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The Surrogate

Page 20

by Louise Jensen


  My fingers are shaking as I start to peel off the soggy cardboard which disintegrates as I touch it. Inside is a book.

  How to Cope with Death.

  It tumbles from my hand as fear slides me to my haunches. I can’t. I can’t cope with death.

  Ten years.

  You mustn’t tell, Kat.

  I am longing to tell, to atone, but I am frightened. Still too frightened. I cover my head with my arms as though I can make everything go away.

  * * *

  The ringing phone slices through my wandering thoughts. I am still crouching on the doormat, the book lying at my feet. I have to get out of here. Be amongst people. Away from the house and the phone and the endlessly waiting for something awful to happen. I grab my car keys. My feet feel glued to the doormat. I grip the door handle tightly with both hands, urging my wrists to twist, but panic turns my body to stone. I fight to regain control. Waves of heat radiate from my toes to my scalp and I feel myself begin to sway.

  It feels like hours but it is only minutes, seconds perhaps, when the anxiety pulsing around my body begins to subside. I am left feeling shaky and scared. My head throbs. I rattle out an aspirin and swallow it down with my guilt and my fear and tell myself I am not losing it again, but the words don’t ring true, even to me.

  I breathe in slowly and deeply as I step outside the door. The rain has slowed, the sun breaking through the clouds but there’s still a breeze. Leaving the door ajar, I go back for my jacket. Cold. When I’m not hot with panic, I feel constantly cold.

  The town is quiet. It always is on a Monday. I carry my handbag and a sense of disquiet. There are shadows everywhere. Each shop window becomes a hiding place. I shrink in on myself as an elderly lady brushes past. Like a beacon drawing me home I see the sign for Mothercare and hurry towards it. I feel open, exposed and long to be cocooned inside four walls.

  I’m being followed. I know I am. There are footsteps behind me, matching me step for step, splashing through puddles I have just left behind. I grip the strap on my handbag a little tighter. As I speed up, so do they. Physically I can feel my heart is racing but my senses are dulled, dampened by exhaustion. I take a sharp left. There’s still the sound, the slap of leather on wet concrete, and now an overpowering aftershave catching in my throat. I increase my pace. Too scared to stop. Too scared to turn. The door to the shop is ahead and I’m so nearly there with the smiling assistants and the soft honeyed light. In my haste I lose my footing on a paving slab and stumble, grazing my hand against a wall as I steady myself. Brick stinging my palm. Cologne stinging my nostrils. A shadow looms in my peripheral vision and a spotty teenager, eyes glued to his mobile, stalks past without noticing me.

  Invisible. I am invisible.

  There’s no one else around. I remain propped against the wall until the beep of a horn slices through the silence causing my body to jerk like a marionette. I push myself to standing and, slower now, I carry on.

  ‘Hello Kat!’

  It crosses my mind I should feel a tinge of embarrassment that the staff in Mothercare all know me by name, feel obliged to tell them, like Dewei, Mai is no longer mine, but I feel almost numb as I lift a custard-yellow Babygro from the rail, rubbing the fleecy softness between both fingers, reminding myself I can still feel.

  ‘Are you looking for anything in particular today?’ I am asked. The bright strip lights glare overhead, and the colour drains from my vision as panic slams into me.

  ‘No. Sorry…’ I begin to back away. Feeling light-headed. I shouldn’t have come here. It isn’t safe outside. I need to be at home.

  Something sharp digs into the small of my back and I spin around. A shelf wobbles but my reflexes are slow as I watch in alarm as a picture frame tumbles to the floor. The sound of shattering glass is piercing, and I apologise over and over as I pick up the silver frame and set it down. The stock image is a baby in a pink polka dot sleepsuit starfishing in her cot. A tug of familiarity pulls me, and I wonder if I’ve got the same frame at home. I’ve bought so much stuff over the last couple of years. There’s a hand on my arm. A soft voice tells me not to worry about the breakage. I turn and flee.

  The high street is busier now; the chip shop has its door propped open and the smell of hot oil mixes with exhaust fumes. My temples begin to throb. The newspaper stand is setting up and the headlines scream ‘Murder’, and remorse scratches at my skin.

