The Surrogate

by Louise Jensen

‘Lisa, I don’t know much about you?’

  ‘Not much to tell,’ Lisa says. ‘I’m a nurse.’

  Nick sits back down, and I raise my eyebrows questioning.

  ‘Clare,’ he says. ‘She’s brought the raffle tickets stubs and cash over. I told her we’re eating so she’s scribbling you a note in the study. She’ll let herself out. Oh, she brought my scarf over too. I must have left it there when we were over the other night for drinks.’ He lowers his eyes and picks up his cutlery.

  I try to remember if he wore his scarf when we went over. It was one of those rare spring evenings we could sit outside so I don’t think it was warm enough, but I can’t be certain. My head spins as metal clanks against china. I feel as though I’m at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, swimming against an undercurrent I don’t quite understand.

  ‘And you enjoy it? Nursing?’ Richard asks as though the interruption never happened.

  ‘I love it. The hours are tough. Shifts. And sometimes.’ Her brow furrows. ‘People die.’ She looks at me as she says this.

  ‘I can imagine that’s hard.’ Richard tops up his glass, and I tilt mine towards him.

  ‘And the money isn’t very good, of course, for nurses. Speaking of money. I didn’t want to bring this up but—’

  ‘You need some more? What for?’ Richard asks, and I think he should stay out of things that don’t concern him.

  ‘They’ve put the rent up on my flat.’

  ‘We have to be mindful of the £20k… limit, for want of a better word. We don’t want to complicate the court process when it comes to the parental order, do we?’ Richard asks, although it isn’t really a question.

  ‘Of course not,’ Lisa says. ‘Normally, I’d be okay with my overtime, but with this little one, I promised Kat I’d cut down on my hours.’ She pats her stomach. ‘I’d hate to have to move back to my mum’s house.’ Her lip begins to tremble. ‘I’d feel so trapped.’

  As she says ‘trapped; her eyes meet mine and something skitters inside and I’m back in the community centre, back in the toilet, fighting to get out. There is the fleeting thought Lisa could have locked me in, but I dismiss it immediately. She’s my friend, isn’t she? But it suddenly strikes me what was odd about seeing Aaron. The fact that Lisa told me on New Year’s Day that she never sees him. Surely if he works at the hospital too it’s inevitable they’d run into each other occasionally? Why is it only now I am remembering the way she betrayed me before?

  There’s a sense the world is moving too fast. I feel disjointed. Disconnected. After lunch I tell everyone I have a migraine and slink up to the bedroom, seeking out ten minutes of peace. It’s not exactly a lie. There’s a headache creeping behind my eyes and I press my fingers into my temple to massage the pain.

  On the bedside cabinet is Nick’s phone and I can’t help picking it up. It feels weighted with secrets. My thumb brushes the screen, and it illuminates and, even as I kid myself I’m only checking the time, I swipe right but it asks for a lock code, and I know he must be hiding something. Nick’s never had security on his phone before. I try my birthday, his birthday, our house number, and I’m about to give up when I try the letters from his number plate, and I’m in. My hand starts to shake. Do I want to do this? Nothing good will come of it. Once I know, I can’t not know, and yet curiosity burns and I find myself opening his emails.

  I scan the list. Work. Spam. Amazon. Nothing suspicious there and I tell myself I should quit while I’m ahead, but that doesn’t stop me from reading his texts. The top one is from a number, not a name:

  ‘So good to see you. Thanks for stopping the night x’

  Something akin to a scream builds and builds. Not now. Not Nick. We’ve finally got a baby on the way. Everything should be perfect but it’s all crumbling around me, and I don’t know how to stop it. There’s a heavy tread of feet clumping up the stairs. Nick? I lock the phone and clatter it on the bedside table and dart over to the window as though I am just enjoying the view.

  Outside, under the pergola the rose bushes are beginning to flower, cream for Dewei and lemon for Mai, but behind the pergola, almost hidden from view, are Richard and Lisa. Deep in conversation. He is waving his hands, and she is frowning and, even through the double glazing, I can hear the sounds of raised voices. Lisa turns, stalks back towards the kitchen and I see tears sliding down her cheeks.

