Chapter Thirty Three
The white envelope was propped up on my breakfast bar. The late August sunshine was hitting it at just the right angle, making it look like my name was illuminated by a spotlight. The envelope felt heavy, even though I knew it probably contained only a single sheet of paper. It was nothing like the stationery I used to send out the Cupcakes and Rainbows invoices. But then you could hardly compare the resources of a humble cake catering company with an exclusive fertility clinic.
‘We will write to you each year to see if you would like us to continue to store your frozen sperm.’
‘We will. Always,’ Adam replied confidently, giving my hand a firm squeeze. The administrator sitting opposite us gave an understanding smile, looking at me with sympathy when my lower lip started to tremble.
‘And these are the forms I mentioned earlier,’ she said, speaking slowly and carefully, as though we might not have understood what she was saying. ‘Please take as long as you need to read them through. Signing them will allow your wife legal access to the frozen sperm in the event of . . .’ She’d been doing so well up until that point, but she faltered at the last hurdle.
‘My death,’ Adam completed, so calmly that I almost smiled, not because it was anything other than utterly heartbreaking, but because here he was, trying hard not to make some poor, unknown woman feel bad. Because all of us sitting at that table knew that, as hard as Adam fought, there was a good chance he was going into a battle he wouldn’t win.
The drive home from the clinic that day was tough.
‘I wouldn’t want to use it if you weren’t here with me,’ I told the glass of the passenger window. It was the only place I could look where he couldn’t see the tears coursing down my cheeks.
‘Then don’t,’ Adam said, taking one hand from the wheel and finding mine. ‘We’re not committing to anything here. If all goes well with my treatment, we can still make babies the good old-fashioned way. What we’ve done today,’ he continued, his voice gentle, ‘is to set up an insurance policy should things not work out.’ He lifted my hand to his lips and grazed the knuckles with a kiss. ‘It doesn’t mean we have to stop hoping for the best.’
But of course, hoping for the best hadn’t worked out too well. And so now the clinic was writing to ask me the question Adam had already answered.
‘What if we never want or need to use it?’ I’d asked him.
‘Then we just keep it. Doesn’t it have a really long shelf-life?’
Unbelievably, I’d laughed at that. ‘I think you might be confusing it with frozen waffles.’
He’d smiled then, knowing he’d done exactly what he’d set out to do. He’d brought me back from the ledge once again.
‘ Keep it there, Lily. You never know how things are going to pan out, and if you don’t use it, you could always make a fortune flogging it on eBay.’
I slit open the envelope now, nodding slowly as though I was answering a question no one had spoken out loud. I’d been expecting the letter, and I wondered if part of me had been waiting for it to arrive before finally embarking on the course of action I’d decided upon five months ago, when Polly had her accident. It felt like serendipity that the letter had dropped on to my doormat on the same day I’d put aside the last of my uncertainty and decided to contact the clinic myself.
I’d never been one to believe in signs, but suddenly the universe was full of them. Every other woman I walked past in the street was either pregnant or pushing a pram. Had it always been so? I had no idea, but the coincidences were piling up thick and fast. A flyer had dropped through my letterbox about a brand-new nursery that was opening just around the corner from my flat, and then, while channel-hopping TV stations a couple of nights ago, I’d stumbled upon a documentary detailing a couple’s IUI journey.
‘IUI. Intrauterine insemination,’ I said quietly in the empty kitchen. A topic I knew a great deal more about now than I had done just five months ago, when the idea of going ahead and having a baby on my own had first occurred to me in Raegan’s home.
I’d researched the procedure exhaustively and knew the chances of success on my first round of IUI were slight, especially if I wanted to go down the natural path, without the use of hormone injections or drugs. Which was the option that most appealed to me.
Adam had always been a fatalist. ‘ If something is meant to be yours, it will find its way to you ,’ he once said, before pulling me towards him for a kiss. ‘Like me finding you on the side of the road.’
I’d kissed him back and laughed.
‘You really do need to find a better way of phrasing that, my love.’
His eyes had twinkled. ‘If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.’
So here I was, about to apply his totally unsubstantiated theory in my efforts to become a mum. My first attempt at IUI would be drug free and as natural and normal as getting pregnant with your late husband’s baby could possibly be.
