I rattle off a text to Aaron.
I need to see you!
I pace as I wait, tallying the things that could go wrong. Aaron could refuse, if he even gets the texts at all. He could be at work. Not have his phone. There’s a rigidity spreading through me, frustration turning my muscles to stone.
The minutes seem endless but at last the phone vibrates in my hand.
We can’t be seen together.
I’m not in Farncaster. Come here.
I add my address.
The handset stays silent and dark. I think I’ve gone too far, but I can still claw it back, if he’s desperate to keep Lisa quiet. I send another text.
I’m barely holding it together. I’m scared I’m going to crack. Confess.
From the bathroom next door I hear the running of taps as Lisa tops the water up. My heart pounds. I’m hot. Mouth dry. But at last a message comes through.
OK.
I hurry into my en suite and turn on the tap and, tipping out our toothbrushes, I fill a glass with water before removing Lisa’s SIM card. I drop it into the glass and slowly swill it around before fishing it out, shaking off the droplets of water before patting it with a towel. Minutes later it feels dry. It looks normal. I slide it back inside the phone, press the power button and smile before I drop the handset back into Lisa’s bag.
Aaron should be here in an hour.
And so it begins.
40
Now
It is lunchtime when Lisa returns to the kitchen, skin bath-pink and clammy, hair damp. I close my laptop lid. I have learned all I need to know.
There’s a quiche warming in the oven and I pull it out and slice it, turning my head away from the smell of cheese and onion. I couldn’t possibly eat. The pastry crumbles as I lift quarters onto plates, drizzle olive oil over rocket.
‘I can’t help thinking about the time we ran into Aaron at the hospital,’ I say to Lisa as we begin our game, if that’s what this is to be.
‘What do you want to think about him for?’
‘It must be hard for you, with him working in the hospital too.’
‘He’s only a cleaner.’ Lisa’s voice changes pitch. She’s uncomfortable. ‘Our paths never really cross.’
I change my tack. Wanting to throw her off guard.
‘I love the Eva Longoria perfume you bought me. You’re too kind.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She smiles. Relieved at the change of subject.
‘It’s funny, isn’t it? Stella chose the name Gabrielle for her baby? That was Eva’s character’s name, wasn’t it?’ I spear rocket with my fork but I’m watching her reaction from under my lashes. The way she swallows hard. Reaches for her glass and gulps water as though something is stuck in her throat. The truth, perhaps?
‘Was it?’ Lisa’s tone is too bright. Too high. But I know her so well I can detect the tremble. Notice the blush that wraps itself around her neck, and I imagine my fingers there in its place.
She places her knife and fork together at the side of her plate. ‘I’m sorry, Kat.’
‘Are you?’ I lean forward. Almost urging her to be honest.
‘Yes. It must have taken you ages to make this lunch. I get really full quickly now he’s growing.’
Her hand strokes her belly, and I sink back into my seat, stuffing my hands under my thighs before I give in and sweep the contents of the table onto the cold tile floor, where shards of china will lay strewn amongst the pieces of my broken heart.
‘I must go.’ Lisa looks uncomfortable.
‘But there’s a lemon meringue in the oven.’
‘Sorry.’ She stands.
I expected nothing less.
‘So you’ll transfer the extra money?’ She asks for confirmation, and I nod, not trusting my voice not to crack if I speak. ‘I’ll see you soon, Kat.’
She has no idea how soon.
* * *
I’ve scraped the leftover salad into the bin and crumbled the pastry onto the bird table when the doorbell rings and, before I even stride down the hallway, see the shadow in the opaque glass, I know who it is. Lisa. I couldn’t just let her leave, could I?
‘That was quick?’ My voice trembles with nerves. With adrenaline. With excitement.
‘My car won’t start.’
