‘Really?’ It was the first time she had seen him surprised. ‘How are you going to do that, grow testicles? Only joking. What do you mean, they say he has not given consent? What do they think this is, some kind of silly farce? What is the consultant’s name? I will talk to him.’
‘No really, please, I have tried.’
‘Yes, but I will succeed. We will get your husband’s sperm, not just anyone’s sperm.’
‘I wasn’t going to get just anyone’s sperm for chrissakes,’ shouted Ellie.
Dr Samani stopped and looked at her. He was not used to being shouted at, but he seemed startled rather than angry. His brown eyes softened. Ellie began to cry.
‘I’m sorry, of course not. I will talk to this doctor of your husband’s.’
‘He won’t do anything without it going to court, he said so, and by then Gabe could be dead and I … I … please don’t call him. Please.’
‘I do not have time for people like these, we make babies for good people, they think what they do is better than that? Nothing is better than that. Court case … pah!’
‘Please listen,’ said Ellie, composing herself. ‘If you phone him and he agrees, great, but I don’t think he will. He will argue and report what is going on to his superiors, he’s the type, believe me; he may well keep even more of an eye on Gabe, and maybe even stop me from being with him, and I need to be with him and so do my friends.’
‘Of course you do …’
‘No, not just because we need to sit with him. We need to be with him because we need to take his sperm and bring it here, so you can put it with my eggs.’
‘How are you going to take his sperm?’
‘The same way he would; my friend will do it and her husband will drive here with the sperm. He has been practising, he can do it in eighteen minutes.’
‘Eighteen minutes is OK, ten would be better. Can you not find a motorbike?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, I think I can.’
‘But … if you help, won’t you get into trouble?’
‘Don’t you worry about that. When the time comes we will be ready. These people try to make difficult science impossible, they try to stop dreams from coming true. Don’t worry Ellie, we will get the sperm here and we will make the embryos. Then we pray.’
‘I pray a lot these days,’ said Ellie. ‘No idea who to.’
25
‘The point of therapy,’ said Julie as soon as everyone had sat down. ‘It’s about revelation really, isn’t it? About strangers telling other strangers about things or events or feelings that they wouldn’t otherwise talk about. Isn’t it?’ She looked at Christopher as she spoke, rolling her finger and thumb together on both hands.
‘Well,’ said Christopher. ‘It can be about that, or at least include that, but it isn’t only about that.’
Julie shook her head, seemingly ignoring the answer. ‘You see, I’m confused. If there is a God, can I assume he is an all-knowing God?’ She paused. Nobody spoke. She raised her hands to exaggerate her question. ‘Anyone?’
Clemitius and Christopher stayed silent. ‘OK, I will assume he is, or she is, all-knowing; we can but hope, right?’ She glanced at Yvonne, who nodded supportively. ‘Because if he is all-knowing, what is the point of disclosure? I mean if we bring something to the group that has haunted us, surely you two men of god will already know about it?’
‘No,’ said Christopher. ‘We don’t know everything that ever happened to you, that wouldn’t be possible, it wouldn’t work.’ He looked as though he wanted to carry on, but Julie interrupted him.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘What happens to dead babies?’
‘Pardon?’ said Clemitius.
‘I think you heard me.’ Everyone looked at her; she looked at Clemitius, who inhaled deeply, sat up slightly in his chair, and looked back at her calmly.
Julie had decided it was her turn to say something; she had decided this the previous night, as she lay in her bed curled up in a ball the way she used to when she was young. But she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to talking about herself; in fact she wasn’t used to thinking about herself, at least not in the way therapy or modern life seemed to demand. She didn’t turn her life into a series of short fables and she couldn’t imagine how all the things she had found herself doing combined to form a whole that made sense to anyone, least of all herself. She just did what she did because it seemed the right thing at the time. She was comfortable with that.
