The Art of Unpacking Your Life (6 page)

‘Excuse me, Sara. Dawn and I are close friends. We speak every day. You know, if you share something this monumental with someone, it goes beyond any friendship you can ever have with anyone else. I will always love her like a member of my own family for what she has done for me.'

‘How do you find out the going rate for a surrogate?' Lizzie asked. ‘You can't exactly ask around, can you?'

‘Good point,' Alan stated.

Connie intervened. ‘Lizzie, Sara, Julian, please. This is such exciting news. Big news for Matt and Katherine. Having babies is such fun.'

‘Don't you mean making babies?' quipped Sara.

That was the issue. Katherine couldn't make a baby. It made her question who she was. As for Matt, he was weakened by all of it.

Julian ploughed on. ‘Is it thousands?' Julian held up his hands. ‘In case I ever think of sending Connie out to work.'

Matt felt defeated and deflated. Clearly, Julian wasn't going to stop until he had his answer. ‘Fifteen grand, which is considered very generous compensation. It's not in any way a payment. It's completely confidential. It's a slightly murky area, legally.'

Murky to him. Dank and depressing.

‘The courts don't want a “market rate” for human incubators,' intoned Sara.

The vodka fought with the mozzarella and meat kebabs in Matt's stomach.

‘Anyway, do tell us exactly how it works,' Connie interjected.

Matt could deal with the plain facts.

‘Yes, please do.' Sara's wickedness was unmistakable. ‘Did you have sex with Dawn?'

‘Oh God, Sara,' he groaned. ‘Listen, let me explain it. Once and for all.'

Katherine looked away.

‘Right,' he cleared his throat nervously. ‘There are two types of surrogacy: “traditional” and the more common: “gestational”.' He raised an eyebrow to show he was embarrassed by the jargon. ‘With traditional surrogacy, the surrogate's egg is fertilised with the man's sperm. Since we are lucky that Katherine produces wonderful eggs…' he tried to catch her eye ‘…we opted for gestational surrogacy. IVF, if you will. Katherine's egg was fertilised with my sperm in a lab and then placed in the surrogate, Dawn.'

He waited, wondering if he could risk cracking a joke to lighten the atmosphere, or whether Katherine would explode.

‘Let me tell you, we have had some real issues.' Katherine was down and fighting. ‘I've said to Dawn that she must rest and eat more,' Katherine's well-practiced
worries were like arrows bouncing off their targets. She wasn't going to stop. ‘I mean our life and happiness is quite literally in her hands. She understands that. Totally. She is a very caring person, but I don't think that she takes her own health seriously enough.'

Matt felt terrible and went to wrap his arms around her.

‘When our baby girl is born, she will legally belong to Dawn. Can you believe that?'

Her green eyes were watering. Only her pride prevented actual tears.

‘Really?' Sara's fascination was unattractive.

Katherine continued. ‘We are obviously the “intended parents”, but our baby girl won't be ours legally until the parental order goes through. There was a case a few years ago where the surrogate decided to keep the twin babies. Not that Dawn would ever do that to us. I mean, I trust her. Not because I have to, but because I do.'

They were silent as they digested that fact.

‘You ladies, you cannot imagine the pain of knowing…' Katherine turned on Sara and Lizzie, ‘…knowing the only way you can be complete is by another woman carrying your child.'

‘I wouldn't know,' interjected Lizzie. Matt knew that she hadn't intended to upset Katherine, quite the opposite. Her face crumpled. ‘In case you've forgotten, Katherine, I'm single. I'm not lucky enough to have a Matt in my life.'

Matt closed his eyes and then slowly opened them. He turned to look over Katherine's shoulder at the hills darkly silhouetted by the burnt out sun. Rescue me. He sensed a gentle arm on his shoulder without looking, he knew it was Dan.