‘Oh no.’ I feign surprise, and step backwards, letting her come inside, linking my hands behind my back. While Lisa was in the bath I had scrubbed at my skin with a nailbrush until my fingers were pink and raw but I can still detect the faint whiff of oil. A tinge of black under my fingernails. Lisa was right all those years ago. It’s amazing what you can learn on YouTube.
‘Nick’s good with cars. I’ll get him to have a look when he comes home.’
‘It’s okay,’ Lisa says. ‘I’ve got AA membership. There’s something wrong with my mobile though. It’s saying, ‘no SIM’, but I’ve looked and it’s still there. I’ll need to pop it into Carphone Warehouse, I think. Can I use your landline?’
‘No!’ I blurt out. This wasn’t part of my plan. She was supposed to sit in the kitchen and wait for Nick, not knowing Aaron would arrive first. I wanted to confront them together. I can’t let her leave. I just can’t. What will I do if I’m alone when Aaron comes? What will he do? ‘The phone’s not working.’ My words come out garbled. ‘Remember those nuisance calls?’ She nods. I’d confided to Lisa, and she’d showered me with sympathy. Little had I known then it was likely her ringing me. Or Aaron. Perhaps both. ‘BT thinks it is a fault on the line. You’ll have to use my mobile.’
I head towards the kitchen, but the basement door catches my eye. I hesitate. Turn to Lisa and frown as though I’m thinking.
‘I haven’t seen it all morning. I think I left it down there last night.’ I nod towards the basement.
‘What were you doing down there?’
‘I’d been calling Nick for dinner and he didn’t hear. I had to go and fetch him. He started talking to me while he was finishing his run.’ She’s not the only one who can lie. I tilt my head to one side. ‘I remember putting my phone on the table as I sat on the sofa. Nip and check. I must rescue the lemon meringue from the oven before I burn the house down.’
I spin on my heel and hurry into the kitchen, where I stand with my back to the wall. My kneecaps feel as though they are made of rubber. There is laughter in my head but it is not mine and I fight against it. I can’t do this, can I? I can’t lock her in.
Her footsteps thud down the stairs. Slow. Even. No rushing for her with her fake bump, and her fake baby, and suddenly I am furious. My desire to know the truth is stronger than my desire to do the right thing. What has she been lying about since Jake died? I cross to the basement door and pull it closed. Lock it. Leaning my forehead against the door I imagine Lisa on the other side thudding her fists, screaming to be let out, and this image whirlwinds around my mind until it is me thudding on the door. Me crying for help.
I back away down the hallway but I can still feel my palms stinging, my throat raw from my screaming. I don’t know what is me and what is her any more. I clasp my hands tightly over my ears and screw up my eyes, slumping to the floor. I only wanted a family. It wasn’t too much to ask for, was it? Slicing through the pounding in my head, the screaming, is a baby’s cry, shrill and desperate, and I begin to rock back and forth as though I am soothing an infant. Soothing myself. Please, please make it stop. I don’t think I can take any more. But I have to move. Aaron will be here soon, and my plan has gone all wrong. I don’t know what I am going to do.
* * *
He’s not coming.
The clouds are heavy and swollen with the threat of rain. The sky battleship grey.
He’s not coming.
If he’d left Farncaster after the text, he’d have been here by now and it’s almost five. I can’t check Lisa’s phone to see if he has texted again to tell her he’s changed his mind because I have broken it. Nick will be home in an hour. I pace the lounge. Back and forth. A caged lion.
I imagine Lisa doing the same downstairs.
The tea light under the oil burner flickers in the corner but the smell of lavender does little to calm me. I don’t think I’ll ever feel calm again.
I hold Jake’s gold cross between my fingers. What would he think if he could see me now? How would he feel? A rush of shame engulfs me. My belly a mass of writhing snakes. I’ve locked his sister up like an animal and no matter what she has lied about, the money she has conned from us, Jake wouldn’t condone this. I can almost see the disappointment in his eyes that once looked at me with passion. With lust. With love.
Revenge.