  By the time I reach my car my cheeks are wet with tears and I’m not sure if I’m crying for the things I’ve done, or the things I stand to lose. My hand is shaking as I hold my mobile to my ear, willing Lisa to answer. Willing her to tell me everything is all right. But it isn’t, is it? Not really. The book this morning only confirmed what I already knew.

  Someone is out for revenge.

  * * *

  There’s a cacophony of horns. A squeal of brakes. I’ve run a red light. My skin turns boiling hot and then freezing cold. I mouth apologies at the driver of the car forced to screech to a halt. He opens his window and shouts: ‘silly cow’. I ease forward, checking my mirrors constantly as though I am taking my driving test.

  The rest of my journey is slow. Steady. All the time I mutter to myself as I drive. Reassuring words. I’m letting it all get on top of me and it’s natural, I tell myself, to worry. Any prospective mum would have ‘what if’ doubts, and I may not be carrying my child but I’m emotionally invested all the same.

  I climb out my car. Tension has made my muscles stiff and I think I’ll have a bath, pour in some of the Jo Malone bath oil Nick bought me for Valentine’s that looks so beautiful on the shelf I haven’t yet opened it. Once I’m feeling calmer I’ll ring Lisa, tell her how scared I am that something will go wrong and we can talk about it properly.

  The front door feels harder to open. There’s a breeze streaming down the hallway pushing it closed. I frown as I slip off my boots and carry them as I pad silently into the kitchen. I can’t have left the backdoor unlocked, can I? I’m hesitant. Not sure what to expect. The door is closed but the window above the sink is open. I don’t remember leaving it ajar. As I stretch to shut it, I notice footprints outside in the border, pressed into the mud. Large footprints. Footprints that are definitely not mine. And then there’s a crash from upstairs.

  36

  Then

  In the darkness, the whites of Aaron’s eyes flashed dangerously. You would think the park would be still at night. Silent. Quiet. But the wind brought everything to life. The swing squeaked, an empty can rattled across the pavement, bushes swayed.

  ‘What do you want?’ Slowly, I backed away.

  ‘Just to talk. Don’t look so scared, Kat. We’re friends, aren’t we?’

  ‘No.’ I kicked myself as soon as I said it. I should have played along. There was a sense of things spinning wildly out of my control.

  ‘Perfect, perfect, Kat. Have you never made a mistake? Done anything you’re ashamed of?’ A twig snapped under his footfall, and I thought of that day in the woods. Jake’s hands on me. My half-naked body pressed against the tree. The horrible sense of being watched. I crossed my arms over my chest as I took another step back.

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘I’m not going to touch you. Look, I’ve been stupid, I know. I didn’t think about the consequences. To begin with I only wanted to help my sister lose weight. She was miserable. Being bullied. It really was small amounts.’

  ‘Aaron, I—’

  ‘Please, Kat. Don’t tell anyone. I’ll never be a doctor with a record for drug dealing and despite what you think I’m not a bad person. I’m not.’

  ‘It’s too late.’ I licked my dry lips. ‘I’ve already emailed Mr Lemmington.’ Aaron stopped moving and, stupidly, I did too. ‘He might not take it any further. I haven’t mentioned Lisa, or your sister. I’m sure if you say sorry and—’

  ‘You fucking bitch.’ He lunged forward.

  My glance flickered to the exit. It wasn’t too far but Aaron was faster. Legs longer. He’d o
utrun me in an instant but I had to try. Fuelled by adrenaline, surprisingly, I did make it out of the gates, had almost passed the van before I was yanked backwards by my collar. I kicked out as hard as I could. Was pushed backwards, my body slamming against the van door.

  ‘Stop!’

  The cry caused us both to look around.

  Under the hazy orange glow of the lamp post – Lisa.

  37

  Now

  ‘There’s someone in the house.’ My whisper sounds too loud. I’m crouching in the utility room by the side of the tumble dryer clutching my boots to my chest as a child would clutch a teddy.

  ‘We’ve been burgled?’ Nick asks. ‘You should leave.’

  ‘Nothing is disturbed downstairs but the kitchen window was open. I’m sure I closed it before I left, and I heard something upstairs. Shall I call the police?’

