The Sweetness of Liberty James

by Janey Lewis

  Forty-five minutes later Liberty found herself up on the bed, legs in stirrups, while Dick Probert – and really, was that his name? – chatted away, waving what looked like a mean dildo at her. Liberty couldn’t listen to a word he was saying (is that really going in there?) in-between praying to whoever was up there that she would love a baby no matter what sex it was, but a boy for Percy would be easier, oh but I don’t want to be greedy, but please, please . . . ‘Ow!’

  ‘That, my dear, is your left ovary, looking nice and healthy.’ Oh, for goodness’ sake, she thought, as the no doubt very capable but not so gentle man decided he needed to look ‘a bit further this way, my dear’, and with that he guided the internal scanner smartly round and up to what felt like her lower rib cage, while leaning on her right leg as though it were a sturdy tree trunk, with no sensitivity at all.

  ‘So that’s where we go from here!’ he announced as he whipped off his thin surgical gloves with aplomb and flung them balled up into the bin. He reeled off more tests, including one only Percy could perform, and explained the whole bionic process of stimulating her ovaries to produce unnatural amounts of eggs that they would ‘harvest’, then select the best, put it with Percy’s sperm, all being well in that department, and then grow to blastocyst stage. All being well – golly, that phrase could get tiring – when the cells stopped dividing by two and really got going to show they were a healthy little embryo, they would be implanted back into Liberty’s hormone-happy uterus, and all the time Liberty would be injecting herself with hormones and putting horse-sized pills where the sun don’t shine.

  Thank goodness Percy isn’t here, thought Liberty, he would run a mile at the thought of injecting me; then again, I might do the same if he came towards me with a needle. And she smiled listlessly.

  ‘Well, thank you, I think,’ she said, as she heaved her squeezed, thoroughly prodded body off the examination table.

  ‘No problem,’ said Mr Probert. ‘I know it’s easy to say, but do try not to worry, we have a very high success rate here. You are a good age, and we haven’t found anything that would indicate any problems.’

  With a smile, a nod and handing her a large amount of reading material, Mr Probert helped her out of the door. As it closed behind her, Liberty felt a strange sensation of being on a conveyor belt come over her, but on her way out of the clinic she felt a definite spring in her step. At last! Mr Probert had said there was nothing wrong, they were on their way to having a baby! Contradicting herself, she thought if only Percy were there, he would be over the moon! She tried his mobile, but he was obviously still in his conference. She would have a baby! She felt a smile the width of the Thames crossing her face.

  About five minutes later she was in the mental condition that anyone who has started the month of IVF knows only too well. Her thoughts ran along the lines of – well, if there is nothing wrong why haven’t we had babies yet? What is so wrong with me that I’m the one who can’t have babies? It seemed to be making her doubt herself more than ever. She fiddled with the idea of going home to see her mother as Littlehurst was so close, but she knew she should go back to London to be there when Percy arrived late. He would need a long bath and supper. The drive into London allowed her to sort her thoughts out and feel positive, if a little nervous about the process ahead of them, and she did worry that if the problem was Percy, or rather Percy’s sperm, how he would react. When she reached their mews home she was surprised to see his car, and thrilled that he had taken an early flight home to check if she was all right. She walked into the kitchen to pour a much-needed glass of white wine, then put the kettle on instead, thinking that from now on alcohol was a real no-no! And a cup of tea would also be most welcome, after all. Percy’s voice could be heard boring down the hall. ‘Hong Kong would be nice, but Shanghai is the place to be now!’ He came through the door and looked surprised to see her.

  ‘Oh, my darling, thank you so much for being here,’ she said tearfully. She threw her arms around his neck as he put his phone in his pocket.

  ‘Well, you know me.’

  ‘What happened, darling, was your meeting cancelled?’ She looked up at him.

  ‘No, it just finished early.’

  ‘Anyway, let me pour you a whisky and I can tell you all about my meeting with Mr Probert.’

  ‘Sorry, love, who’s this Probert? New client? Well done, you can tell me over supper. I only popped in on the way from the airport to pick up my other phone. I have to get back to the office. Toodles.’

