by Kate Hewitt
‘Nope.’ Anna smiles and looks away, and I am left feeling as if she has a secret – one she doesn’t want to share.
But I have secrets too, although not from Anna.
* * *
That weekend Matt and I drive to Chepstow to tell my parents about the baby. It isn’t until we’re driving there that we talk about what exactly we’re going to say.
‘Will we tell them about the IVF?’ Matt asks.
‘Well, yes. Why shouldn’t we?’
‘And the egg and sperm donation?’ I hesitate, and he nods, as if I’ve said something important. ‘I know. I don’t want it to become this big thing. I don’t want to have to tell people all the time.’
Like I had to with my adoption. No, I definitely don’t want that, and yet it feels like something rather big not to say. It feels like a betrayal of my original desire to make this a conscious choice, a celebration, the vision I sold to Anna. But it’s not as if we have to go around shouting it from the rooftops, surely. People don’t trot out these kinds of facts at a dinner party. But then, this isn’t a dinner party.
‘I don’t know,’ I say slowly. ‘I know Mum and Dad would understand, but it feels private. I don’t want loads of people knowing before we’ve told our own child.’ Because all the literature I’ve read about egg and sperm donation advises you to tell the child about their origins from the outset. Honesty all the way.
And, if I’m painfully honest, I don’t like that idea much either. Forget that rosy vision I had, it all feels different now. It feels fraught, opening my child – and Matt and me – up to myriad complications and pain. Questions and doubt and that abominable caveat: These are my parents but…
‘Perhaps we should have thought about this earlier,’ I say as Matt takes the exit for Chepstow. ‘It feels a bit late now.’
‘There’s no need to rush anything. We don’t have to tell your parents everything right away. And, like you said, it’s private. Not telling them now doesn’t mean not telling them ever.’
It sounds so simple right then, almost obvious, and yet as we turn into my parents’ drive, part of me already knows we’ve made a big decision by keeping this secret, and it wasn’t one we said we were going to make. But right now, as Matt helps me out of the car, it feels like the right decision. The only one.
When she hears I am pregnant, my mother is both incredulous and tearful.
‘But this is so amazing… why didn’t you tell us?’
‘I’m sorry, Mum, but I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, until it was more certain.’ I hug her, and then apologise again, because that’s what I often do with my parents. ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t that we were trying to keep something from you…’
‘No, no,’ she says, patting my back, seeming a bit distracted. ‘It’s wonderful news. Truly wonderful. To think you’re going to have a baby, Milly…’ But I know, just as I’d predicted, that she’s hurt, and I feel terrible.
‘Champagne, I think,’ my father says grandly, and then winks at me. ‘Except for the mother-to-be! Milly, I can hardly believe I’m saying the words.’
I smile. ‘Me, either.’
‘We’re so thrilled for you, darling.’
And I know they are, of course they are, but I still feel guilty.
‘I should have told them before,’ I say to Matt when we’re driving home. ‘Mum feels I’ve kept something from her, hidden it. It’s like a betrayal to her.’
Matt shakes his head. ‘They’re thrilled, Milly.’
He never picks up the minuscule signals the way I do; he’s not finely tuned to that life channel. To him, the afternoon was an outstanding success: we toasted the baby, my dad shook his hand, my mum hugged us both, and they asked us questions about due dates and names, inspecting the blurry print-out of the scan as if they were studying a painting by a grand master.
But to me, despite all the happiness and excitement, the afternoon was marked with those infinitesimal moments of tension and disappointment. I felt it in the way my mother shot looks at my dad, the slight shrugs he gave her in response, the silences that stretched on before she struggled to ask another question. Matt saw none of that; he never has.
‘Anyway,’ he tells me gently as we turn into our road, ‘remember, your mum has cancer. If she seemed a bit, I don’t know, low energy, I’m sure that’s why.’
I say nothing, because I can hardly argue with that, and it’s not as if I’ve forgotten that my mum has cancer. Yet I know it was more than her illness today. I suspect I’ll receive a call from my dad tomorrow, when he’ll gently tell me about my mum’s hurt, in a way that isn’t meant to make me feel bad, but often does.