It was never purely about money; I know that. Lisa still blames me for Jake’s death. He shouldn’t have been with me that night. He should have been with her, and it must eat at her, as corrosive as acid, burning her sense of right and wrong. Aaron still blames me for losing his place at university, his longed-for career in medicine. How degraded he must feel being a cleaner at the hospital he’d once thought he’d be a surgeon at. I begin to cry. Was it not enough to let me think I was going to be a mum and snatch my dreams away? Did they also have to lead me to believe I was going mad? The phone calls, the wreath, the book. The smashed picture. Locking me in the toilet. Breaking into my car. The man who has been watching the house – was that someone they roped in with the promise of easy money from a desperate woman? Because desperate is what I was.
Love.
I have so much love to give a child. Such a yearning to feel a baby in my arms, hear the soft snuffling against my neck, smell talcum powder, but it’s finished.
I am finished.
There is such an inherent sadness inside of me. I am broken. The cross seems to warm between my fingers.
I have to let Lisa out. She is quiet now and I hope she is calm. I have to let her go. The answers I crave won’t fill the cot upstairs. They won’t miraculously make me a mum.
It’s over.
My legs are heavy with sadness as I turn to face the lounge door, taking a step towards the basement. One. Two. Three.
A noise from outside. I freeze. But it’s only the forecast storm. The rain has started lashing against the window, hammering to be let in as Lisa is likely hammering to be let out.
Four steps. Five.
The hallway is suddenly flooded with light. There’s the thrum of a car engine. A silence. A door slamming.
Aaron.
He is here.
41
Now
My feet are stuck to the carpet. I can’t seem to remember how to move. I don’t know if the banging I can hear is in my head, in the basement, or from the front door. A tidal wave of panic crashes over me, almost knocking me off my feet. I stumble backwards. Lean against the wall, not able to stand on my own. Footsteps thud-thud-thud along with my heart. My earlier courage, fuelled by anger, is slipping away, slithering down between the gaps in the wall and the skirting boards, never to return. What was I thinking asking Aaron here?
There’s the jangling of keys and once again I am back in that night. Jake slipping his key into the ignition. The engine roaring to life. I shake my head, and the sound is replaced with a crying baby, or is it me that is crying? I touch my cheeks with my fingertips and they come away wet. Laughter. Stop the laughter. How can I make it stop?
The front door swings open and Nick steps inside, handkerchief pressed to his face, crimson with blood that is still dripping.
‘I banged my nose on the car door…’ He tails off as he notices the state I am in.
I am shaking and sobbing and he dashes towards me, his mouth opening and closing, but his voice sounds muffled and echoey and I can’t make out his words. I stare past his shoulder at the basement door, wanting him to read my thoughts. Know what I have done. Make it all better, but instead, he slips his arm around my shoulders and leads me into the kitchen. The softness of his voice combats the scraping of the chair legs against the tiled floor. His tone soothes me, although I cannot understand what he is saying. He would have made such a good dad. The whooshing in my ears grows louder and louder and dizziness engulfs me every time I move my head.
* * *
I am back at Perry Evans’s party. Red and green flashing lights bright in my mind. His mum’s cat ornaments rattling on the shelf as the bass vibrates. Vodka relaxing my muscles as I sway to the music. Paul Weller sings, and Jake’s hand heats the small of my back. His voice murmurs. He pulls me towards him. My eyelids flutter and my head tilts. Lips part. I lean in for his kiss but over Jake’s shoulder I see Lisa’s expression. The hurt. The anger.
Lisa.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, digging my fingertips into my scalp.
* * *
It is Nick’s hand on the small of my back. Nick’s voice murmuring. The thudding isn’t the bass: it’s my own guilty heart.
‘Kat. Shhh. It’s okay.’