But that was no use to her here. And so she had wondered through the previous night what could she ‘bring to the group’ or more accurately, to Clemitius. Uncertainty? The quiet purr of disappointment? A list of past lovers and cities long since faded? Or do you ask about your baby, who would, incidentally, have been eighteen this year.
‘Yes Julie I heard you, I was just taken aback by the question.’
‘Well now that your surprise has passed, maybe you could tell me what happens, or more specifically what happened to my dead baby. I’d really like to know.’
Yvonne lifted a hand to her mouth; Julie stared at Clemitius.
‘Could you explain to the group what you are talking about?’ Clemitius said gently.
She held his gaze and spoke coolly. ‘When I was seventeen, I had a baby in difficult circumstances, a little boy who was stillborn. I had married my English teacher who was nineteen years older than me. When I went into labour he was at the home of a fifteen-year-old student of his, helping with her homework. Or at least, that is what he told the judge when her parents pressed charges. Anyway, I was thinking last night that if there is a heaven, and you say there is, what kind of heaven … .’ She stopped; composed herself. ‘ I was thinking about what might happen to dead babies, babies who have not had the chance to do good or bad or to fuck up or whatever it is we’ve done. I was wondering … why?’
Christopher looked at Clemitius and found himself feeling sorry for him. Clemitius didn’t know what to say: he might think he did, he might try a few words from his psychotherapy manual, but nobody, man nor angel, knew what to say to that.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Christopher said softly.
‘Can I ask,’ said Gabriel, who seemed engaged with the group for the first time, ‘do you have any other children?’
‘No,’ said Julie quietly. ‘Didn’t want children, or didn’t find myself in a position of thinking wanting them would be OK. Does that make sense?’
Gabriel nodded. ‘Yes, perfect sense.’
Julie’s eyes were shining. Yvonne said, ‘So what happens?’
Silence.
Kevin burst, the way a big boil bursts, ‘I imagine it’s the same as with babies who are aborted or something, isn’t that right?’
‘Shut up, moron,’ hissed Yvonne. ‘Jesus, what kind of …’
‘What happens, please?’ said Julie, defiant, contained.
‘They … he … to be honest, Julie,’ said Clemitius. ‘I think there are other things happening here, not least you wanting to revisit what happened to you. And what effect did that event have on your life for example?’
‘Really? You see I don’t think those things matter at all. I think I am sitting here staring at God, or at least as close as I’m likely to get, and I just think a good question is, what happened to the baby I nearly had when I was a kid? The dead one.’
‘Julie.’ Christopher said.
‘What?’ Julie turned to him, and he stared into her eyes.
‘They become the light. So you can see.’
He spoke softly. He didn’t know if she believed him. He didn’t even know if she heard him.
Clemitius looked at Christopher. Christopher could feel his eyes burning into him but he carried on looking at Julie. He knew the rules. Rule No. 1: Never lie. Rule No. 2: Be careful how you care. Rule No. 3: Do not bring feelings to the group; it is not here for you. Rule No. 4: Don’t bloody lie!
Christopher half expected Clemitius to call him a liar. To say
in that sanctimonious way he had, ‘Well that isn’t actually true is it? I wonder what made you say that?’ Except Christopher knew that he wasn’t a patient, and you’re not really allowed to confront your co-therapist; it’s not done.
Instead Clemitius said, ‘How have you lived with that, Julie? With the loss. How has it moulded you, would you say?’
Julie’s face hardened. ‘You don’t live with it; you live in spite of it.’
‘I don’t know what that means. And I’m not sure you do either.’
This was a different silence, not uncomfortable in the way they usually were. This was more purposeful. It felt like a gathering of energy. Christopher expected Julie to leave or shout. She did neither; she just looked at Clemitius coldly.
It was Yvonne who spoke, and she did so quietly. ‘I think the most generous thing I can say about that is that it is unkind, maybe cruel. However, I don’t feel you deserve that much generosity. I think you are an unthinking, unknowing, bumbling shithead. If you are an angel, then God is a fool.’