And, sure enough, that’s what happens. During my lunch break, while the Year Ones are running amok outside enjoying the spring sunshine, my dad’s number flashes up on my phone.
‘Milly.’ His voice sounds so warm, I feel guilty for resenting his phone call. ‘I just wanted to ring to say how absolutely thrilled we are with your news.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘We were just a bit surprised, that you kept it to yourself for so long,’ he adds after the tiniest of pauses. ‘Considering how important it is, and how supportive we’ve wanted to be of you and your fertility treatment.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad, but I told you why we didn’t say anything.’ I speak as gently as I can. ‘It was just too hard, in case things went wrong.’ Which they still could. I’m only thirteen weeks; a miscarriage is definitely not out of the question.
‘Yes, but this is us, Milly. Your parents.’ He imbues the word with the special emphasis he and my mother always give it, as if they are somehow more my parents because I am adopted. They’ve certainly been more invested, and I am grateful for that. Of course I am.
‘I know, Dad. And I am sorry. But this felt like the right decision to us.’ I almost add that they took a few weeks to process my mother’s momentous news, but I don’t. It wouldn’t accomplish anything.
‘All right.’ My father sighs, accepting, yet I can’t keep from feeling that this is another tick in some invisible column. It’s so vague, I wonder sometimes if it really exists, this tallying of mistakes and disappointments in my parents’ minds. Maybe it’s just my imagination, the feeling that I am not measuring up as I should, because I was so wanted, so chosen, and so I have to be extra good, extra grateful, extra everything. ‘Well, like I said, darling, we’re absolutely thrilled for you. Thrilled to bits.’ He sounds so sincere, and I know he is. Tears sting my eyes and I press the back of my hand to stem them.
‘I know, Dad. Thank you.’
After the call, I sit for a moment, caught between guilt, grief, and the happiness I’ve held to me like a promise since I discovered I was pregnant. Then I make myself push the whole conversation to the back of my brain, where a thousand conversations just like it jostle for space.
Now that I’ve had my scan we can start telling everyone – friends at work, at school, neighbours. We’ll celebrate with Anna and Jack, capture a little bit of that vision I shared with her all those weeks ago, us together, raising this child, because it can still be real. We’ll have them over for a meal, a celebratory dinner with champagne and cake, all of us toasting this miracle life inside of me – this baby that we are all learning to love, because he or she involves all of us. I believe that. Right now, I want to believe that.
Ten
Anna
By the time Milly calls to invite Jack and me over for dinner, we’ve been seeing each other – although I’m not actually sure I can or should use those words – for two months. We’re not dating precisely, or even at all. Nothing’s actually happened.
Yet since that first evening when we met at a sleek bar in the city for drinks, we’ve gone out a handful of times more. Drinks again, dinner once, and a pub quiz with a couple of Jack’s mates. Hardly anything, and yet for me and my general lack of a dating life, it feels like a lot.
That first night, I was so nervous I changed my outfit thr
ee times, finally settling on jeans and a loose Indian print blouse, not wanting to look as if I was trying too hard. I wasn’t even sure what Jack wanted. Was this just a friendly drink, since we shared this admittedly odd connection? Or was it – could it be – something more?
I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to be; I’d steered clear of serious relationships for a long time, for a reason. Milly kept trying to get me to go on dates, and sometimes I humoured her, but in general it didn’t feel like there was anything missing in my life; I wasn’t lonely.
And yet I still wanted to see Jack.
He was waiting in the bar when I arrived; he’d already bought a bottle of wine, had the wine glasses ready, and he stood up as I approached, which I liked, although I told myself not to make much of such details. It was only that I wasn’t used to them.
‘Anna. It’s good to see you again.’
‘You, too.’ I sat down, busying myself with my coat and bag so I wouldn’t have to say anything. But then I embarrassed myself by blurting, ‘I thought I’d scared you off.’
Surprise flickered across Jack’s face and then he smiled. ‘Not at all. Why would you think that?’