I try to shake my head, clutching his hand, willing him to know what is wrong, but he doesn’t ask, and I think of all the times he has come home lately. The times I had told him someone was watching the house, someone had been in the house. My almost hysterical outpourings, and I almost don’t blame him for not asking. But I need to tell him about Lisa. I can’t leave her for hours like I was left. Scared. Alone. In the dark. At least she has a light, I reason, a sofa; it’s not so bad. But it is. It is very, very bad.
‘Nick…’ I snatch a breath while I try to put my words into some semblance of order. It’s almost impossible to know where to start.
‘What the?’ There are deep grooves on Nick’s brow as he stares over my shoulder at the window.
Lightning cracks, and I almost hold my breath as I wait for the rumble of thunder. What has he seen?
Or who?
Even though I am expecting it, I still jump in my chair as the thunder crashes. Nick straightens up.
‘What is it?’ I whisper.
Nick shakes his head, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the window and, almost in slow motion, I turn. The kitchen lights are reflected in the panes of glass and all I can see are our kitchen units and our shadowy figures.
‘Someone was out there,’ Nick says, and my hand gropes thin air until I find his fingers. I grasp his hand tightly.
‘Let’s go upstairs.’ There’s an urgency in my words.
I catch sight of the scan photo on the fridge – God knows where Lisa got that from – and I realise how devastated Nick will be that yet again he won’t be a father, and it’s all my fault. There’s a part of me that wants to usher Lisa out of the house. To tell Nick the surrogacy has fallen through, but there have been so many lies already. I glance at his profile. His curly hair flopping in his eyes. Hair so like Ada’s. Is he already a father? Suddenly I feel weighted down with the past, and it is almost more than I can bear. It’s time for us both to be honest. About everything. I draw a breath so deep my ribcage feels it will burst as my lungs expand, but before I can speak, Nick gasps, and this time I see it too. The face looking in. The eyes staring at us. I am powerless to react as Nick sprints across the kitchen and wrenches open the back door. My hands cover my mouth. The rain bounces off the skylight, fierce and loud.
A muffled cry.
Lightning.
The sound of a scuffle.
Thunder.
‘Nick?’ I rush to the back door, but before I can step outside, Nick almost falls into the kitchen, dripping wet and panting hard. He isn’t alone. He is dragging someone with him and they crumble onto the kitchen floor. There is a sickening crack as their heads make contact with the tiles.
Nick is sprawled on his back, blinking furiously as he raises his hand to his forehead, and I offer silent thanks that he is okay. But what about Aaron?
He is still. Quiet. Lying face down.
And slowly I inch my foot forward and jab my toe into his side.
He doesn’t move.
42
Now
‘Nick?’ I drop to my knees. The tiles are pooled with pink and,
at first, I don’t understand but then there’s a horrible realisation. The rainwater is mixing with blood.
‘Nick!’ I pull his hand away from his forehead. There’s a gash running alongside his hairline. I lean over him and yank open the drawer, pulling out a clean tea towel. As I press it to his wound the stark white cotton turns crimson. I look over my shoulder, half-expecting my ankle to be grabbed, hands around my throat, but there is no movement.
Raindrops gust into my face, and the wind causes the backdoor to crash against the worktop. I skirt around Nick and push the door closed, my socked feet almost slipping on the water pooling on the floor. I pick my way, more carefully, back to Nick.
‘Can you sit up?’ I lever my hands under his armpits and pull him hard. As his upper body lifts the colour drains from his face and he sways slightly as he sits, swallowing hard.
‘Sorry. I should have believed you. About the man hanging around. About everything.’
‘Is he?’ I look over my shoulder, I can’t bring myself to say the word. But I notice the rise and fall of his ribcage. He’s alive. ‘Should we?’ I am shaking so hard now I feel my body might break apart. We need to call the police, I know. An ambulance, at the very least, but first I need to tell Nick that Lisa is in the basement. How can I explain? I could go to prison. The very thought winds me and I can’t move. Can’t speak. I’m caught in a tangle of secrets and lies and I don’t know how to unravel them.
The Surrogate Page 22