“Are you jealous then, of Tamara?” I nod.
“You know full well that I am. I can’t do it, Cam. I’ll end up as bitter and twisted as she is if you keep spending time with her. Spend all the time you like with Harry, but not with her.”
He kisses my forehead. “Just another couple of weeks, Kitten. The baby will be with us every other weekend and she won’t be around to spoil it.”
“So you’re not going to apply for full custody?”
“I’m still not decided. I understand where you’re coming from, but Harry’s safety is my number one priority, over and above any rights she may have as his mother.”
I let out a long breath. “I understand and respect that. It’s a hard call.” Now I’ve calmed down, I can see why he’s concerned. Even off the drugs, Tamara is vindictive and unpredictable, and he’s probably right not to trust her with his son, especially when she finds out about our babies.
“How you feeling? What was the passing out all about? You didn’t answer me when I asked you earlier.”
I give a small shrug. “I just got myself in a state. I was worrying about the results and my legs just went from under me.”
“You feel okay now?”
“I feel fine now. Just really tired.”
“Too tired to fuck?”
“Yep.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Can I fuck ya anyway?”
“Of course you can.”
Chapter Thirty
I walk out of the television studio on London’s South Bank and see Scott waiting for me. He’s leaning against the black Land Rover with a coffee in each hand.
It’s only ten in the morning. I’ve been here since six being interviewed on breakfast television about this weekend’s events for Sean’s memorial.
I’ve done interviews every day this week, and Marley has been with me for all the others, deflecting anything too personal. I’d made it clear to the TV and radio stations that the interviews were to be focused on the event and the charity, not on me, how I was doing or my relationship with Cam. I hadn’t given a single interview since Sean’s death, so I knew there would be a few arsehole journalists who would try and push the parameters that had been set, but most had been respectful.
The interview I had just done was a little different though. One of the charities the event would be supporting was involved in helping couples conceive if they couldn’t get IVF on the health service. During my research about IVF and surrogacy, I had found there were couples out there who, for various reasons, didn’t meet the health service requirements or had used up the three attempts you were offered and still hadn’t fallen pregnant. Some of these couples had gone on to sell their cars, homes and any other assets they had to try and have a baby. These were the people I wanted to help.
I had discussed beforehand what I was and wasn’t prepared to talk about, but as the interview went on and we talked about the charity and my reasons for supporting it, I had ended up talking first about my ectopic and then loosing Beau and my hysterectomy, which ultimately led me to talking about Sean. The woman carrying out the interview was a favourite of mine. She was married, with children of her own. Her questions weren’t pushy or leading and I opened up to her freely. I discussed the accident, my depression afterwards and how I was now trying to move forward with Cam, whom, I explained, was supporting me every step of the way with events for this coming weekend, many of which were being held in venues owned by him and which he had given the use of free of charge.
I didn’t mean to mention the fact I had undergone IVF. It just sort of slipped out as we were talking about the process. So when she asked me if Cam and I were actively attempting to start a family, I was caught a little off guard. I answered as honestly as I could, without giving too much away.
“Cam and I are hopeful of starting a family of our own, using IVF and a surrogate in the very near future.”
The phone lines to the studio apparently caused the system to go into meltdown, I was told once we were done. Women calling offering their eggs and to be surrogates and people calling in just to wish us luck.
As I walk towards Scott, in the beautiful June sunshine, I’m now wondering if I had done the right thing. Oh, well, if they’re talking about me, they’ll have the event on their minds too. Hopefully, more good would come from my slip up than bad. More people might think about surrogacy or egg donation.
Scott passes me a coffee. “Can you ring the boss please, Georgia. He’s not stopped ringing me.”
“Thanks, Scott, yeah, I’ll do it now. Can you take me to Len’s office, please?”