‘Just lie back and relax for about ten minutes or so. Then you can get up and pop your clothes back on.’
Was that it? I wondered, feeling slightly incredulous. I’d had more traumatic visits to the dentist.
I hadn’t slept well the previous night – actually, I’d not slept well for the past few weeks if I was being totally honest. I’d been worrying about the procedure, but it had been surprisingly quick, easy, and almost business-like.
‘I’d imagined making a baby would be more of a big deal,’ I said softly in the empty treatment room.
Ah, those were the days , said the Adam in my head. It was so easy to visualise the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
I remained on the examination table for exactly as long as I was told to do, and then, feeling strangely surreal, I got dressed and made my way back to the car. The receptionist smiled warmly as I walked towards the exit clutching the bundle of literature I’d been given. I would read it all diligently, but I had a feeling I could probably write my own pamphlet on IUI after all the research I’d carried out over the last few months. The one fact I’d very much like to have forgotten was the low percentage of successful first-time attempts. Unfortunately, that one was stuck in my head and would probably be there for the next two weeks until I was able to take a pregnancy test.
As I walked through the elegantly furnished foyer, I passed several couples waiting anxiously for their names to be called. I felt a twinge not of envy, but more of regret that I hadn’t told anyone where I was going today, much less asked them to accompany me. Raegan could easily have been at my side, and I bet even Andie would have jumped on a plane from her home in New York if I’d asked her. She had when Adam was first diagnosed, and then again when he died.
There was no reason to feel that there ought to be another shadow walking beside mine on the journey back through the car park. And yet I did.
You could have asked him. He said he’d be there for you if you ever needed him , said Adam’s voice in my head, so clearly that my steps actually faltered.
‘He didn’t mean for something like this,’ I said out loud, sounding truly horrified at my late husband’s outrageous suggestion. Two young women in uniforms bearing the clinic’s logo glanced my way.
‘Sorry, did you say something?’ one of them called across.
I blushed like the idiot I knew I must surely look.
‘No, sorry. I was just thinking out loud,’ I said, fumbling for my car keys. ‘You’re going to get me committed,’ I muttered to Adam, who’d been far more vocal in my head recently, while I’d been waiting for my appointment at the clinic. I suppose it wasn’t really surprising, given that what I was doing was a chance to bring him back to life in the only way that I could.
The trick, I discovered, was to keep busy and not think about how I’d set something in motion that could change the rest of my life. It probably didn’t help that I was crossing each passing day off the calendar, like a prisoner waiting for release.
In the days that followed the procedure I found myself wanting to inexplicably share what I’d done with total strangers – perhaps because the thought of sharing it with the people who really mattered to me made me nervous.
Although Mum and Dad knew about my plans, I hadn’t given them the date of my appointment, because I knew it would make them start worrying about me all over again, and they’d only just begun to relax after eighteen months of being on high alert. But perhaps the real reason was that, for now, this was just between Adam and me, and I really liked that we had this one last secret together.
I double-locked the doors to the workshop, relieved that the day was finally over. I’d stayed later at work than normal, trying to catch up after a taxing afternoon on the phone chasing a missing shipment and dealing with a difficult customer.
The air felt hot and humid as Fletcher and I crossed the car park, and this morning’s bright blue sky had darkened and now resembled an angry bruise. It looked like the weathermen had finally got one right. A summer storm was definitely on the way. I glanced up, wondering if we’d make it home before the weather broke.
I’d just parked up when the first drops of rain began to fall. Pulling a reluctant Fletcher behind me, I ran through the splattering rain towards the short flight of marble steps that led to the main doors of my building. They were slippery underfoot and I realised for the first time how awkward they’d be to negotiate with a pram. And after scaling them, I’d still have to tackle three internal flights to reach my flat. Too late I realised I probably should have given more thought to those practicalities before running blithely into the unknown.
Distracted by the question of how I’d cope, I was slow to realise that at my side Fletcher was emitting a low, threatening growl. His attention was firmly fixed on an area of the communal front gardens that fell outside of the pool of the security light.
