HE’D ASKED HER to think about it, and she did.
Constantly, for the next twenty-four hours.
She couldn’t think about anything else, and the more she thought, the more convinced she was that they should do it. So she rang him as soon as she got home on Wednesday evening.
‘Did you mean it?’ she asked without preamble.
He didn’t pretend not to understand. ‘Yes, I meant it. And before you ask, yes, I’m sure. How about you?’
‘Yes. I want to talk to Isla and Steve. Is that OK?’
‘It’s fine. Oh, and there’s something you might want to tell them. I contacted the HFEA and found out about...the children.’ She heard a little pause in there, almost as if he’d been about to say ‘my children’ and thought better of it, but then he went on. ‘Apparently there are six boys and five girls, in five families. One egg split so two of the boys are twins and they already had a daughter. The others are pairs.’
Eleven children. She felt suddenly a little breathless. ‘Gosh. So they all worked. How did you feel when you found out?’
‘A bit stunned? It made it all much more real. The oldest is fourteen, the youngest is eight.’
‘Wow. So everything’s working, then.’
‘It would seem so. Anyway, feel free to pass that on. They might want to know—oh, and if they say yes, I’ll go and get all the necessary checks done again to make sure everything’s still all right. OK?’
‘Very OK. Thank you, Joe. Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome. Right, I’m working so I need to get on. Let me know what they say.’
* * *
They were stunned.
‘He said yes? But I thought—?’
‘So did I, Isla, but for some reason he’s changed his mind and he wants to see you again for longer, so you can get to know him and vice versa, and he suggested we all stay at his house instead of mine this weekend if you’re up for that? It’s out in the country, and it’s lovely, and there’s a great pub right on the doorstep, but if you’d rather not, if you don’t feel comfortable with that, we can do it at mine—or not at all. It’s up to you. There is something I haven’t told you, as well, that you need to know,’ she said, and told Isla all about him, his donor history, his children, then added, ‘He said he’ll have all the appropriate tests again before we did anything, assuming you decide you want to go ahead.’
‘Wow. I had no idea. I don’t know what to say. How would you feel about him being our donor?’
Her heart thumped. ‘Me? I’m fine with it,’ she said, trying not to think about what it might cost her in terms of a relationship with Joe, instead of what it could give her sister, which was far more important. And anyway, what relationship? He hadn’t said anything about them having any other sort of relationship...
‘Great. Let me talk to Steve and come back to you.’
It didn’t take her long. Steve said yes immediately, and Iona rang Joe straight back as soon as they were off the phone.
‘They said yes, they’d love to meet up. Are you sure about it being at yours?’
‘Yes, that’s fine, but I’m working on Friday night so if you all come over at say two on Saturday, after lunch? That should give me a few hours to sleep, but I’m off all day Friday so I can sort out the house and do a food order. If I book it now we can go to the pub on Saturday evening and I’ll do breakfast.’
‘Let me pay for the food.’
‘No. This was my idea. Right, back to the paperwork—Ah. Any dietary things I need to know?’
‘No. Totally omnivorous, like me. They’re not fussy.’
‘Great. Right, well, I’ll see you on Saturday,’ he said.
After he’d hung up she sat motionless, staring blindly out of the window, her thoughts in freefall.
It was going to happen. If they all got on, and she couldn’t see why they wouldn’t, she might end up having a baby. Unless she didn’t get pregnant with Joe, either. Maybe there was something wrong with her, too?
Well, it looked like she was going to find out—assuming the weekend was a success.
There was a strange, tight feeling in her chest.
Fear?
No. Not fear. There was nothing to fear. It would be fine.
Maybe—anticipation?
* * *
Ten to two.
Would they be early? Late? Right on time? Iona had been late once, but that was because of work. Would they bring two cars? He’d put his in the garage out of the way, so there was room for two just in case.
The fridge was full, the house was clean, the beds were made, the dishwasher, his only concession to a new kitchen, was on. He glanced at the clock again.
Seven minutes to two.
His palms prickled, and he realised he was nervous. Nervous that they wouldn’t like him, or nervous that they would? He felt as if he was about to be interviewed, but he’d been through that process before and passed the clinic’s test. Not with the intended parents, though. Although they would have seen his—
Profile. Damn. He’d updated it last night at work in an oddly quiet interlude, but he hadn’t printed it.
Too late. He heard the crunch of tyres on gravel, doors slamming, voices, and he unclenched his fists, walked into the hall and opened the front door.