  ‘There’s no sign anyone has been in?’ Disbelief tinges Nick’s voice. ‘Is this like the bin thing again, where you imagined—’

  ‘I’m not imagining this.’ I hiss out my words.

  ‘Just get out the house. I’m on my way.’

  I stand. My thighs feel weak. Slowly I crack open the door leading to the kitchen. I can’t see anyone. Can’t hear anyone. But that doesn’t mean no one is here. I take one astronaut stride at a time towards the back door. I count my steps. One. Two. Three. Sweat trickles between my breasts. Four. Five. Six. There’s a scraping, a sharp pain in my hip. I’d been so fixed on the door I’ve bumped into a chair. I freeze. My instincts scream at me to get out of the house, but I’m nearer to the utility room and I don’t know whether I should dart back in there. A creak. A floorboard? Seven. Eight. Nine. I’m faster now. Not caring if I make a sound. Desperate to be outside. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Another creak. Louder this time. With a shaking hand I twist the key in the back door. It doesn’t move. I wonder if I’ve turned it the wrong way. If it’s already unlocked. It isn’t. The key slips from the keyhole and clatters on the tiles. My heart springs into my mouth. The creaking comes again and I snatch up the key and thrust it back in the lock, rotating my wrist, left, right, left. Why can’t I remember how to unlock a bloody door? There’s a click. A give. I tug open the door and step outside.

  The fence sways in the wind, creak-creak-creaking. I cut across the garden, ignoring the damp grass soaking through my socks, the flowers I trample over. I almost fall through the back gate onto the driveway. The gravel crunches underfoot, sharp and jagged. My head is down as I run along the side of the house, arms pumping, hands gripping my boots. I wince as brick scrapes against my wrist. I slow. Look up. A man stands at the kerb. Dishevelled. Salt-and-pepper beard. Deep lines carved into his forehead. The same man that was here this morning. What does he want? Fearing the worst I throw my boots towards him. He sidesteps.

  I sprint as fast as I can across the road towards Clare’s and pummel at her front door with my fists, looking over my shoulder at the figure. He is standing stock-still, watching. The curtains twitch a few doors down from my house: the nosy woman with red hair peering out of her window. Why doesn’t she help me? The front door opens and I simultaneously push Clare back with one hand as I step inside, slamming the door behind me. With a shaking hand I draw the chain across.

  ‘Kat?’ Clare’s voice is steady as I swish closed the curtains in the lounge, but the way she tosses the iPad in her hand onto the sofa and crosses the room to where Ada is playing with a ragdoll in front of the fireplace, scooping her daughter into her arms, holding her protectively against her, betrays her concern.

  ‘Are you okay? Where are your shoes?’

  I chew my thumbnail, staring at the screen of the iPad, the picture of the Colosseum and the hotel room. Clare must be booking that holiday she wanted. I wish I were anywhere but here.

  ‘Dark,’ Ada says although there’s a slither of sunshine pushing through the thin curtains.

  Clare crosses to the light switch.

  ‘Don’t.’ I stalk into the kitchen, to the back door, pulling the handle, once, twice, three times. The windows are closed. We’re safe.

  Electric light brightens the room behind me and I spin around but the look on Clare’s face stops me telling her to switch it off.

  ‘Mummy?’ Ada’s fingers play with the ends of Clare’s pendant. Ada sounds so small. So uncertain.

  ‘It’s okay, Ada.’ I ruffle her beautiful curls. ‘We’re playing a game. Hide-and-seek.’

  Wordlessly Clare leaves the room, and as her footsteps thud up the stairs I allow myself a peek outside. There’s nobody there. Who was that man? Was he in the house? Has somebody sent him? The last thought causes me to bite my lip and blood fills my mouth. In the kitchen I spit into the sink, turning on the taps, watching the water turn pink before being sucked down the plughole.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Clare speaks quietly but there is fury in each and every word. ‘You scared Ada.’

  ‘Is she all right?’ I stand, wiping my chin with my sleeve.

  ‘She’s playing in her room. Who are you hiding from?’

  ‘Someone has broken into the house.’

  Clare’s hands fly to her mouth and her eyes widen. I sink into a hard wooden chair and drop my head into my hands. She touches my shoulder.

