Dear Thing (7 page)

In the mirror she looked as rough as she’d expected to, with the added benefit of a wild, hunted look in her eyes. It was the expression of a person who’d inadvertently given away the most important secret of their life and was waiting for the axe to fall.

Eleven years of keeping her mouth shut, of looking away, of smiling and going along and pretending. And then a shot or two of tequila was all it took, in the end.

‘Stupid,’ she muttered. ‘Stupid stupid stupid. He knows. Or if he doesn’t yet, he will.’

Because why on earth would you offer to have a baby for a man, to give up nine months of your life and etch
stretchmarks into your belly and commit yourself to endless blood tests and pelvic-floor exercises, unless you were completely and utterly in love with him?

And always had been, since the moment you’d first seen him?

MEET ME IN
the bar of the George Hotel in half an hour. Don’t tell anyone. B

Romily stared down at her phone. So this was how her friendship ended, on a Monday lunchtime: with a text and a meeting in secret to spare the feelings of the people they loved.

She was in Brickham Museum’s staff kitchen, ignoring the persistent dripping of the tap and the rattle of the fridge, trying to self-medicate with caffeine and sugar. Yesterday’s hangover still hadn’t disappeared. Or maybe it was pure, naked fear that was making her head ache and her stomach lurch.

On Saturday night, Ben had been too preoccupied with thinking about having a baby to realize the true meaning of Romily’s offer. But he’d had time now, to think it through. And now he was meeting her to talk about it. From today, their friendship would be over. Or worse, it would be stilted. Every time they were together, she’d be wondering if he was thinking,
She’s in love with me
. Ben was decent; he’d be concerned. He’d be dismayed. He’d feel sorry for her. She’d
watch him being cautious with his words, with his gestures, so as not to lead her on. All of their easy comradeship, the way they could take the piss out of each other, the way they didn’t have to talk but could talk if they wanted to … it would be gone. He would be being kind, rather than being her friend.

She wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Maybe it was best not to go. If it was over, it was over; why talk about it? They could make a clean break. Never talk again. It would hurt, but she could move on. It would be better than drawing out the torture for years.

But she couldn’t do that to Posie.

Romily gulped down the rest of her extra-strong, extra-sweet instant coffee. It had gone cold. She checked the clock on the kitchen wall, which told her she had twenty minutes to get across the centre of town to the George.

‘Damn it,’ she said, and went to find her coat.

It was raining, an icy February rain that trickled down the back of her scarfless neck. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets and tried not to think about the conversation that was awaiting her.

The thing is
, he would say,
I’m so flattered, Romily
.

The thing is, I love Claire.

The thing is, I’ve never thought of you like that.

He would say it kindly. He might touch her hand.

The George was a functional red-brick slab on the west side of town. It housed business travellers and conferences and was unlikely to attract anyone she or Ben knew. Romily looked for Ben’s car outside, but either he hadn’t turned up yet or he’d parked it somewhere out of sight. She took a deep breath and pushed through the revolving door to the lobby.

Inside, the hotel was entirely anonymous, modern in a way
that was clean and inoffensive. There were a few people at the desk and sitting in the scattered armchairs drinking coffee or reading their mobile phones, but none of them took any notice of Romily as she crossed the polished floor towards the bar. It was, she realized, the perfect place for a secret meeting. No one cared what anyone else was doing; everyone was quiet and discreet. It was just the sort of hotel you’d choose if you were carrying on an affair.

On Saturday night he’d reached across the table, taken her head in his hands, and kissed her. Romily could still feel Ben’s lips on hers, the hard pressure, the heat of his skin.

No. Surely not?

She wiped her palms on her jeans and went into the bar. Here, the windows had been slightly tinted and the lights were turned low, presumably to give lunchtime drinkers the illusion of being in a sophisticated night spot. Ben was at a table in the far corner. He jumped up when he saw her enter and rushed over to her.

‘Rom. Thanks so much for coming. I wasn’t sure you would be able to get away at such short notice, but I didn’t know if I could find another spare hour during the day.’