  I press one palm to the window, one against my chest. What has Richard done? What has he said? I think about Mai and Dewei. The babies I lost. The babies he lost us. He raises his face to the window. Our eyes lock and his face has a strange expression. Of hate? Of nervousness? I back away from the window. Exhausted with the emotion of everything. Trying not to overthink but knowing I will. I can. I do. Panic nestles under my skin, ready to break free.

  The front door slams. An engine thrums. Tyres squeal.

  I race down the stairs.

  Lisa has gone.

  33

  Now

  I wake with a jolt. The baby crying in my mind. I’m scrunched in the rocking chair in the nursery. Outside, the sun is slipping beneath the rooftops and the sky is streaked red and gold. My earbuds are still in and I press play on my phone to listen to the recording once more. Resting my head back on a cushion I begin to rock, staring at the ceiling for so long black specks swarm into my vision. I can’t believe I have dozed. I had burst into the kitchen demanding to know where Lisa had gone; the silence did little to alleviate my panic and I asked again. Louder this time.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘On her way home, I expect,’ Richard had said.

  ‘But she was supposed to stay the night. She didn’t even say goodbye?’ I stared hard at him.

  ‘You said you had a migraine. She probably thought it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘Nick?’ But his response was a shrug and, exasperated, I had huffed my way upstairs and punched out a text to Lisa asking her to call. But my phone lay still and silent. My eyelids grew heavy as I dug my toes into the carpet, pushing myself back and forth, the crinkly rabbit on my lap, listening for the burst of life on my phone. Sleep must have claimed me.

  I massage my neck and tilt my head from left to right before padding over to the front window and peering out of the curtains. Richard’s car is gone, and I am reassured to see Nick’s car still there. Is he having an affair? What did Richard say to Lisa? Why did she leave? Thoughts crowd in on me. I feel I am standing on the brink but on the brink of what I do not know.

  My forehead dips until it’s resting on the cool glass.

  Again.

  It’s all falling apart again.

  Nick didn’t come to bed last night and breakfast is strained. His eyes are glued to his mobile, thumbs tapping against the screen, and jealousy curdles as I wonder who he is talking to. My toast is overdone. Crunchy. I spread a thick layer of honey and bite into it, letting the sticky sweetness trickle down my throat, forming a barrier against the accusations that bubble and rise.

  Nick leaves the table still fixated on his phone. He mumbles goodbye, and there’s an empty space on the top of my head where his kiss should be. It seems incredible that only four months ago we were the happiest couple I know. I can’t carry on like this. I think perhaps we should go for marriage counselling before we end up like Clare and Akhil. I don’t know how she copes without a father for Ada.

  The house feels too big. Too empty. Rain lashes against the windows. I pull my cardigan tighter around me. It’s hard to believe that yesterday I was wearing shorts. Lisa’s phone goes straight to voicemail when I ring again. She’s probably at work. I can’t shake the way her face seemed to hollow as she talked to Richard, the colour that drained from her lips. I rattle off a text:

  Please let me know you are okay.

  And the second I put the handset down I snatch it up again to check for a reply, even though it hasn’t beeped.

  I’m edgy. Unsettled. I pace the kitchen. There’s nothing to clean.

  My mind is busy. I switch th
e radio on to Classic FM and soothing music fills the air, Vivaldi, I think. The raindrops seem to patter out the melody. I splay the charity’s admin over the kitchen table. This is my favourite room. Usually I find it calming watching the birds swinging from the feeder outside the window, the light streaming through, turning the tiles a warm apricot. Sometimes I can almost imagine a dog snoozing by the French doors, body angled to warm in the sun. I always wanted a Labrador. Perhaps this is the right time. We could go on long walks, the wheels of the pram scrunching through orange autumn leaves, the smell of damp earth, the puppy straining at the lead. The image is so chocolate box perfect it takes a second to realise what has pulled me back to the kitchen. There are no muddy wellies and damp raincoats, collections of conkers in a bowl on the sideboard, just polished floors and uncluttered work surfaces.

  The landline is ringing.