He had actively missed Luke and Connie, his best friends, when they all moved on – Connie in with Julian, Luke home to his parents, Dan staying in Bristol to do a garden design course, Sara to bar school in London and Lizzie backpacking round South America. It took Annabel's abrupt departure for Matt to truly appreciate his friendship with Dan. After she left, he texted Matt every morning.
Hi Mattie, how are things? Dan xx
. Every night, Dan called him as the third beer hit the Tesco tikka masala, twisting him from bullish to maudlin. Matt found himself confiding in Dan about Annabel's previous affairs, how he had ignored them hoping they were a passing phase, how humiliating it was at work, where everyone knew Annabel had left him for Jim, a senior partner; how damaging it was to his career, having to re-establish himself in a new firm, not to mention how destructive it had been to his self esteem.

Matt couldn't have survived that first year without Dan's kindness. He appreciated exactly what an old friend was: someone whom you could trust and talk freely to without losing face.

Dan lightly held his arms. ‘Mattie, this is great news. I'm happy for you both.' His arm moved round Matt and Katherine's shoulders, drew them close to him and the group. ‘Come on, everyone. We back each other up, whatever happens, remember.'

Dan was the quietest, but when he spoke up, the group always listened. Dan reminded them of who they were, before life's complications got in the way.

‘We're going to toast Katherine and Matt.' Dan was firm.

‘Matt and Katherine,' Luke was there first.

‘Matt and Katherine,' echoed Julian hastily.

Sara was the loudest. She tried to catch his eye, but he studiously ignored her. She sidled up to his right side. She linked arms with him, giving his forearm a light squeeze. An intimate gesture from her. ‘Sorry, Matt. You know I get out of control, but I don't mean it. I love you,' she whispered. ‘And if you're happy, I'm happy.'

He nodded rapidly. He was desperate to move on to another subject.

The restaurant was hidden under a thatched grass roof behind the sun loungers. It was nine thirty by the time the group noisily sat down to dinner. The candles flirted out of glass jars, casting some of them into shadow. The dining chairs were covered in pale orange cotton, a nod to their surroundings. The long rectangular table, hidden under a deep white tablecloth, was as shiny as any London restaurant. Her wobbly high-heeled sandals clacked like fallen skittles over the decking. Sara had helped her yank off her walking boots earlier – her feet were swollen. She slumped down more awkwardly than she intended. She wished she had brought some dressy evening clothes. She was wearing her sparkly purple top with jeans, the sort of boho chic, which worked when she was out with her two local friends, but her old girlfriends had become more stylish with age. And money, of course. Sara had offered to lend her a dress, but Lizzie couldn't fit into anything of Sara's, which was depressing, because she was hardly thin.

Connie's impossible legs were emphasised by her white skinny jeans and aquamarine silk top, which slipped below one shoulder, leaving it bare. Katherine was in a leaf-green silk shift dress with a loose tie. She probably only ate because Matt loved cooking. Sara looked like Grace Kelly in that super-expensive white Joseph shift with a cream and orange wrap over it. Lizzie looked ruefully again at her heavy sequins, which emphasised her sagging breasts.

Sometimes she looked in the mirror in disbelief. How had it happened? She didn't feel like a fat person. She had to take the Tube into work, she reasoned, and didn't have time to exercise – work was too busy. Channel 4 had a bar on the ground floor, the bar snacks there were, admittedly, her weakness. And she didn't want to rush home to be on her own.

Feeling uncomfortable, she diverted herself by mentally devouring the wine tasting menu.

GAE TASTING MENU

Starter

Goat's cheese fritter with blueberry & apple salad.

Iona Sauvignon Blanc

Entrée

Treacle duck salad with fig tapenade and fresh fig

Sijinn Rose

Main

Grilled beef medallion with buchu potato crumpet, gemsbok lerito

courgette and red onion

Thelema Cabernet Sauvignon

Dessert

Baked chocolate mousse with raspberry paint, vanilla ice cream and macerated berries

Beaumont Goutte d'Or

It would be a sacrilege to continue the Dukan Diet here. Lizzie had stuck rigidly to it for over eight gruelling weeks – well, on and off, there was the inevitable cake every Friday. It was always someone's birthday and Lizzie, who knew everyone in the whole building, was always included in celebrations. She had been at C4 since she graduated from university. She couldn't quite believe it had been that long. She distinctly remembered every detail of how she got her job at C4 from the advert in the
Guardian
. She had the cutting framed in her bathroom.

