‘I still think Shelley sabotaged the doll – silly cow.’
‘Lisa, we were only eight! I’m sure she didn’t.’
‘You’ve always been too trusting, Kat.’
‘Still, I don’t suppose it matters now. It was hardly a West End production.’ That had always been my dream, singing and dancing in musicals. To play Maria in West Side Story. I so very nearly did once.
‘Do you still act?’
I hesitate before I answer. I suppose you could say I pretend every day but I know that’s not what Lisa means.
‘No.’
‘That’s a shame – you were really good. So what do you do in your spare time? You have kids?’ She gestures towards the Mothercare bags heaped on the floor.
‘Let me show you.’ I fish my phone from my handbag and swipe through the photos.
‘This is Mai.’
Lisa’s brow furrows in confusion as she studies the photo of the baby girl.
‘She’s yours?’
‘Yes,’ I say firmly. I’m staying positive, getting ready for her arrival, refusing to believe anything can go wrong this time.
‘But she’s…’ Lisa trails off before voicing what I know I’ll be asked a million times.
‘Chinese. We’re adopting her.’
‘From China?’
‘Yes. There are so many children in the world needing good homes we thought adoption was the right thing to do.’ The words I’ve practised in front of the mirror for months while I’ve waited for the paperwork to be finalised sound stilted and forced. In truth, we’d been trying to conceive for almost two years before finding out we couldn’t, and even today it still feels raw. I take another glug of wine. It shouldn’t be long now. Nick thinks we’ll hear this week and then our house will become a home, and all of a sudden I can’t wait to get back there. To unpack the tiny pink dresses and warm fleecy Babygros into the glossy white drawers in the nursery. The nursery! I rummage in my handbag for my purse and gesture to Mitch for the bill. Inside my purse is the note Nick tucked there this morning.
Stop worrying – I love you!
It’s going to work out this time. It has to. Outside the window, day has turned to night although it is only four o’clock. Snowflakes swirl past orange street lamps.
‘How exciting. When do you get her?’
I puff out air. Not quite sure what to say. ‘Soon. I hope. We should find out this week.’ My voice is small. ‘We tried before: it was a boy, but it all fell through, almost at the last minute. It’s such a precarious process, adopting from a different country.’ I’d been looking into the process here, but Richard, Nick’s childhood friend and our solicitor, suggested we look further afield. He said we had far more chance of getting a newborn, and he was right. Dewei was only six weeks old. ‘We had to start from scratch when Dewei was given to another couple without explanation. I don’t think I could face it all over again if it happens with Mai; I really don’t know what we’d do but I have a good feeling this time.’ I force a smile and don’t tell Lisa I still wake in the night dreaming of Dewei, feeling the weight of him in my arms. The smell of his hair. I’d been utterly desolate.
‘I can’t say I blame you. Adopting. Having a baby without ending up with a pot belly.’ Lisa pats her stomach.
‘You have children?’ Shame washes over me as I realise just how little I have asked Lisa about herself. In my mind, it is hard to separate her from the 19-year-old girl I last saw who vowed she never wanted a family but, of course, she’s grown up now. She’s changed. We both have. ‘Boys or girls?’
‘A girl.’
‘What’s her name?’
There’s a beat. A twisting feeling in my gut as I wonder whether something went wrong.
Emotion glistens in Lisa’s eyes, and I find I’ve curled my fingers, nails digging into my palms, while I wait for her to speak.
Finally, she quietly says: ‘Gabrielle.’
I open my mouth to comment on her name, and Lisa whispers: ‘she is absolutely beautiful.’
‘Do you have a photo?’
‘She’s not… I didn’t…’ Lisa studies the table, and I lean forward, covering her hand with mine, almost sensing she’s about to say something terrible. ‘Don’t judge me, Kat.’
‘I won’t. Did you?…’ I want to ask if she gave her up, but I can’t bring myself to utter the words out loud. My body stiffens with the unfairness of it all.
‘I was a surrogate,’ Lisa says at last, and I pull away as though her hand is burning hot.
‘“A surrogate”?’ I repeat, even though I have heard her perfectly well.
‘I had a baby for a couple who couldn’t have one of their own.’ Lisa’s eyes lock onto mine and there’s something almost challenging in her gaze, and I realise I had judged her. Unfairly so.
‘Lisa, that’s incredible.’
‘I felt so privileged to do it. Acting as a surrogate is definitely something I’d consider again. Stella, the mother, she’d had so many miscarriages,’ Lisa babbles, her face bright red, and I know she is embarrassed to be telling me, but I think it is amazing.
‘It’s such a selfless thing to do. I feel hopelessly guilty I can’t conceive. Less of a woman, somehow.’ I bite my lip. Know I’m over-sharing. My carefully fabricated pretence of adopting purely to give an unwanted child a home crumbles instantly.
‘Did you ever think about surrogacy? Rather than adoption.’
‘Not really, no. I read the headlines in the newspaper last week. That celebrity is looking for a surrogate but I don’t know much about it. Tell me.’
‘I met Stella at work. She was lovely but approaching forty and despairing she wouldn’t ever have a family of her own. She’d tried everything to have a healthy pregnancy. You know that feeling? When you want something so badly you almost feel you’ll kill for it.’
I inhale sharply.
‘Sorry,’ Lisa winces. ‘Bad choice of words.’
We fall into silence.
An icy finger runs down my spine, and I look over my shoulder. The door to the pub is firmly shut and the fire is blazing but I can’t stop shivering.
3
Now
It is winter dark as I step out of the cab. An icy wind biting my nose and ears. Whirling snow dances in front of my eyes. Instead of lowering my head and ploughing forward like I’d usually do, I turn my face towards the sky and stick out my tongue, catching the snowflakes and swallowing them down as they melt. I feel younger than I have in ages. Lighter. It was good to see Lisa. The more we drank, the more we laughed, until my stomach muscles ached and my paranoia was cleared away with our dirty plates. We have promised to keep in touch. I gaze up at the half-moon, my breath clouding in front of my mouth, and imagine I can see my hopes for the future soaring sky-high amongst the dotted stars.
I’m careful as I pick my way down our gravelled driveway past my Honda CRV. Nick thought the solidity of a 4 x 4 might help me feel a little more relaxed on the roads. It doesn’t. It’s inevitable that I have to drive sometimes, but I catch a cab, or the bus when I can. Nick knows I’m nervous, because I told him I was involved in a ‘bump’ before I met him. I said everyone walked away, and he’s never pressed me for details. He was quiet for a few days before announcing he’d enrolled us both on an advanced driving course. He’s a typical man in that respect, always wanting to fix things, find solutions, and while I was pleased he was trying to support me, some things just can’t be fixed. The instructor told us ‘advanced drivers are safer, more observant. Increasing awareness of potential hazards makes you statistically less likely to have an accident.’ Nick had nodded along but even after the course I felt anything but safe.