  And off he went, just like that.

  Liberty had to let her brain tell her that as little as she wanted to admit it, Percy had obviously forgotten all about her appointment. His conference had been very important. Liberty was never a person to think badly of others, until confronted by strong evidence. There is no point in winding oneself up over what is often the mind playing games, she comforted herself. So she did the only sensible thing: said ‘Bugger it, I’m not on treatment yet’, and poured that much needed glass of wine. Then she went through all the forms and paperwork that Mr Probert had given her. And after that she had a long, very hot bath to make herself feel human again, scrubbing the feeling of being a baby factory from her body, and called Scalini, their favourite Italian restaurant in Walton Street. Maybe over a bottle of Chianti Percy would be responsive to the news that he would need to have a sperm check and answer some fairly personal questions about his sexual history. Funny, how women have to put themselves through the most humiliating of examinations as a matter of course every few years, yet ask a man for a few vials of blood and a sperm sample and they will run a mile (or try to) rather than agree.

  Meanwhile, Percy, on his way back to the office, was thinking hard. He had forgotten all about her appointment, but the ridiculous name Probert had brought it back. I still don’t really want a baby. Does every man go through this? he wondered. It’s going to change everything, and knowing Liberty, she’s not the sort to put up with a nanny, she’s going to want to do it all herself, have no time for me and look a state, with no thought for entertaining my clients. Life will be dull, dull, dull.

  That night, over a plate of pasta and a bottle of wine, Percy said, ‘Well, darling girl, I’m sure they will find whatever is wrong with you and then they will sort something out, but if you insist, I will agree to whatever tests you and this Mr Probert think I need.’

  ‘This IS the last resort,’ said Liberty firmly. ‘We are infertile together, and we have to try either IVF or embryo implantation if we want to have a family. You would have to come to the next appointment with me. I can’t believe you forgot about today.’

  ‘I did not,’ spluttered Percy, who as usual had consumed most of the wine, while Liberty sipped sparkling water, her need for alcohol satisfied by her calming drink earlier. ‘If it’s so bloody important to you, I will come, I’ve said I would. Now can we drop it?’

  ‘Drop it?’ squeaked Liberty. ‘You are the one who needs heirs or graces for your bloody pile.’ And then she did something that horrified both her and Percy. She burst into tears.

  ‘Come on, old girl,’ reassured Percy in his best way, patting her on the shoulder, whilst looking around the restaurant, hoping that no one had noticed his blubbering wife, which of course they had, but they were doing their utmost to pretend not to be listening. ‘Let’s get out of here, and talk on the way home.’ With that he threw a wad of notes on the table and guided her out before they had finished their meal. It seemed to be raining, which they both knew meant taxis would be full, so they started to walk, Percy hesitant to take Liberty to a bar where she may start to blub again.

  ‘I thought you wanted babies as much as I do,’ said Liberty. ‘We were doing this together.’

  ‘Come on, calm down,’ said Percy, feeling a bit of a wretch. ‘You know that women always feel this more keenly than men, and it must have been an emotional day for you.’

  Feeling somewhat comforted, and in need of his umbrella, Liberty held tightly to his arm
all the way home.

  Percy reluctantly gave in to the tests, and allowed Liberty to go ahead with the IVF. He reassured himself that if it worked, he could still have fun, despite having a squawking brat in the house.

  Mr Probert was lovely, as were his nurses. Tunbridge Wells was lovely. The building was lovely. The weather was lovely. But IVF was GHASTLY. When they tell you about the procedure and give you all the information, there is scant mention of the fact that it will be like PMT times one million. You put up with horrible bloating, terrible flatulence, spots, daily injections, the general self-conscious horror of having various implements stuck up holes only your lover should investigate, being prodded and poked like an experiment, being told that nothing physical is wrong with either of you. But it doesn’t help. ‘So why can’t we have a baby, then?’ sobbed Liberty after the first attempt, when her tiny embryos had given up the fight for life after only five days of being implanted.

