting chill as I wait.

  ‘Kat!’ Surprise crosses her face.

  I shuffle from foot to foot trying to keep warm. ‘Could I borrow a silicon baking dish?’

  ‘Sure.’ She hesitates, glances behind her before stepping backwards. ‘Come in a sec.’

  ‘Gorgeous flowers.’ The bouquet delivered earlier stands on the coffee table in a cracked silver vase. ‘Secret admirer?’

  ‘Unfortunately not.’ I wait for her to elaborate further, but she walks into the kitchen and calls over her shoulder: ‘I’ll just grab you the silicon dish.’

  Her heels click-click-click against the tiles in the kitchen. I can’t resist crossing the lounge and picking out the card that came with the flowers. Scribbled in blue biro is the letter ‘N’ and a single x but that is enough to make my heart twist. Clare’s footsteps grow louder, and I drop the card and pick up a brochure for Italy and thumb through it, hardly taking in the images of brilliant blue sky and white sandy beaches. Nick and I never did book that holiday.

  ‘It looks stunning doesn’t it?’ Clare peers over my shoulder. ‘I fancy the coast but think I’m going to start with Rome.’

  ‘Expensive?’ The word slips out automatically but she is always complaining Akhil doesn’t pay maintenance.

  ‘We can dream.’ She lifts the brochure from my hand and replaces it with a silicone dish. ‘No hurry to bring it back.’

  As she ushers me out to the hallway I start to ask about the raffle tickets but trail off mid-sentence as I notice a scarf hanging on a hook behind the front door: a blue cashmere scarf that looks just like Nick’s. I turn to Clare. She busies herself unlocking the front door, head lowered, hair falling in front of her face, but she can’t hide two pink spots, high on her cheeks.

  Nick is speaking in muted tones and I hover outside his study, ear pressed to the door.

  ‘It’ll be longer next time,’ he says and there’s a pause before he continues. ‘No, I haven’t told her.’ A sigh. ‘I know, I know but it isn’t easy. Too much water under the bridge.’

  My heart quickens and there’s a low humming noise in my ears.

  I’m still standing in the hallway when the study door clicks open. I have one hand on the wall as though reassuring myself some things are solid. Reliable.

  ‘Who were you talking to?’

  ‘Richard,’ Nick says without a beat.

  ‘What were you talking about?’

  ‘I rang to invite him for lunch. I hope that’s okay?’

  It would be if I believed him but I know my husband and the flush staining his neck tells me all I need to know. He is lying. Neither of us speak, conveying silent messages with our eyes. Eventually I say ‘fine’ and walk, head high, into the kitchen, where I clink open the fridge and pour a glass of wine, sipping it slowly while I try to put my thoughts into some sort of order. I need time to think things through properly, but if I don’t challenge him about the bouquet and the scarf, am I accepting his lies? Does that make me as bad as him? It takes a liar to know a liar and right now I’ve never felt closer together, or further apart from my husband.

  I drain my glass of Pinot and turn to face Nick as he enters the room. ‘What time is Richard coming?’ I ask, and Nick’s face sags with relief. I’ve set the precedent. Pretended to believe him. Whatever happens now, I’ll only have myself to blame.

  I pour another glass of wine.


  Richard arrives forty-five minutes later, and I swallow back my surprise as we air kiss our hellos. Perhaps Nick really was talking to him earlier. Perhaps it is solely the ten-year anniversary making me jumpy and paranoid. I try to recall the conversation but my memory is alcohol-hazy. Lisa serves the frittata, and I pass the salad bowl. This could be any other friends-for-lunch gathering but the atmosphere feels charged somehow and I’m not sure if it’s the spark of suspicion warming my stomach, rendering me unable to eat, or if everyone feels it too. I watch Nick as he stabs his fork into a cherry tomato with more aggression than is necessary. Lisa stretches over and touches his hand.

  ‘Are you okay, Nick?’

  ‘Just tired.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Richard says. He glances at Nick and something invisible passes between them.

  I feel I could cry. Is Nick having an affair? Does everyone know? I push my plate away and draw my glass nearer, cradling it between two hands.

  The doorbell rings, and Nick raises his hand to signal he’ll get it. He pushes back his chair. Hushed voices drift into the kitchen and I strain to hear who he’s talking to but Richard fills the silence with his booming voice.

 

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