  ‘Hello.’ I am annoyed at the interruption. ‘Hello?’ My tone is sharper now. I wait. Listen. There’s breath, soft and light.

  ‘Who is this?’ With the handset to my ear I stride to the front door. Pull the handle to make sure it’s locked. It all speeds towards me. The phone calls. The wreath. The broken car window. I’m losing control again and everything I want seems so close and so far away.

  You mustn’t tell, Kat. I hear the words, sharp and clear, but I know they are part of the memories fighting to break free of the locked box I have kept them in for so long. I slam the handset back in its cradle as though I am slamming the lid of the box down, but when I try to seal it back up, it springs open again. There is the familiar tightening of my chest. The feeling of lightness. My knuckles are almost blue as I clutch the hall table while the world rocks around me. I’m okay. There’s a noise. A text. It’s Lisa.

  Sorry, Kat.

  I press dial but her phone is switched off. I sink to the bottom stair and drop my head onto my knees. What is she sorry for? For leaving yesterday? Or something else? Something worse? I text, asking her to call me and chew my lip so hard I wince.

  I’m shaking now. I haul myself to my feet. I can’t allow myself to think anything will go wrong. I can’t lose another baby. I won’t. I’m going to finish the books for the charity. I’m going to be normal. I know I sold some raffle tickets at the rehearsal yesterday and I lift my handbag from its hook, unzipping it to find the stubs. There’s not much in my bag and immediately I see my purse is missing. I rummage through the make-up, tissue packet, throat sweets, hairbrush but I can’t see the flash of purple leather. Kneeling on the carpet I tip the contents out but it’s definitely not there. I close my eyes, retracing my steps. When did I last have it? I remember seeing it when we got to rehearsal and I dropped my keys into my bag, but was it there when I took them out again?

  I call Nick to ask him whether I should cancel the credit cards, but his phone is off so I text instead. For a second I’m at a loss. I want to tally all the cash I collected, finish the balance sheets, and make a payment to the bank today. I remember the money in the safe. I’d sold four books so I’ll take £20. I should wait for Nick to come home really; he was annoyed I’d taken out the money for the cab before and forgot to tell him, and I promised him I wouldn’t go in there again. If I find my purse, though, he’ll never know, and if I don’t do this I’ll only sit and think dark thoughts. I punch in Nick’s birthday combination nevertheless and pull the door, my mouth falling open when I see what’s inside. What isn’t inside.

  In place of the stack of notes is a teddy bear, and I lift him out and finger the red ribbon tight around his neck. He isn’t new. There are thinning patches of fur, and his nose is hanging off. Where did he come from? Nick wouldn’t be giving this to our baby. I sniff the top of the bear’s head. Musty. At once I want to ring Nick and ask him about it but I spot a small black box in the corner of the safe. Inside, nestled on black velvet, is a ring. Emerald and diamonds sparkle. I run my fingers over the stones. It must be for my thirtieth birthday. That explains the missing money. We share a bank account and buying presents for each other is always awkward. I’d brought up my birthday last week, not wanting Nick to be extravagant but he was evasive and now I see why. He’s already thinking about it. I can’t help slipping the ring onto my index finger and holding my hand up to the light, watching the diamonds sparkle. It fits perfectly and I practice widening my eyes, loosening my jaw, the perfect ‘surprised’ face, but I can’t even summon any fake enthusiasm. Where did the bear come from and why didn’t Nick show him to me? I can’t even ask him now or he’ll know I’ve seen the ring. A hot flush sweeps over me and I bundle everything back into the safe exactly as I found it. The phone rings again. I won’t answer it this time. I won’t.

  As I leave the study I catch a glimpse of a figure at the end of the driveway, staring at the house. Why would anyone be standing outside in the pouring rain? My panic rises quickly. Someone is out to get me. Nick won’t believe me. I can’t calm down. I don’t know who I am morphing into. I don’t even know my husband any more. Why isn’t there enough air? I stretch the neck of my T-shirt.

  The phone falls silent. Seconds later there is a banging on the front door, hard and relentless. The bulk of a man visible through the glass. I can’t take this any more. Unbidden my fingertips twist the key, begin to turn the handle. My heart rate goes wild again as I prepare to face whoever is out there.