‘Why … my baby … why does that happen?’ whispered Julie, looking at Christopher.
He shrugged, ‘There is no reason.’
And she knew that, she had always known that. It was bad luck; she was too young, and she was alone. But knowing it, living with it for most of her life, didn’t actually make much difference. She had grown used to the hole it had left in her, the way you become used to a limp after a while. You change with the life that happens to you, and sometimes you see it happening and maybe even understand it, and sometimes you don’t, because you are simply too busy trying to breathe. And she knew that somewhere, a long time ago, she had decided to just carry on doing that and now, this, was simply too late.
26
Moira, Izzy, and Ellie were sitting in Gabriel’s room, staring out of the window across the dusty landscape of London, watching the sun go down.
Ellie was tired. She knew that this part of her grieving was coming to an end soon. When the eggs and the sperm were added together she would sleep, and wait, and see if there was any kind of God anywhere. See if the exchange that she and Gabriel were being offered stacked up or not. A life for a life? Gabriel’s burnt-out, cynical screaming life for a new one. Was it sick to think of it like that? Perhaps, but it was the nearest thing to sense Ellie could muster, that somewhere something good might happen, and somehow that would make sense of all the bad.
‘So is there anything I should know?’ asked Izzy.
‘What do you mean?’
‘About Gabriel’s penis, is there anything I should know?’
‘Yeah, it makes a kind of whistling noise when he comes.’
‘What!’ said Izzy.
‘Well for God’s sake, what kind of question is that?’
‘Well I don’t know what I might be letting myself in for—is it big, little, misshapen?’
‘Izzy!’ said Moira. ‘For fuck’s sake just rub it and catch what comes out.’
‘Oh, listen to my darling little sister.’
‘It’s only weird if you let it be weird.’
‘No I’m sorry, I beg to differ: it’s just weird!’
‘Izzy, you can’t let me down, you know,’ said Ellie. And she got up and left the room to go the toilet.
Izzy carried on staring out of the window. If anyone had ever asked Izzy and Moira if they were close, they would both have said no and gone into a routine about how ‘different’ the other was. How unfocused, dippy, impractical, and hopeless Moira was; how uptight, unsympathetic, tethered, and neurotic Izzy was. The truth was they needed each other to be what they were. It helped them define themselves and take satisfaction in what they had become. If they weren’t related, they probably wouldn’t be friends, but they wouldn’t feel complete without each other.
‘Do you want me to do it, Iz?’
‘No, it’s my job.’
Moira laughed. ‘Christ, you used to do that when we were small! Mum would give us jobs to do around the house, and you’d moan about having to hoover, so I’d say, “I’ll do it,” and you’d go “No, it’s my job,” like I was stealing your favourite toy.’
‘Well this is a bit different, I’m the best friend; if anyone is going to wank her boyfriend off, it’s going to be me. Anyway you’ve always fancied him and that would make it a bit sordid.’
‘Yeah well, what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘I fancied him, no big deal, no harm done. You, you bloody hate him!’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘You did. You were always rude, unfriendly, and unsupportive of them when they found out they couldn’t have kids. You’ve never liked him.’
‘Of course I didn’t hate him—he isn’t who I would have picked for Ellie, and he could be an arrogant sod sometimes, but I didn’t hate him. That’s a terrible thing to say about a man in a coma.’
‘Well, you looked like you felt a lot of stuff about him. Maybe it wasn’t hate, eh?’ Moira teased. ‘It’s a thin line, Iz.’
‘Yuck,’ said Izzy, too loud and too quickly.
Moira looked at her. ‘You didn’t? Did you?’