Iona was there, Isla and Steve beside her, and they all looked as nervous as he felt.
He stifled the laugh, stepped back and welcomed them in. He had a weird moment when he didn’t know how to greet them, but Isla took the decision out of his hands and gave him a quick, warm hug and kissed his cheek.
‘This is so kind of you, Joe,’ she said softly, her eyes so like Iona’s that he felt he could read every emotion in them—and there were plenty.
‘I just felt it would be easier for all of us. We’ve got more space here, room to get away from each other if necessary.’
Isla returned his smile, her face relaxing slightly. ‘I’m sure it won’t be.’
‘I hope not. Steve—good to see you again.’ He shook his hand, felt the firm, warm grip, met the clear blue eyes that searched his and maybe found what they were looking for, because he smiled, his face relaxing just as Isla’s had.
‘You, too. And thank you so much for inviting us here.’
‘You’re welcome. Hi, Iona. You OK?’
She nodded, hesitated a moment and then gave him a quick hug. ‘You?’
‘I’m fine. Come on through.’
* * *
He made coffee, and they took it in the sitting room and he answered all their questions, and they answered his. So many questions, Iona thought, and the more openly they talked, the more she realised what a good fit he was with them.
They felt so much the same about so many things, and whether you believed in nature or nurture, that was important. Biologically his role, like hers, was clearly defined, to provide Isla and Steve with a child as genetically close to their own as possible. OK, he wasn’t a dead ringer for Steve, but apart from his hair colour he wasn’t a million miles off and other things were more important. And, as Joe had so succinctly put it, they were both just a means to an end—and that end was now in sight. So she took herself off into the kitchen, put the kettle on again and made a pot of tea.
She’d baked a cake this morning while she’d waited for them to arrive, and she went out to the car and brought it in, just as Joe came out of the sitting room.
‘Wow, that looks good.’
‘I hope so. It’s my mother’s apple cake recipe and it’s usually pretty reliable. So how’s it going?’
He shrugged. ‘OK, I think. They haven’t got back in the car yet, at least.’
That was said with a slight lift to his lips, not quite a smile, but his eyes were gentle and she put the cake down, put her arms around him and hugged him.
‘I’m so grateful to you for doing this,’ she mumbled into his chest.
‘They haven’t said yes yet.’
‘They will. Cake?’
‘Definitely. I haven’t eaten since last night.’
‘No lunch?’
He shook his head. ‘I wasn’t hungry. The nights mess with my body clock.’
She felt her mouth tilt. ‘I reckon you’re saving yourself for Maureen’s fish and chips. Did you book a table for tonight or did you forget?’
He laughed and got some plates out. ‘No, I didn’t forget. Our table’s booked for seven thirty. Is that OK?’
‘Sounds fine. We’ve brought walking shoes, by the way. I thought maybe we could go for a stroll after we’ve had cake?’
He nodded. ‘Great idea. It’s easier to talk while you’re walking. No eye contact. You can say the things that are harder to say face to face.’
‘What, like “no”?’
He laughed again. ‘Hopefully not, although it’s down to them. Shall we have tea on the veranda?’
* * *
‘So, did I pass?’
They were standing in the hall, bags packed and ready to go, after what he hoped had been a good and constructive weekend. He’d meant to leave it up to them to tell him how they felt after they’d had time to consider it, but the suspense had got the better of him.
Isla’s jaw dropped, and then her eyes filled. ‘Did you pass? I thought you were vetting us? Did we pass?’
He laughed, the tension going out of him like air out of a punctured balloon. ‘Of course you passed. That was never in question. And—if you decide to go ahead, I just hope it works for you, because I’ve seen the grief of childlessness at first hand, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone,’ he added quietly.
‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’ Steve hesitated a second, then wrapped his arms around Joe and hugged him hard. ‘You’re a good man.’
Steve let him go, and he caught Iona’s eye and she winked at him and turned to the others. ‘Well, if you’ve all finished your mutual love-in, maybe we’d better get on the road because you’ve got a long journey back and I’m absolutely sure Joe has a heap of work he wants to do before tomorrow.’
They said their goodbyes, Iona kissed his cheek and whispered, ‘Thank you,’ and he closed the door, turned around and leant on it with a sigh of relief.
He was drained. Physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, and oddly flat, because—ah, no point thinking about what might have been with Iona. This was far more important than scratching an itch, and she was turning into a cherished friend. He should concentrate on that, be there for her, not worry about what he might or might not be missing. And anyway, he wasn’t ready for that and she deserved better than what he could offer. He’d already proved that with his stupid accusations after the wedding.
