‘I’ve had better experiences.’
‘Thank you.’ I tilt my face so I can see his expression ‘And…’ I swallow hard. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for.’
‘If I could conceive—’
‘Kat.’ Nick hitches himself up on his elbow so he can look at me properly. ‘I love you. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I’d do anything to make you happy.’
‘Even if it makes you unhappy?’ I trace his jawline feeling the faint stubble under my fingertips. ‘Nick.’ I clamp my lips together in a bid to contain the words that I don’t want to say, but they seep from my mouth all the same. ‘You do want children, don’t you?’ If it wasn’t for the wine, the emotions of the day, I wouldn’t ask.
‘You know I do. We’ve tried to adopt twice.’ He leans over me and picks up his wine glass from the floor but rather than his usual sip, he takes a large gulp. I fiddle with the buttons on the front of his shirt, undoing the top one. Black hair coarse on his chest. It would be easy to become distracted. To forget he hasn’t actually answered my question.
‘You’re not just doing it for me?’ I prod.
Nick sits up and tops up both our glasses before handing me mine, and as I drink, the alcohol slides through my veins, leaving courage in its wake.
‘Talk to me. Please,’ I ask.
‘I didn’t have the best childhood, Kat. You know that.’ I nod, although I don’t, not really, but I know it isn’t only the scars on the outside he carries. ‘I don’t want a child to go through what I did.’ His voice cracks.
‘It’s important to me we both want this,’ I say. ‘My parents…’ I drain my glass too quickly and hold it for refilling. Dutch courage. I think it is Lisa coming back into my life that has stirred up the past, and for once I feel the need to share. ‘I never felt loved as a child, but I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately. Maybe not them specifically, but aunts and uncles. Cousins. Our child won’t have a family other than us. Don’t you think that’s sad?’ I’d loved my grandma when I was small. She was warm, funny, and kind. Everything my own mother wasn’t. Apple crumble and custard. Pound coins pushed into my hand each visit.
‘It is what it is, Kat.’ Nick puts his glass down. ‘We have enough love to go around. Look. Let’s have a holiday. Get away. We’ve always fancied Italy, haven’t we? It’s been nothing but babies for the past couple of years, and I don’t want to lose sight of us.’
Rather than having big holidays, we prefer long weekends. It’s easier workwise and always seems more romantic somehow. I’m reluctant to make plans though. ‘Let’s wait and see if the surrogacy works.’
‘I want this as much as you do.’ Nick takes my empty glass. ‘But we must be cautiously optimistic.’ The scar on his forehead crinkles.
I lean over and lightly kiss away his doubts. He takes my face between his hands and his lips brush mine, electricity sparks as his tongue snakes inside my mouth. The sofa creaks as we shift until he’s lying on top of me. We tug at each other’s clothes, and we touch each other, properly touch each other, our ragged breath audible over ‘The Sound of Silence’ drifting from the speakers. This isn’t the perfunctory Friday night fumble that has somehow become part of our routine. As Nick runs his hand up the inside of my thighs, I part my legs wider, feeling his touch in each and every nerve ending in my body. This is love. Real, solid, and tangible. The way babies should be made goads the voice in my head, and immediately I feel less of a woman. The touch that was making me moan with pleasure now brings tears to my eyes and I bury my face in Nick’s shoulder so he cannot see them.
Lisa’s words grow louder in my mind.
We always get what we deserve.
8
Then
‘Stop moving.’ Lisa tilted my chin, sponging foundation onto my skin but I couldn’t help twisting my head again. Couldn’t tear my eyes away from the TV. Eva Longoria was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. ‘I’ll switch it off if you can’t keep still.’
‘Don’t you dare. It’s nearly finished.’ I wanted to see the end of Desperate Housewives. I couldn’t watch it at home if my parents were around. Dad only liked educational programmes, but to me, this was far more relevant to the future I dreamed of. I had wanted to be an actress since I was small. I loved the school productions, the smell of face powder and lipstick, the sound of applause. It was almost like stepping into another skin, I supposed. A more confident skin, a chance to become someone else, and even then, I wanted to be someone I was not.
‘Do you think her hair is naturally wavy?’
‘God knows. Bet she’s got a team of stylists. Who looks like that in the mornings?’
Eva sashayed across the screen in a short silk robe, legs toned and tanned.
‘Who looks like that at any time?’
‘You’ll look better than that tonight, Kat. I’m going to give you smokey eyes.’
‘That sounds like a disease.’
‘Very funny.’ Lisa swirled a brush into eyeshadow. ‘I saw it on an online tutorial. You’d be amazed at what you can learn on that new YouTube.’
‘I’m not sure Dad would approve of me spending valuable revision time watching home-made videos.’ I had asked my parents for a make-up set for Christmas but instead had been handed an A4 brown envelope. Inside was an annual online subscription to Encyclopaedia Britannica. It made a change from the hardback versions that stood stiff and proud, spines uncreased, on my bookcase.
Later, in the kitchen, mum had slipped me a small tin of Vaseline and told me I could highlight my cheekbones, use it on my lips and eyelashes. I had clutched the tin of possibilities tightly in my hand like the secret it was, as Dad’s heavy footfall grew nearer and Mum turned her attention back to peeling sprouts.
‘Does your dad ever approve of anything?’ Lisa asked but it was a rhetorical question.
Dad thought I should spend every waking second studying. Every morning when I stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen and pulled cornflakes from the cupboard I couldn’t help seeing the university brochure Dad had left on top of the microwave. My offer letter pinned to the corkboard above the fridge. As I splashed cold milk over my cereal, my stomach would churn. It wasn’t as though I didn’t want to go to university. I had been doing some research of my own and there were some fabulous courses offering degrees in Performing Arts, but to appease Dad I’d applied for English and History. Dad always wanted to be a teacher. ‘It’s a good, solid career, Katherine,’ he said, but he had dropped out of uni. He called himself a ‘financial advisor’ when he was trying to impress people, but when it was just me and Mum he complained he was nothing but a ‘glorified salesman’. But just because he wasn’t clever enough to finish his course, it shouldn’t mean I was forced to follow his dreams. I had my own.
Lisa checked her watch. ‘If we’re ready in fifteen minutes, Mum said she’d give us a lift on her way to bingo. Dad’s working late again so she’s making the most of it.’ Lisa’s mum, Nancy, was lovely.
‘She’ll pick us up after, too, and as you’re staying here tonight, we won’t have to leave at some ridiculous time for your curfew. Almost done.’ Lisa swept bronzer over my cheeks.
‘I nearly wasn’t allowed to stay over. There was a problem when I told dad we were revising together.’
‘What?’
‘He knows you too well.’
‘You’re hilarious.’ Lisa stepped back and studied me. ‘And I’m a genius. Take a look.’
My reflection was stunning. Unbidden my fingers fluttered to my face as if checking it was really me.
‘I look—’
‘Oh God, don’t start singing ‘I Feel Pretty’ again. I’ve heard it so many times I swear I could be your understudy.’