  34

  Then

  There was a horrible, horrible minute when Nick thought he’d beaten his dad to death, but he’d staggered to his feet. Neither Nick nor his mum made a move to stop him swaying down the hallway, shoulder bumping into the walls, hand pressed against his head. They had both flinched when the front door slammed shut.

  Dusk fell, casting shadows across the kitchen, but neither Nick nor his mum flicked on the light switch. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes, and he wished darkness would fall a little quicker, to cloak his shame.

  ‘Do you think he’ll come back?’ Nick stared into his untouched coffee, a skin forming across the top. He kept his hands stuffed under the table where he couldn’t see his swollen knuckles, although he could still feel them throbbing.

  ‘I don’t know where else he’d go.’ Nick’s mum sipped her tea now it had cooled, careful not to press the cup against the left side of her mouth.

  ‘Mum. You should leave him. Kick him out. Something.’

  ‘He wasn’t always like this, you know. We met at a dance. Elvis was singing ‘Are you Lonesome Tonight?’ and he offered me his hand and twirled me around the floor. Afterwards we sat and talked for hours, and nobody had ever been so interested in what I had to say. We laughed so much.’

  Nick didn’t think his mum would see the slight raise of his eyebrows in the semi-darkness, but she said ‘I know. I know. But he was funny and kind and he was a different person then. The accident changed him. Being in constant pain. Not being able to work. He felt less of a man, I suppose. Lost his purpose.’

  ‘It doesn’t excuse him hitting you,’ Nick said quietly.

  ‘I know but I kept hoping he would come back. That man I fell in love with. When I was ill it was the real him who brought me cups of tea and held my hand during chemo. Not this other version of him.’ Her voice cracked.

  They fell into silence. Nick was unsure what to say. Outside, a car alarm screamed. Nick gazed out of the window at the moon and, although he was an adult, he still wished he had a rocket sometimes and could zoom into space. The sky, popping with stars, always seemed so still. So peaceful.

  ‘He could come back again, couldn’t he?’ Mum sniffed, and Nick’s heart broke as he realised she was crying. ‘He did it before and he must still be there somewhere. Under the pain, the anger, the frustration. The man who used to bring me a bunch of carnations after work every Friday, and a bacon sandwich in bed on a Sunday. Is it too late, Nick? For him to be the father he was? He doted on you once, you know. He’d make a coin appear from behind your ear and you’d look at him with such wonder. With such love.’

&nbs
p; Nick screwed his eyes and searched through his memory. It sounded as though his mum was talking about someone else, but despite everything, he felt something inside him soften. He was about to ask her how old he was, and when it all went wrong, wanting to get to know this other father, this stranger, when there was a thumping at the front door.

  ‘I bet he’s forgotten his keys.’ Mum scraped her chair back, but Nick stretched out his hand and touched her arm.

  ‘Let me go.’

  Nick felt strangely calm as he walked towards the front door, towards his father’s apologies. He wondered whether this might be a new beginning for them all. A chance to sit down and talk. A fresh start. But as he opened the door his stomach dipped.

  ‘Nicholas White?’ said the policeman, a stern expression on his face. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of assault.’ And as the policeman read Nick his rights he couldn’t hear anything except the click of the handcuffs. He twisted his neck and saw his mum hovering behind him, hands clapped over her mouth, but he couldn’t feel anything except the cold steel of the metal and his icy, icy heart.

  35

  Now

  Hairy knees are the first thing I see as I crack open the front door.

  ‘Morning, Mrs White.’ Our postman, forever cheerful, forever in shorts no matter how bad the weather, hands me a rain-damp package. My eyes are drawn over his shoulder, and there’s a dishevelled-looking man, salt-and-pepper beard, staring right at me, and instinctively I know he is the one who has been here before. Our eyes connect and he glances at the floor, but he doesn’t move. I close the door quickly and lean against it, my spine uncomfortable against the ridged surface. The package feels heavy in my hands. Part of me wants to throw it away without opening it, knowing whatever is inside the package will be bad. The image of the wreath is burned onto the inside of my eyelids.