I shrugged, not meeting his eye. ‘Just that I was a bit emotional before, and I’m not normally like that. I also don’t normally air my dirty washing with someone I barely know.’ I toyed with the rim of my empty wine glass. ‘I’m usually quite a private person.’
‘It was an emotional situation.’ He shrugged my words away as he filled my glass. ‘It was entirely understandable.’
‘Right.’ I took a sip of the rich red wine, feeling both relieved and embarrassed that I’d brought it up yet again.
‘Anyway,’ Jack said smoothly. ‘You mentioned you work in HR?’
We steered clear of serious topics after that; I told him about my work, and he talked about his various housing projects, and it all started to feel remarkably easy.
The only slightly awkward part of the conversation was when he asked about university. ‘Milly mentioned you lived together during uni…?’ Such an innocuous question, but it brought a tidal wave of dark memories rising in me, a wave that had been lapping at my senses for weeks now, ever since that day in the clinic, when I felt its first cold touch.
‘We did, but I didn’t go to Bristol as she did.’ Even though I’d had a place. Jack raised his eyebrows, waiting, so I explained diffidently, ‘I failed my A level exams. Didn’t get the marks I needed.’ Two Es and a U are just about as bad as it gets when it comes to exams, and they guarantee you a university place precisely nowhere.
‘Ah.’ He nodded in understanding. ‘So what did you do instead?’
‘I did some waitressing, and then I got a graduate apprenticeship at Qi Tech, where I still work.’ I didn’t mention that I spent eight months either drunk or stoned and most certainly desperate, or that my parents, so acrimoniously divorced that they couldn’t exchange two civil words, banded together to give me what they called tough love and kicked me out of the house.
Neither did I mention the two weeks I spent sofa-surfing with people I shouldn’t have ever had to meet, and then how Milly rang me, and found me, and brought me back to her flat. If she hadn’t, I don’t know where I might have ended up, or how low I might have fallen. No, I most certainly didn’t say any of that.
At the end of the evening, we had a moment of awkwardness; Jack insisted on walking me to my car, and then I laughed uncertainly as we bobbed back and forth for a few cringeworthy seconds before he finally kissed my cheek. The touch of his cool lips on my skin was a shock, like being submerged in ice water. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been kissed, even on the cheek.
It was another few weeks before I heard from him again; we met up for drinks at a different bar, and just like before we chatted easily. I was starting to relax, and not to second-guess everything Jack or I said.
‘How’s Milly doing?’ he asked as he poured me more wine. ‘Is she starting to feel nauseous yet? Doesn’t that kick in quite early?’
It surprised me that he didn’t know – was he not in touch with Matt? I texted Milly nearly every day; I knew her food cravings as well as the things she couldn’t stand: she loved kiwis and hated Parmesan cheese. I’d brought her a fruit salad only yesterday, when I met up with her for a coffee.
And while Milly had told me everything, I’d kept this – Jack – from her. There had been ample opportunity to tell her I was seeing him – if I even was. But I hadn’t said anything to her; in fact, I’d deliberately avoided the topic, and I wasn’t sure why.
‘Yes, she is nauseous,’ I told Jack. ‘It isn’t too bad, though.’
‘Exciting times, really.’
‘Yes…’
‘Are you curious? About, you know, the baby? What it will look like, a bit of you, a bit of me…’ He rubbed his jaw, looking sheepish, and I had the jolting sensation that he was talking about our baby. I’d always tried not to think of it like that, but sitting in a bar, cradling a second glass of wine, with Jack gazing at me so warmly… I did. I thought of it exactly like that, and it was a shock to my entire system, every nerve and sense suddenly hyperaware of what he was saying, what it meant, the feelings I’d been pushing away rising up and overwhelming me. Our baby.
‘I suppose, yes,’ I answered after a moment. ‘Sometimes.’
‘I never thought I’d have kids myself, so it’s strange,’ he continued. ‘Wondering what it will look like. If I’ll see myself in him or her… or see you.’