Programme Coordinator, Channel 4 Drama

C4 Drama is passionate about talent
.

Drama delivers high-profile, award-winning programmes
.

We have creative freedom to commission projects that have integrity, originality and ambition
.

Do you have passion and creativity?

Why don't you join us? Apply now!

Of course she applied. She was an English graduate with a good 2:1. She was passionate and creative. It was her dream job. She imagined herself commissioning drama programmes from a steel-clad office, all of her own. What fun. She clicked with the Deputy Head of Drama, Simon, who interviewed her. He was gay. Gay men always loved Lizzie. She couldn't quite believe it when she got the job. She was the first of the group to start a proper career.

She obviously intended her programme coordinator role to be a stepping stone to commissioning editor. She worked hard. It was always busy. The job was all-consuming.
And Lizzie loved the social life. Channel 4 was like being back at university – lots of friends, lots of fun and parties. Of course, she didn't think that she would be there forever, because in the back of her mind, she was going to get married soon. When a commissioning editor's job came up, Lizzie thought of going for it, but she didn't want to work even harder. She enjoyed having time to talk to her friends in the building. She didn't want to miss out on her social life. She didn't apply. Nor did she fill out the application for the next few positions that came up.

Time passed. Her thirty-fifth birthday was miserable. She broke her thumb in the loft door of her rented flat and rushed to casualty, forgetting the Prosecco she had loaded into the freezer, which had exploded by the time she returned. All in all, it made her realise that her life wasn't as good as she thought. She was thirty-five, single without children and in a dead-end job. She applied for the next commissioning editor position in drama. She was turned down for a younger, more ambitious, external candidate. It was such a shock. All this time, Lizzie assumed her promotion was there if she wanted it. She was stuck.

Lizzie focused on the menu again. Rather frustratingly, none of the group had noticed she had lost almost half a stone. Well, she might have already put it back on. She hadn't weighed herself since she got out here – there were no scales in their bathroom. She shouldn't have eaten those sandwiches in the Jo'Burg hangar this morning, not to mention the date balls on the bar.

‘How are you, lovely Lizzie?' Jules nudged playfully at her elbow.

If it had been anyone else round the table asking the same question, undoubtedly Lizzie would have spilled out the truth. She didn't have a man, or own her
own flat and her career was going nowhere. Instead, she daydreamed about how attractive Jules was. He was charming, flirty and fun. An important man in politics: chief secretary to the Treasury. She could see herself as a wife of an MP living in a nice house in the country.

Lizzie squeezed up against him, imagining they were flirting on a first date. ‘I feel great. How is life at number ten, Jules?'

‘Lizzie, you know I don't work at number ten. I'm not the PM.'

‘Though you might be one day, Jules. Play your cards right. Knowing you, as I do, you can do anything.' She risked touching his arm. ‘I've always believed in you.'

She was spinning, diving, rocking. A full-body roller coaster. She wasn't sure if her shoulders were actually rolling forward. She usually shared one bottle of house white with her local friends Sasha and Julie on a Thursday night at the pub at the end of Sasha's road.

‘Thank you, Lizzie. I do appreciate that.'

His soft brown eyes were focused on her.

She couldn't help thinking that she should have been Jules's wife instead of Connie. He was attracted to her first. He had come to Bristol to take her out, taking the train after work on Friday. They had got on really well: laughing non-stop, easy and playful. On the doorstep of Harley Place at two in the morning, Lizzie was sure that he was going to make a move. Lizzie couldn't find her keys anywhere. She rang the bell. Connie had answered it in that flimsy white nightie she always wore.

Lizzie flicked her hair out of her eyes. ‘Well, you know Jules, it's all your fault. You let me get away.'

She had said that to him back then. The way he narrowed his eyes at her meant that he believed it too. He was lost in thought. He looked slightly anxious. He must be thinking of their moment together. He sighed.

It could have worked out so differently!

The goat's cheese fritter was posh – a tiny colourful work of art on a vast white plate that seemed designed to make Lizzie feel hungrier. When the treacle duck salad arrived, it consisted of two weeny slices of duck with a dessertspoon of fig tapenade. She scooped some on to her finger and licked it.