Instinctively I tightened my hold on my handbag and fumbled for the Yale key on the overcrowded fob in my hand. Fletcher’s gums were now exposed in an unfamiliar menacing snarl. I glanced over my shoulder towards the pavement, but the street was unusually deserted.
Relief flooded through me as I finally found the key to the main door, but before I could slide it into the lock, a tall shadow detached itself from the others beneath the trees. Fletcher yanked on his lead with a ferocity that took me by surprise, making me drop the keys. They fell with a clatter into the overgrown bush beside the doorway. I dropped to a crouch, groping among the sodden leaves and soil as the figure Fletcher was growling at took another step towards us.
My searching fingers brushed against something cold and metallic, and with a cry of triumph I scooped up my keys. There wasn’t time to open the door and get inside before whoever had been skulking in the trees reached us, so I adjusted my hold on the longest, sharpest key and gripped it the way we’d been shown at the university self-defence class Andie had made us attend.
I was breathing hard and fast as I turned to face the ominous shadowy figure. Beside me, Fletcher was poised to pounce, his hackles all the way up.
I readied myself to release my first-ever scream, when the breath was stolen from me by a single word. My name.
I gasped, instantly recognising the voice. The shadows morphed into a shape, as into the light stepped the one person who was even less welcome on my doorstep than a mugger.
Claire.
‘I thought you’d never get home.’
Most people would have led with ‘Hello’, but then Claire wasn’t most people. My heart was still hammering like a wild thing in my chest, which may or may not have been responsible for the sharpness of my response.
‘What the hell are you doing creeping up on people in the shadows? You scared me half to death.’
‘Did I?’ she asked, and although it was hard to tell in the half light, I thought I saw a glimmer of a smile.
‘What on earth were you doing lurking there under the trees anyway?’
She shook her head as though it was her lot to have to deal with the most stupid people on the planet.
‘I wasn’t lurking . I was waiting, or rather sheltering. It’s raining, in case you hadn’t noticed.’ She pointed to the sky as though I might not understand the concept of precipitation. ‘I was trying to stay dry until you got home.’
‘So, you were waiting for me?’
I probably deserved that withering look. Of course she’d been waiting for me. That wasn’t really the question to be asked here. The one I should have gone with was why .
‘Look, can we go inside, Lily? I’d really like to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.’
I had no idea what ‘this’ was, but if it had been instigated by Claire, there was a good chance I wouldn’t like it.
I reached across and opened the double doors that led into the black and white tiled hallway of the converted mansion house. Fletcher was still making a low, ominous-sounding throaty rumble, and was staring with distrustful eyes at the unknown woman who followed us into the building. Good dog.
I closed the doors behind us and turned to Claire. I had no intention of inviting her into the flat I’d shared with Adam. Whatever she had to say to me could surely be said right here, out in the hallway.
Only it turned out that it couldn’t.
‘Not here,’ Claire said, her eyes flicking towards the door of the downstairs flat which had just swung open. ‘You’re going to want somewhere more private to hear this.’
She followed me in silence as we mounted the three flights of stairs to my flat, my agitation growing with each storey. But as soon as I unlocked the front door and stepped over the threshold, I instantly felt better. I turned to my uninvited guest, who was looking around the hallway with undisguised curiosity.
‘Nice place,’ she said, and it was telling that that was possibly one of the most amiable things she’d ever said to me. It made me remember my own manners and try harder not to go into teenage animosity mode, something I had a habit of doing around her.
Contrite, I extended my hand in a belated greeting. Claire and I had never been the type who’d hug or air-kiss. Just the thought would have had both of us grimacing in distaste.
She looked down at my hand, admittedly the one that had been scrabbling about in the earth beneath the bush. Unsurprisingly, she chose not to shake it. I didn’t blame her.
‘Sorry, I should wash the front garden off.’
I headed for the kitchen, expecting she’d remain in the hallway, but she followed me. Uninvited, she removed her coat and threw it over the back of a chair.
At the sink I gave a small, resigned sigh. It looked as though she was settling in for more than just a flying visit on her broomstick. My lips twitched at this, and for a moment I imagined I could hear Josh, telling me to give her a break, the way he’d done a hundred times before in our teenage years. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was being inhospitable, and that really wasn’t me.