‘I suppose you will, at least a little bit.’ My cheeks had started to warm, because this all felt oddly intimate. Our baby. Except it wasn’t. I’d told myself I didn’t need the reminder, but right then I knew I did, and it horrified me.
The next time Jack texted, he asked if I wanted to have dinner, which felt like a big step, but it was basically the same as before, chatting, laughing, and a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night. Somewhat to my surprise, Jack was quite the gentleman. Or perhaps this was all just friendly, and I was too inexperienced, too nervous, to know. I still didn’t tell Milly about any of it, and I told myself that was just because I didn’t know what to say. We weren’t really dating, were we?
Yet I knew by not saying anything, especially when she asked outright, I was keeping something from her, and it didn’t feel right. I have one secret from Milly, and I didn’t expect to have any more. I knew, if and when she found out, she’d be hurt.
* * *
The day before dinner with Milly and Matt, Jack rings, asking me if I want to go together, he can pick me up beforehand. I am startled, because this feels like some kind of statement, and yet it also makes sense.
When we arrive together, clearly having come in the same car, I can tell Milly is surprised, although she doesn’t say anything. Her gaze darts between Jack and me and then she turns away, fussing with the drinks.
‘We wanted to celebrate the end of the first trimester,’ Matt says as he pours us all champagne, with sparkling apple juice for Milly. ‘Since that typically means being out of the danger zone. It’s a big relief to us.’
‘Don’t jinx it,’ Milly protests, and I give her a reassuring smile, which she returns fleetingly before glancing away. I feel the burden of not telling her about Jack pressing down on me like a leaden weight.
‘Jack, have you seen this?’ Matt brings out the print-out of the scan that Milly showed me weeks ago, and Jack takes it, clearly not knowing what it is. I watch his face as he gazes at the blurry black and white image, seeing how confusion crinkles his forehead and clouds his eyes before realisation comes like a thunderclap, and his jaw drops.
He glances up at me. ‘Have you seen this?’ he asks, sounding a bit emotional, and almost imperceptibly, the mood shifts, tension twanging through the air, as if everyone has collectively drawn a silent breath.
‘Yes, but I’ll have another look.’ I move over to look at it with him, studying the curves and lines of the image, trying to see something recognisable in
it, something of myself or Jack, but I don’t. Yet sitting next to Jack, remembering how his lips felt on my cheek, feeling the intensity of his emotion as well as my own, I can’t ignore the treacherous whisper that steals through me, telling me that this baby truly is, at least in some small way, ours.
No, my head fires back. It’s just your genes.
‘You must be so thrilled,’ Jack says after an extended pause. He hands the photo back. ‘Congratulations again. Amazing news.’
Another awkward pause and then the conversation restarts, with Milly asking Jack about the house he’s renovating, and Matt pouring more wine, and then I ask Milly about baby names, which she answers in a slightly brittle way; it’s as if her happiness has a slight edge now, and I am afraid that it’s my fault.
‘Alice for a girl, after my grandmother,’ she tells us. ‘William for a boy.’
‘Those are wonderful names.’
She nods in acceptance, not quite looking at me.
The tension thickens when Jack and I make to leave, clearly together, and Matt and Milly are standing by the door.
‘Did you come in the same car?’ Milly asks, even though she must have already realised that we did.
‘Yeah, we did,’ Jack says, and then to my shock he slings an arm around my shoulders. I stand there rigidly, feeling as if he has just branded me, and not entirely sure if I like it.
Matt looks surprised and Milly’s eyes widen and something like alarm flashes across her face, and I know right then why I haven’t mentioned seeing Jack. Because I knew she wouldn’t like it. And while part of me wants to slip out from under Jack’s arm, I don’t. Instead I move a little closer, so my hip nudges his, and smile. The silence stretches on.
‘Oh,’ Milly says finally, and then can’t seem to think of anything to add to that. ‘Oh.’
‘Thanks for a fantastic meal,’ Jack says, and bends to kiss her cheek, and then shake Matt’s hand. We exchange a flurry of goodbyes, and then Jack and I are walking outside into the balmy June evening.