‘Seems a little too good to be true if you ask me.’ DC Kennedy’s mask slips once again, his words not marrying up with the admiration in his eyes. At this rate he’ll be getting the sack. I almost want to reach over and pull his bad cop mask back up.
‘Can’t you see?’ I say instead. ‘My wife was severely depressed, proven by how she reacted in the days that followed. If I’d allowed her to go through one more failed IVF attempt there was a serious chance she would harm herself, even take her own life.’ I let the truth hang in the air for a few moments. ‘I needed to protect her, needed her to think I had left her with no choice or she’d be for ever eaten up by guilt that she’d prevented me from having a biological child. I sacrificed my own chance of parenthood to save her.’
‘That’s very honourable, Mr Carter,’ says DC Lawrie, her perfectly plucked eyebrows furrowing together.
‘And you never had any direct dealings with this donor?’ asks DC Kennedy.
‘No. He was anonymous, and we were to him. We could choose basic things of course: hair colour, eye colour, educational status.’ I laugh, even though it’s anything but funny. ‘A catalogue dad so to speak. Will you be requesting his details now?’
DC Lawrie tilts her chin. ‘We can’t really discuss that with you, Mr Carter. Just know that we’ll be looking at all possible lines of inquiry.’ She taps her manicured nails on the desk. ‘So, what information were you given about this donor?’
‘Why are you so interested in him? You don’t seriously believe…?’ My words fall away, another lump of guilt wedging itself into my throat. ‘Do you? Do you really think he could have had something to do with this?’
DC Lawrie sucks in air. ‘Just tell us what you know about him.’
‘A university graduate,’ I say quickly, sure she already knows more about him than I do. ‘Tall, average build, blue eyes, red hair. Lou was very specific about the type of man she wanted. I had thought she’d try and choose somebody similar to me, but no.’ I pause in order to compose myself, to stop myself from getting angry. ‘She said she wanted somebody with the same physical characteristics as her, so when the baby arrived he or she would look familiar. But well… I think it was for another reason.’ I close my eyes, wanting nothing more than to speak to you, like I should have done before all of this spiralled out of control. Did you know how I felt about the donor? Did you ever stop to consider how it made me feel, watching you cradling your child while I sat on the sidelines, feeling like an outsider in my own home? Knowing that no matter what I did he would never love me as much as he loved you? And I love him, Louisa, I love our baby boy more than you can ever imagine.
‘What other reason, Mr Carter?’ DC Kennedy’s question hardens on my name.
I tell him… I tell him what I now know happened to you all those years ago.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Louisa
Now
I didn’t send the email, I’m almost certain of it – and yet there isn’t an alternative explanation, not unless Cory’s donor somehow managed to steal my phone when I fainted, sent the email out to all my contacts, then deposited the phone on the garden bench for James to find. Meaning he was here, in my garden, metres away from my son! I shudder, almost hoping I am going crazy, as surely that’s preferable. Regardless of how the email came about, a can of worms has now been opened, and I know they’re far too wriggly to put back in. People are bound to want answers, my mobile phone already pinging incessantly with emails. I can’t bear to look at them though. How do I even begin to explain?
I watch James undress, notice how he purposely turns his back on me as he steps out of his trousers and unbuttons his shirt, leaving the items discarded on the floor like an empty version of himself. Even though he is approaching forty, he’s still in good shape, his shoulders broad and stomach taut. His Calvin Klein briefs remind me of a time gone by, a time when he’d happily subject himself to Asda’s own-brand boxer shorts because they were loose fitting and he thought it would help the blood flow to his testicles; a time when hope still burnt deep in his eyes at the prospect of being a father. A lump rises in my throat as I watch the way he now carries himself, his movements sluggish, his posture hunched, like he has all but given up.
‘James, I know you’re angry. And I know we promised to never speak of the donor, but…’
‘But what?’ He turns to face me, his glare ripping me in two. ‘But nothing, Louisa. You’ve fucked this up well and truly. One thing I asked of you. One tiny thing and not only do you bring it up, you tell the whole world I’m not his dad in a fucking email!’
I blanch, his use of language shocking me. ‘There’s no need to swear. Cory might hear you.’
A condescending laugh flies out of his nostrils. ‘He’s two weeks old, Lou… or is the little miracle baby going to be speaking by his six-week check?’
I bat away his snipe, determined that I will keep a level head in order to make him realise I’m not crazy. ‘Don’t take it out on Cory, please… he’s innocent in all of this.’
‘I know, I’m sorry.’ He slumps down onto the edge of the bed, now facing away from me so I can no longer see him. ‘I just can’t understand why you’ve done this. Do you know how it makes me feel, knowing the whole world is out there laughing at me? And I’m not sure my parents believed a word I was saying. How do you think they feel, eh, Lou? They thought they had a grandson and…’
‘They still have a grandson!’ I snap, sitting up in order to hammer my point home. ‘Cory is your son. And believe me, nobody is laughing at you. It takes more than DNA to be a father.’
James looks over his shoulder at me and for the first time in all the years I’ve known him he looks small, vulnerable, almost as if he’s desperate for my words to be true but can’t quite believe them. I want nothing more than to hold him in my arms, to make all of his pain go away.
‘But you didn’t have to make out like I was crazy,’ I hear myself saying, finding an argument somehow easier than having an honest, intimate conversation. ‘I think it’s best if you come clean with your parents, don’t you?’
James lies on top of the bed covers and stares up at the ceiling. He doesn’t answer my question and I realise, possibly for the first time, just how deeply this whole thing has affected him. In hindsight we should have agreed to counselling, and yet talking to a stranger about our thoughts and feelings wasn’t something either of us wanted.
‘Are you seriously trying to tell me the donor has come back to take Cory from us?’ James turns to look at me, anger now masking his hurt. ‘You heard what Doctor Hughes said when we signed the paperwork. We’re anonymous, there’s no way on earth the donor can find us.’
‘Maybe I should go and see Doctor Hughes myself,’ I say, not daring to meet his eye. ‘Ask him for the donor’s details so we can visit him.’
James scoffs. ‘You know that’s not possible. Only Cory can request his information when he turns eighteen… and there’s no reason to try and track him down anyway because he hasn’t come back for Cory! You’re being absolutely ridiculous!’
‘I’m not!’ I suddenly remember the card, still positioned on the mantelpiece. In all the confusion regarding the email, I had forgotten all about it. Hope flutters through me. Surely once James reads the card, he’ll have no choice but to believe me. ‘You need to come and see something,’ I say, having already jumped out of bed. ‘A card came this morning, the same card I opened at the hospital. Only I threw it in the bin and now it’s back!’ I pull my dressing gown from the back of the door, eager to make James see that I’m anything but mad.
‘Which card? The one with the stork carrying the baby?’
‘Yes! I threw it away this morning because I was so afraid of telling you about the donor. There was a message from him inside. I know you think I don’t care about your feelings but I do. I wanted to protect you.’