  She had wondered how she could wait through the ten long days before doing a pregnancy test, after the procedure to place the two embryos chosen from a dish of seven grade A ones (according to the technician who developed and looked after the dishes of growing cells like a shepherdess, only in scrubs in a laboratory, surrounded by Petri dishes and vats of nitrogen instead of sheep). Those embryos not used were kept for another time or given to a couple unfortunate enough to be unable to make their own.

  ‘We don’t really understand everything about infertility,’ explained Mr Probert patiently. He still seemed like a mad scientist to Liberty. He attended all the conferences on the subject, kept up to date with all the latest procedures. But the conferences forgot to stress the human touch. His pre-op room was about as comforting to a patient about to go through an emotional procedure as a gaol cell. It had a specially designed chair to keep her body in the correct position, but it was windowless, and about as big as a tube of Smarties. It gave a horrible feeling of claustrophobia, so no one could relax after being told they had to be as calm and peaceful as possible if the procedure was to work. Liberty could see the set-up was ideal for the medical side of things, but for the patients, not so good.

  Percy could barely bring himself to speak to Mr Probert, apart from reluctantly realising he had to go and have his sperm checked. ‘What did I tell you? I am a well functioning male. All the males in my family have produced heirs, otherwise I wouldn’t bloody be here, would I?’ He gave his sample, which would be separated and injected individually into each egg harvested from Liberty, produced as a result of all the hormones injected into her body.

  Percy avoided the clinic. He refused to be there when they implanted the embryos. ‘I won’t come to see your gynaecologist. Why would I want to see you so degraded? Legs in stirrups while a little man with a long syringe plays around with your fanny.’

  Because I feel lonely, and yes, I do feel hugely degraded, was what Liberty was thinking, but she understood in a way. Most of her girlfriends’ husbands refused to be there when they gave birth, or at least, refused to sit at ‘that end’.

  Despite the horror, the fluctuating moods, and the emotional trauma when it didn’t work, Liberty persuaded Percy to try for the third time in as many years. Ten long days to wait. She was sure it was going to work this time. Mr Probert had told her she would definitely have a baby this time. She made sure she went to see Zita West, an acclaimed ex-midwife who advised on nutrition and lifestyle, and gave her acupuncture, which had been shown in some studies to help with conception. It also gave Liberty something to do. She was feeling so helpless.

  Percy insisted on their continuing to socialise, but Liberty felt so ill and out of sorts, she couldn’t bring herself to dress up and be her usual charming self. It was the one time in her life she would kill for a glass of wine, or a stiff whisky, just for the sake of the alcohol numbing some of the feelings of worthlessness and uselessness which seemed increased by the hormonal upheaval. But she steadfastly refused any type of alcoholic drink. Percy worked and played hard as he always had. Liberty worked, went home and had long baths, breathing in herbs and aromatics prescribed by her naturopath to help her to stay calm and conceive. She wanted her husband to cuddle her, to enfold her in his arms. But he couldn’t understand why.

  ‘Third time lucky,’ said Mr Probert, as he waved her goodbye. ‘Phone us in ten days, when you have taken your test. I know you can do it.’ He gave her an impish smile, and went back inside to help another couple make life.

  6

  Liberty had a pregnancy test ready and waiting; not that she needed it. She knew her body. And it was different. She had previously put on weight when doing IVF, but this time, instead of feeling like killing someone – anyone who looked at her, spoke to her or touched her – she felt calm and serene the whole time. A funny ‘Ready brek’ glow seemed to envelop her and she had the feeling that nothing could touch or damage her. She was like a walking, talking, padded cell, and she was protecting her baby!

  Liberty even stopped on her way back to the mews to stare through the window of Rococo chocolates, imagining the warm smell of the ground cocoa beans, the vanilla and cinnamon her mother used to add to her hot drink. She couldn’t wait to be making breakfast for her child. Maybe the pregnancy would bring back her sense of taste and smell. The doctors had always insisted it was psychological and that another shock or major change in her life could well help it to return. For the first time in memory, Liberty found she missed her long-lost senses, and wished she could feel the joy she remembered from a freshly baked cake. Home and comfort were her associations with baking, or the wonder when a new taste crossed her tongue; she had to be able to experience these things again, didn’t she?