But Izzy knew herself well enough to not fret about the made-for-TV emotions being ascribed to her. She didn’t love him or fancy him; she didn’t hate him either, or even particularly dislike him. She loathed his type, or at least the type he was when she met him. Charming (allegedly), good looking (so what, she didn’t wet herself), at ease with himself—like he thought he was in a film, like he was in a film that anyone would want to watch. And that is why she knew Ellie and he were suited, because Ellie was like that too, except she didn’t annoy Izzy as much because she was her friend, and you can’t stay annoyed with friends or they stop being your friends, and then you have to hang out with people you don’t really like, who are an incy bit ugly, and that would be a bad thing.
Izzy was the type of woman who tended not to like her friends very much, and Gabriel wasn’t even one of her friends, so she had even less reason to feel guilty about the fact that she loathed him. She didn’t want to touch his penis, and there was something a tad insulting about having to touch the penis of a man she didn’t like—and who she considered to be arrogant—while he was in a coma. It was a bit like having to get someone drunk to sleep with them, but worse. However, no matter how much she didn’t like the idea, this was about Ellie, and she was determined to get past her own—under the circumstances—petty little hang-ups.
‘I’ll do it Moira, and I’ll do it on my own, thank you.’ But as she said it, even Izzy wasn’t entirely convinced and Ellie, who heard her from the bathroom, felt exactly the same.
‘Moira?’ Ellie said. ‘Sorry, is there any chance you could maybe let me have a word with Izzy?’
She felt bad asking Moira to leave, but Moira smiled and said, ‘I’ll get some coffee.’
‘Thanks. Come back soon, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’ Moira picked up her bag and left the room.
Ellie went and stood beside the window and looked out. ‘The sky over London always looks dirty. When you’re young and in love with the place, it looks lived in. As you get older it just looks grimy.’
‘Well, we don’t come into town much these days, do we?’ said Izzy. They fell into silence for a while, staring at the Post Office Tower simply because that was the way the window faced.
‘Are you going to be able to do this, Izzy?’
‘Yes!’ said Izzy, too quickly again.
‘I know you have always had … never really liked Gabriel.’
‘That’s nonsense.’
‘Oh, don’t lie!’ Ellie said. Which rather punctured the dreamy unthinking exchange that had preceded it.
‘Ellie!’
‘Just tell the truth. Let’s get this out in the open. I am depending on you here and I need to know what is going to happen. I am only going to get one shot at this.’
‘Unfortunate choice of words … .’
‘Iz
zy!’
‘Oh don’t start, Ellie, I’ve just had this with Moira. Christ, she thought I fancied him.’
‘Did you?’
‘No! What is it with women today? The slightest bit of friction between a woman and her best friend’s bloke, and everyone thinks it’s a sex thing. I blame Meg Ryan.’
‘So what is it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Izzy.’
‘Well I think, and I know this sounds weird and you are not really going to like it, but I think when push comes to shove, I just don’t like him very much. I mean didn’t like him. I like him now.’
‘What, now he’s in a coma?’
‘No. Now I see how good he is for you.’
‘Oh don’t, Izzy! You know damn well he hasn’t actually been all that good for me lately.’
‘No, but you love him.’
‘Get to the point.’
‘I think what people see, or have seen, is this good-looking, easygoing, quite funny, very loving bloke, but what I have seen is this slightly arrogant, sarcastic, grumpy, opinionated, over-dressed, flippant, not-actually-as-good-looking-as-he-thinks sort of bloke. And just because you love him doesn’t mean I don’t see what I see.’
‘He is sarcastic and grumpy,’ said Ellie.
‘Yeah. I know.’
‘But I do love him, and I know he’s changed, it’s just—inside he hasn’t changed, inside he’s the same. He’s just a bit lost.’
‘That is what love does, Ellie, and I understand that. Hell, I’m not so stupid as to think everyone else sees in Sam what I see. I know the fertility stuff has been hard, and getting older is hard, but well … the whole “he’s a bit lost” stuff, you know what I think of that, sweetie. You know what you think of that when someone we know says, “He’s a bit lost” about someone they’ve just shagged. We think “inadequate tosser.” ’
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