He levered himself away from the door and went into the kitchen. It was a mess, strewn with the remains of brunch. He emptied and reloaded the dishwasher, switched it on and went out onto the veranda, too tired to think about working.
The Indian summer seemed to be lingering indefinitely, and it was a beautiful early October day. He lay down on the wicker sofa, shifted the cushions until he was comfortable and closed his eyes. Just five minutes...
* * *
He was fast asleep.
He hadn’t answered the doorbell, so she’d walked round the side and there he was, sprawled out across the sofa, one foot on the ground, his other leg draped over the end, sleeping like a baby.
She perched on the chair by his feet and waited, but it wasn’t until the squirrel ran along the veranda and its tail whisked past his trailing hand that he woke with a start.
‘Iona? I didn’t know you were here. What was that?’
She was laughing. ‘The squirrel. Its tail brushed you.’
He yawned hugely and sat up, stretching, and she sat down beside him on a nice warm patch. ‘Are you OK?’
He nodded, his eyes still looking a little bleary. ‘Yeah. I’m just exhausted. It was a long night at work on Friday, and it was quite tough being on my best behaviour all weekend. How are they?’
‘They love you. They think you’re amazing. So do I.’
‘So—are we going to do this? Subject to my test results coming back OK?’
‘It looks like it. When are you having them done?’
‘I did it on Friday. I thought I’d get ahead of the game, just make sure, you know? Since Natalie—well, I’ve been a bit phobic, so I had a sexual health screen straight away and another one six months later just to be sure nothing had been missed, but they were all clear, so I guess I got away lightly. And before you ask, no, I haven’t had sex with anyone, unprotected or otherwise, since then. It was the semen analysis I wanted to check to make sure all the little swimmers are up to speed, just so I don’t waste anybody’s time.’
‘So when will you know that?’
‘Couple of days? It shouldn’t be long. What about you? Have you had any screening ever?’
She laughed a little unsteadily. ‘Oh, I got checked out eighteen months ago after I dumped Dan, and again before I started this process, just to be on the safe side. And, no, neither have I, before you ask,’ she added with a smile.
He smiled back understandingly. ‘Good. So, if we get a definite yes from Isla and Steve, I guess we wait for you to ovulate—if you’re absolutely sure you want to do this?’
‘I’m sure. For what it’s worth, you might want to put Saturday week into your calendar,’ she said, feeling suddenly a little embarrassed and not quite meeting his eyes—which in the great scheme of things was ridiculous, as they’d just been talking about his little swimmers. She stood up and headed for the kitchen.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any cake left? It’s a long time since we had brunch.’
She heard the wicker sofa creak, and he followed her into the kitchen, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders. She turned into his arms and rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart under her ear, feeling the warmth seep through her. She wanted more, so much more, but he hadn’t ever suggested it, and now with this new relationship, it would be crazy to contemplate—
‘Stay for dinner,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve hardly seen you recently.’
‘You’ve been working.’
‘I’m always working. Stay anyway.’
She lifted her head and looked up at him, noticing the slight stubble coming through, wondering how it would feel against her skin...
‘You just want me to cook for you,’ she said accusingly, trying not to smile, and she felt his chest vibrate slightly as he chuckled.
‘Rumbled. Why don’t we go to the pub? They do a great Sunday roast. And they clear up their own kitchen.’
‘Sold. And I’m buying.’
* * *
They said yes. An unequivocal, definite, gold-plated yes.
His results were good—his sperm quality was excellent, apparently—and then came the wait, and she found it almost unbearable.
Would it happen this time? Would she, in the next few weeks, find out that she was pregnant?
She was due to ovulate on Saturday, a fortnight after Isla and Steve had left, but where and how they were going to do this hadn’t been decided. It wasn’t going to be made any easier to schedule it as she was supposed to be working on that Saturday, and yet again in the week before they were both busy and working conflicting shifts, so there didn’t seem to be a good time to meet and discuss it. And then, on the Thursday night before that weekend, she rang him.
‘Are you still OK for this weekend?’ she asked, and she heard a grunt of what could have been laughter.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I was thinking we should do it here. It’s easier than at your flat with Libby there. Much more privacy, and we’ll probably both be more relaxed. So—what time do you finish work on Saturday?’
‘I don’t know. Hopefully before seven.’
‘So how about straight afterwards? You could come here and I’ll cook us a meal and then afterwards when it’s done you can stay over. Unless you’ve got a better idea?’