  As she let herself into the house, she was surprised to find Percy standing in the kitchen.

  ‘Darling! You didn’t say you would make it home before you left on your trip.’

  ‘Well, you know you have the perfect husband. I have been telling you a white lie; I don’t have a business trip this week. Come on, my love, I am not a completely insensitive loutish idiot. I am taking you away. Go and pack your bag for a few days. We need to be smart. Oh, and here is a little something extra.’

  He paused, leaned towards her over the kitchen island, and then put his hand in his jacket pocket and took out a box.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she breathed. Percy had only ever given her jewellery when they became engaged, and that was inherited from his maternal grandmother, or in fact taken from his grandmother’s finger by his mother and given to Percy in front of Liberty, as Mrs Cholmondly-Radley was horrified Liberty didn’t have a ring to wear on her finger for their engagement party.

  ‘Go on, open it, you’ll love it,’ said Percy, a smile on his face.

  Liberty pulled off the ribbon and opened the box and the case inside.

  ‘Wow!’ That was all she could say. In the box was a very over-the-top diamond and citrine necklace. It had a great deal of filigree detail dripping from it. It was not to her classic taste at all, but what did men know? And anyway, it was so very thoughtful, and was for the baby, really. She knew she had to thank him.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t know you were so romantic, and after all these years! I am so happy I shall burst!’ She threw her arms round his neck, kissing him all over his face. ‘After eight years you still surprise me, and there was me beginning to worry that you were somewhat dissatisfied with your lot in life. I haven’t managed to produce your heir, and I was worried you were tiring of me, and what must your parents think of me!’

  Terrified she was going to start crying (these hormones were making life with the normally steady, capable Liberty a little chaotic) Percy removed her arms and told her to run and pack her bag.

  ‘And when do we leave for wherever it is? How will I know what to pack?’

  ‘Smart, but it should be warm, and in twenty minutes we will have to find a cab,’ said Percy as he poured himself a coffee. ‘So go on!’ He had noticed she was still rooted to the spot.

  L
iberty raced up the stairs as quickly as she could, found a dress bag and, using her ever-practical huge Hermès Birkin as a holdall-cum-handbag, flung in some DVF wraps as they would fit round her tummy, grabbed her bikini and a couple of cocktail dresses that always made her feel dressed up and smart, no matter what her mood. How forgiving a bit of black crepe can be when Karl Lagerfeld is behind the design! She then topped off the bag with passport and toiletries and at the last minute remembered her pregnancy test (or eight).

  ‘Come on darling, ready? Are you all right?’

  Liberty noticed that Percy was wearing his thoroughly pissedoff face.

  ‘I’m not late?’

  ‘No, no, but come on, let’s get going.’

  ‘Is everything OK, darling?’ Liberty asked. ‘We don’t have to do this if you need to be at the office; just the wonderful thought is enough.’

  Percy half smiled. ‘No, nothing wrong there, no, come on, I have to set the alarm.’

  A few years ago Percy rewarded himself for his own hard work by finally achieving his dream and acquiring a Pissarro, which now hung behind a false painting that was on a slide to hide the exquisite masterpiece and which was only revealed when they were entertaining or using the sitting room themselves. Bob, Liberty’s friend from uni, had always been a bit funny about the arrival of the painting, which seemed to come with an odd selection of small Warhols and Hockneys. All the paintings, said Percy, had come from private collectors, which was why they were unknown, but he refused to enlarge on where they came from, just saying someone needed the cash quickly and therefore was practically giving them away. Bob said to Liberty when they were alone that the paintings collectively would be worth well over a million.

  How Percy had raised the cash Liberty didn’t know, but she understood the importance of setting the alarm, after one hormone-induced stupid moment when she had run out of the house, slamming the door but leaving a window open. She had been late for an important meeting following an appointment with Mr Probert. When Percy got back to the house and found the window open, he had taken her watch, a twenty-first birthday present from her father, and her charm bracelet, which her mother gave her, followed by a charm each birthday, the two possessions she cherished most, and sold them to a jeweller. It took all her own savings to get them back, despite pleading with the wily businessman behind the counter, and she never, ever left the house without setting the alarm again.