  ‘Have they taken much? Are the police coming?’

  I shake my head. ‘Everything downstairs was undisturbed but someone was upstairs. Nick’s on his way.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ve been burgled?’ Her words are tinged with doubt, and I close my eyes. I had been sure. But now I question myself. What had I seen? Heard? An open window and a noise. ‘You’ve been under so much strain lately. I’m worried about you.’

  ‘There were footprints.’ I remember. ‘There was a man…’ I trail off. It’s all so cloudy but still. ‘There was somebody there,’ I insist as Clare fills the kettle, drops teabags into mugs. But I don’t sound as convincing as I’d like.

  ‘Here.’ Clare spoons sugar into dark brown tea, and picks at the top of a packet of digestives with her nails as though this is a social call. I shake my head.

  Clare slides into the seat opposite me and, as she moves, the sun glints against her pendant casting miniature rainbows on the duck egg walls.

  ‘Tell me about the baby,’ she says.

  It’s the distraction I need. ‘Beanie is practically twenty-seven weeks and the size of a head of cauliflower. He gets hiccups. Sleeps and wakes at regular intervals, opening and closing his eyes. Lisa has another scan booked for Friday. I’ve been looking at those 4D ones – they look incredible, expensive though. I’m going to ask Nick whether we could afford one. We’d be able to see all his features. By now, his face is fully formed, with eyelashes, eyebrows and hair. There’s no pigment yet so it will still be white but soon it will develop a colour.’ I wonder if he will have black hair like Lisa. Like Jake. Like Nick. ‘I say he but it might not be. I can’t decide whether we should find out.’

  Thinking of the baby helps me relax and we chit-chat until her mobile vibrates, skittering across the table between us. Clare grabs it and stuffs it onto her lap, her cheeks blazing, but not before I have seen Lisa’s name flashing up on her screen. Their relationship must have progressed beyond the odd text. Before I can question Clare the doorbell rings. We glance warily at each other. Clare places her palms on the table and pushes herself to standing.

  I follow her into the hallway, steeling myself for the worst as she unlocks the door. Shoulders sagging with relief when I see it’s only Nick, my boots in his hand.

  He looks pale, tired. I step forward and hug him, releasing my grip when I feel his body stiffen.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I study him, expecting bad news. The upstairs trashed.

  ‘Nothing. No one’s been there.’

  Frowning I push past him, striding towards home, almost not believing him.

  ‘I definitely heard something,’ I say but he doesn’t answer, and I turn.

  He’s still standing on Clare’s d
oorstep, and it hurts as I notice them hug. Notice he doesn’t pull away from her.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ I’m standing in the doorway of the nursery, reluctant to step forward wearing only socks. The ‘Together We Make a Family’ picture is lying on the floor, the frame splintered. Shards of glass imbedded in the carpet; there’s some in the cot. I thank my lucky stars, for the first time, there wasn’t a baby in it.

  ‘The nail can’t have been strong enough to hold it up,’ Nick says. ‘I should have used a picture hook.’

  ‘But…’ I look around the room. Nothing else has been disturbed. ‘There were footprints outside the kitchen window.’

  ‘I was weeding at the weekend around the rose bushes and thought I might as well do all the borders. It hasn’t rained since. They were probably mine.’

  ‘There was a man.’ I cross my arms around my waist. ‘Hanging around outside the house. I’ve seen him before.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s visiting someone. Look, Kat,’ Nick places his hand on my shoulder, ‘it’s been a horribly stressful time, moving house, the adoptions and now the surrogacy.’

  I shrug him off. ‘I’m not cracking up.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were. I’m just… worried. Your boots were in the middle of the road, for Christ’s sake.’ He runs his fingers through his hair. His curls have got so long. He looks gaunt, and I feel terrible that I’ve only been thinking how this affects me. But I count the things that have gone wrong lately and paranoia pounces again.

  ‘Nick, I think someone has been in the house. Yesterday, my purse—’

  ‘There’s a message on the answerphone,’ Nick says before I can bring up the missing money from the safe. ‘The community centre rang. A workman found your purse in the toilet. He was in there fixing the faulty lock.’

 

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