‘No, that sounds fine. Are you sure about this? All of it?’ she asked again, and he said yes without hesitation.
‘Sure?’
‘Yes, Iona. I’m sure. You’re right, they’re great people, and I’m less worried about you than I was because you’re really close to them, so you’ll have lots of contact with the child and you’ll be able to see the huge difference it’ll make to their lives. They were adamant about that, about wanting you to be a big part of the child’s life, and that takes away a lot of my concerns. So, yes, I am sure, not only for you or me, but for the child, too. They’ll be the perfect family. I couldn’t ask for more than that. So stop worrying, and I’ll see you on Saturday evening.’
* * *
She was nervous.
Nervous, awkward and a little embarrassed, for him as much as for herself. She packed a few things—including, for no good reason, a pretty raspberry pink silk nightie with shoestring straps and little lace inserts. She’d never worn it, but for some reason it seemed appropriate, and it would be the only touch of romance in a soulless clinical procedure, so she threw it into the bag, zipped it up and headed over to his.
He opened the door before she was out of the car, and she met his eyes through the windscreen and felt a flicker of panic. Not doubt, it wasn’t that, she’d never doubted for a minute that this was the right thing to do, but getting through the next hour or two might be a bit of a challenge.
She got out of the car, locked it and headed towards him, trying to smile. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ he said, his voice soft and low and slightly gravelly. ‘You OK?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Something smells good.’
‘I made lamb shanks. They’ve been in the slow cooker for hours, they’ll be ready soon. Do you want to put your bag upstairs and settle in? I’ve put you in the room you had before.’
Her heart thumped a little, and she nodded. ‘Thanks. I’ll do that now.’
She ran upstairs, opened the door and paused. He’d closed the curtains and turned on the bedside lights, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. He’d even changed the bedding, although she’d only slept in it for one night. She put her bag down, then sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand absently over the soft cotton. So this was where it would happen, the thing that hopefully would change Isla and Steve’s lives and give them what they wanted more than anything in the world.
Fingers crossed.
She could hear music playing downstairs, soft and relaxing, and she went down again and found him in the kitchen. He turned and smiled at her.
‘Glass of wine?’
‘Oh—that would be lovely,’ she said, and he handed her a glass.
‘Try that. It’s a nice smooth Rioja. Or if you don’t like it, I’ve got others, but I thought it would go well with the lamb.’
She sipped, nodded and smiled. ‘That’s really nice.’
‘Good. Come on, let’s go and sit down and chill for a minute before we eat. There’s no rush.’
There were crisps in a bowl on the coffee table, and she scooped up a few, kicked off her shoes and settled into a corner of the sofa with her legs curled under her. ‘So are you going to give me the third degree again?’ she asked after a silence that stretched out too long for her comfort, and he laughed.
‘No, Iona, I’m not going to give you the third degree. I’ve told you I’m fine with it. This is your decision, you’ve obviously all thought it through carefully and sensibly, and I’m just here to provide the means.’
‘That’s a big “just”,’ she pointed out, and his eyes softened in another smile.
‘Let’s face it, you’re the one who’s got the tough job. I’m just going to have a couple of minutes of fun.’
She felt a faint brush of colour sweep over her face, and she dropped her eyes and twiddled her wine glass between her fingers for a moment. ‘It’s more than that—much more. I know you had huge reservations about doing this again—’
‘I’m over them. This is different, and I’m sure Isla and Steve will be amazing parents. I have no reservations about that at all. My only concern is you—’
‘Joe, I’m fine—’
‘Right now you are, but I want you to know that you can always talk to me about it, whenever you need to, day or night, and if you need any help while you’re pregnant, if it happens, then I’ll be here for you. You won’t be alone.’
She felt her eyes fill, and swallowed. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper. Not because she felt she’d need help, but because he’d offered it unsolicited when he really hadn’t needed to.
A beeping noise sounded from the kitchen, and he went through, telling her to stay where she was, but she was restless, so she uncurled herself and got to her feet, studying the books on the bookshelf, the CDs and DVDs in the rack, the photographs she’d never looked at before.
His parents, she realised, seeing a man in a wheelchair with a woman leaning over the back of it and laughing down at him. They looked the picture of happiness, but she knew that that happiness was the bedrock of a marriage that had been tried to its limit.
There was another photo, the woman looking strikingly similar to his father, and to Joe. His aunt? The man beside her was tall and gaunt and unsmiling, but his arm was curled protectively around her and she was leaning into him with a contented smile on her face.