‘Oh well, you know. Those insects have been dead for a long time; half an hour isn’t going to make much difference.’

He laughed, but his face was worried. ‘How are you?’ he asked her. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, fine.’

He touched her lightly on her shoulder to guide her to the table. ‘I’ve ordered you a coffee, but maybe you’d prefer a pint?’

‘Coffee is good.’

He’d already drunk half of his and as he sat across from her he seemed jumpy, as if he’d had too much caffeine. She stalled
by selecting brown and white sugar lumps from the bowl on the table and dropping them one by one into her drink. They made small ripples. He was watching her in a way he didn’t usually watch her. Almost as if he was seeing her for the first time.

‘So,’ she said, her heart pounding, trying to keep the spoon from rattling against her cup. ‘A secret meeting, Mr Bond?’

‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Saturday night.’

She made a noncommittal sound and carefully poured in the milk.

‘I’ve been turning it and turning it around in my head. Looking at it from every angle. I haven’t said anything to Claire, not yet. I needed to see you first.’

‘Okay.’

He was rubbing his thumb across his palm, first with one hand and then the other, as if he were trying to find the right words to say. She didn’t trust herself to say anything. He’d been arguing with Claire. He’d kissed Romily at the quiz.

No. Wishful thinking. But how could she think about anything else, with him looking at her like that?

‘Can you—’ he began, and then shook his head. ‘We drank an awful lot that night. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t remember what you said.’

‘I remember.’

‘It was – I mean, it could change everything. So I have to be certain that you absolutely meant it.’

She couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘Meant what, exactly?’

‘About having the baby for us.’

It swept over her like a wave of cold water. ‘That’s it?’ she said. ‘That’s all? That’s what you’ve been looking at from every angle.’

‘Well, yes. It’s a big step.’

Of course. Ben wanted a baby. He didn’t care about why she’d offered to do it. To understand why she’d offered, he’d have to love her back.

Interesting how the end of hope felt much the same as the end of despair.

‘What else would there be?’ he said.

‘Nothing.’ She was blushing, but she raised her cup to her lips to cover up. ‘It’s just a big step, as you say.’

A big step that she’d been successfully pushing out of her mind because she’d been too worried about losing her friendship with Ben.

‘You’re regretting it,’ he said immediately. ‘I can see you’re uncomfortable. That’s fine, Romily. That’s why I wanted to meet up. I wouldn’t want to put any pressure on you. It’s amazing that you even offered.’

‘Do you …’ She stalled for time. ‘Do you think that Claire would go for it?’

‘I don’t know. I had to ask you first. It all depends on you.’

He was still watching her that way, as if his entire life depended on her. Which it did, because he wanted her to have his baby.

Now was her chance. The moment to say she’d been drunk, that she’d been too impulsive. She could say that she needed some more time to think about it, that she wasn’t sure if it would work out with her job or with Posie. She could say she was too afraid of getting attached to the baby and being unable to give it up.

The thing was, all of those would be lies. She’d been drunk, yeah, and she was always impulsive. But she’d meant it when she’d offered: because Ben wanted a family so much, because she had a womb going spare. And there was no real, logical reason not to mean it still. She’d been pregnant before,
and she knew she could do it again. She could do her work just fine while incubating a foetus, and schedule time off for the delivery in advance. Posie might find it a little strange, but she’d adjust. And Romily really did have no desire for another child.

There wasn’t a single good reason
not
to have a baby for Ben and Claire. And here he was in front of her. It would make him so happy, and all she had to do was use a turkey-baster and spend nine months making herself eat healthily and drink milk. It would give him everything he wanted, and for Romily, nothing would really change.

And she’d been telling the truth on Saturday night. Even knowing now that he could never love her, even having always known, she would do anything for Ben.

She met his eyes for a moment, and then had to look away, at the sugar bowl. All that sweetness jumbled together.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘ROMILY SAID
WHAT
?’

‘Romily has offered to have the baby for us,’ Ben repeated. ‘She’s offered to be a surrogate.’