What a contrast his own marriage had been. It must have been such a shock to discover that not everyone was so happy, so committed, so much in love. She knew exactly how that felt...
‘Ready when you are,’ he said, sticking his head round the door, and then he saw what she was looking at and came over to her. ‘My parents, Bill and Mary, and my aunt and uncle, Elizabeth and Owen.’
‘I’d worked that out.’
‘Had you, Sherlock?’
‘I had. It took some deduction, but it was the strong family resemblance that gave me the clue.’ She smiled up at him, and he laughed softly and steered her out of the sitting room into the kitchen.
* * *
The food was delicious, the lamb meltingly tender, the rainbow of vegetables clean and fresh, a perfect foil for the rich sauce. He’d served it on a bed of crushed baby potatoes drizzled in olive oil, and she ate every bite.
‘That was amazing. You’re a really good cook—or else you got it from the pub and reheated it,’ she teased, and he laughed despairingly and rolled his eyes.
‘Oh, ye of little faith. I cooked it from scratch, I’ll have you know. I am housetrained. It’s Elizabeth’s recipe. She’s the one who taught me to cook.’
‘Your aunt, not your mother?’
He nodded. ‘My mother was too busy looking after my father then, so I spent a lot of time here with my aunt and uncle while I was growing up, and it was a happy time. There’s a playground on the other side of the stream that runs down the side, and my uncle made a little makeshift bridge over it so I could go there. I spent hours there, either on my own or playing with the other children in the village.’
‘Is that why you took the job in Yoxburgh? So you could come back to the place where you’d been so happy?’
He nodded again, thoughtfully this time. ‘Yes—I suppose it was. I wanted to be near for her anyway, but I have very fond memories of my time here, and it was a no-brainer when the job came up at the right time. And I might even get a consultancy if they expand the department.’
‘When will you finish all your exams?’
‘By next summer, and then I’ll be looking for a post, but fingers crossed I get one near enough so I can still see her regularly. If it wasn’t for her it wouldn’t matter where I went, but I think it comforts her to know I’m near so I don’t want to go far. My parents are younger and they’ve got each other, but since Owen died she’s been alone and I think she finds losing her independence difficult, too. And she likes the intellectual stimulation of discussing medical issues with me—says it keeps her brain on its toes. Whatever, she’s always pleased to see me.’
‘I’m sure she is. I’d love to meet her. She sounds a wonderful woman.’
‘She is. She was a GP before women doctors were the norm, and she had to fight hard to get where she did. But I’m not sure I’m going to introduce you. She knows way too much about me and I have no doubt she’d be more than happy to share. Pudding?’
‘You’ve got pudding? I’m stuffed!’ she said regretfully.
‘That’s a shame. I’ve made chocolate mousse, and I’ve picked the last fresh raspberries from the garden.’
‘Ooh. Well, in that case it would be rude not to...’
* * *
And then finally there was nothing else to talk about, nothing more to do but face the reason they were there together.
He put his glass down on the table, met her eyes and smiled gently, as if he understood how she was feeling. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and have a nice hot shower and get ready?’ he said softly, and she nodded and went up, unpacked her bag and took out the little pot and the syringe she’d bought in readiness. Then she found her wash things and went into the bathroom.
There was a clean towel on the side of the bath, and she locked the door—crazy, really, because there was no way he’d come in—then stripped off, twisted her hair up out of the way and stepped under the steaming water.
For a long moment she just stood there letting it wash over her, and then slowly, as if she was preparing herself for some fertility ritual, she reached for the shower gel and lathered herself carefully, paying attention to every square inch of her body, readying herself for the momentous thing she was about to do.
It seemed curiously important that she should do this right, should prepare herself, body and mind, as if it would make her body more receptive.
She knew she was ovulating. She’d felt a tugging pain low down on the left earlier that day, so her body was ready.
All she needed now was Joe...
She stepped out of the shower onto the thick, fluffy bathmat and wrapped herself in the towel. Egyptian cotton? Probably. He liked the good things in life.
Then she gathered up her things, went back to the bedroom and dried herself, then slipped on the hopelessly romantic silk nightie that she’d never worn before, stifling a pang of regret that he wouldn’t see her in it, that they wouldn’t do this thing the way her heart and her body were crying out to do it. There was a fluffy towelling robe on the back of the door and she put it on and belted it firmly over the nightie, took a steadying breath and opened the door.