Claire turned off the programme they’d both been watching. Or pretending to watch; Ben had been jumpy all evening, all through dinner, as if he had something he really wanted to say. Claire had never imagined it would be this.

‘She says she’s happy to use her eggs,’ he continued, ‘and we can use my sperm for artificial insemination. She knows she can conceive and carry a baby to term, because of Posie. She doesn’t want any more children. I’d be listed on the birth certificate as the father so I’d have legal rights anyway, and we could formalize adoption to give you rights within weeks of the baby’s being born. We have one or two things to be cautious of, but there should be no real issue with a private adoption with all parties consenting. I’ve been researching the legal ins and outs.’

‘When did Romily say this?’

‘On Saturday, in the pub.’

Claire crossed her arms. ‘You were deciding our reproductive future in the
pub
?’

‘Not deciding, no. Just talking about it. But isn’t it an amazing idea, Claire? Don’t you think we should consider it? It would be my baby, genetically. And yours by adoption. You wouldn’t have to go through a single moment of treatment. And we’d have a child. A child all our own, from the moment it’s born. It could come straight home with us from hospital. What do you think?’

‘I think you’ve made up your mind about all of this without thinking of me at all.’

‘I
am
thinking about you. It’s a way that we can have a family without you having any more treatment.’

‘Because Romily would be having my baby.’ She shook her head. ‘No way.’

‘Don’t you think we should even consider it? Maybe not now, but in a little while, after we’ve had some time to get over the miscarriage?’

As if she could forget all about the life that, so briefly, had lain inside her. The thought seemed so empty and cruel.

‘For one thing, it’s none of Romily’s business. For another thing, I can’t believe that you discussed it with her. And for a third, how could she have a child and give it up?’

‘She wouldn’t be giving it up,’ Ben said. ‘It would never be hers in the first place. Genetically, yes, and legally until the adoption papers go through. But in all the ways that matter, the baby would be ours. She doesn’t want any more children. She’s giving us a chance to have our baby, Claire.’

‘You mean, I couldn’t make children for you so now you want to use another woman.’

‘That’s not it at all.’ Ben reached for her, but Claire stood up.

‘That’s it exactly. You went behind my back and came up with this crazy idea, just when you knew I was finally getting some peace.’ Something occurred to her. ‘Is this why you were so happy yesterday morning? Because you’d come up with this?’

‘I didn’t want to say anything to you about it until I was sure that Romily really meant it. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.’

‘My
hopes up
?’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘I’d decided the hoping was finished, Ben. You haven’t heard
anything
I’ve said.’

She turned to leave the room. Behind her, she heard Ben say, ‘We could still have the swing on the pear tree.’

Claire perched on a chrome stool in her sister Helen’s newly redecorated kitchen. The sleek breakfast bar was covered with a wipe-clean tablecloth.

‘The thing is,’ said Helen, ‘it’s not such a bad idea, in the abstract. Josh, give that back to your sister.’

‘I had it first!’

‘I don’t care. You’re older than her, give it back.’

Claire watched her nephew stomp across the slate floor out of the kitchen. ‘You can’t seriously think it’s a good idea that my husband wants another woman to have his baby.’

‘On the other hand, you’d have a baby at the end of it.’ Helen offered Claire another biscuit. ‘And people pay a lot of money to have a surrogate. Presumably she’d do it for free.’

‘This isn’t about money.’

‘But it never hurts to consider it.’ A wail came from the other room. ‘Josh! Give it back to your sister!’

‘But why would Romily even want to do it?’

‘You’ve been friends since university, haven’t you?’

‘She was friends with Ben before I ever met him, so that’s how I knew her. We haven’t really spent much time together, just the two of us. We don’t have much in common.’

‘Aren’t you godmother to her daughter?’

‘That’s because she asked Ben to be godfather and I was part of the package.’ Claire nibbled at a biscuit. ‘It makes sense to have a godmother and godfather who are married. I’d do the same thing, if we … Anyway, she’s Ben’s friend mostly.’