‘Drink?’ I asked, drying my hands on a fluffy white towel and reaching for the kettle.
‘I’ll have wine if you’ve got some.’
That sounded more sociable than I really wanted to be, but I nevertheless went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white.
‘Is this okay?’ I asked, already reaching for a solitary glass from the cupboard.
‘You’re not having one?’ she asked, watching me pour out the Chardonnay.
In truth, I’d never wanted alcohol more than I did right then, but I was still ten days away from knowing if I might be pregnant, and I wasn’t prepared to jeopardize my chances of a good outcome, not for anything, and especially not to keep Claire company while she sat drinking my wine.
‘It’s a bit early for me,’ I said, setting the glass down on the table and pulling out the chair opposite her.
We would probably have been more comfortable in the lounge, but there was a business-like quality to the clean sharp lines of my kitchen that served as a reminder that this wasn’t a normal social visit.
‘So, what’s this all about, Claire?’ I asked, deciding to cut through any attempt at faux pleasantries and get straight to the point of her visit.
For a moment I thought I saw a glint of respect in her eyes. She wanted this over almost as much as I did.
‘You had to go and find him, didn’t you?’ Claire said, leaning back in her chair with the look of a prosecutor at a trial. ‘You couldn’t just leave it alone. Leave him alone, could you?’
I hadn’t known the gloves were going to be coming off so soon.
‘I take it you mean Josh.’
The look she gave me would have withered anyone else, but we’d locked horns enough times for it to barely dent me.
‘Of course I mean Josh. He was doing okay. He had things figured out at last, and then you had to come back and screw with him all over again.’
I swallowed uncomfortably, aware I’d flinched at her words.
‘I don’t know what you’ve come here to complain about, Claire, but it really isn’t any of your business.’
Claire slammed down her wine so hard I feared for the fragile stem of the glass. ‘Of course it’s my bloody business. You messed him up six years ago, and just when he was getting a handle on life, moving on, you go charging in like a ballistic missile and he’s right back at square one again.’
My anger was a long, slow boil, but it was already simmering deep within me.
‘Look, Claire, as much as I dislike your interference, I am prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume this home invasion—’ She snorted at that. I took a steadying breath and tried again. ‘— comes from a place of concern for Josh, so I’m willing to tolerate you being rude and even unpleasant to me in my own home. But you’re way out of line telling me that I’ve ever ruined Josh’s life. Okay, things weren’t exactly amicable when we parted years ago, but there was no animosity between us when we said goodbye seven months ago.’
For a fleeting moment I was back there in the clearing outside Josh’s cabin, feeling his fingers winding their way through my hair as he kissed me in the moonlight on the night before I left. It was a memory I still couldn’t let go of.
‘You didn’t shut the door on anything, Lily. And you know nothing about how badly it affected him the last time. And as for closure, how could there be any, when sooner or later it was obvious you’d worm your way back into his life again.’
She made it sound like I’d been on a mission to hurt Josh, and while admittedly we’d been furious with each other when we’d ended things six years ago, it had been completely different this time when we’d parted. It had been the right decision for where we were now – for who we were now. But there was no way I was sharing that degree of personal information with Claire.
‘I went to see Josh earlier this year because my husband Adam had asked me to do so before he died. He said Josh had something to tell me.’ I looked down at my hands and saw I was turning my wedding band around and around on my finger. ‘But Josh said he didn’t know what Adam had been talking about. So as soon as the snow thawed and the roads were cleared, I left. There was no big drama. Except the one you’re making right now,’ I added softly, but not soft enough for the woman sitting in my kitchen not to hear.
‘For someone who thinks they’re so damn smart, you really are exceptionally dumb.’ Claire had a unique way of turning every comment about me into an insult. ‘Christ only knows why, but my brother is still in love with you. So much so that he puts you and your feelings above everyone else.’ She shook her head as though such insanity was beyond her. ‘Every. Single. Time,’ she added with disgust.
A silence fell on the room as we stared at each other across the width of the table where Adam and I had shared countless meals, plans, and dreams of forever. It was impossible to say how much I wanted Claire to leave, but she wasn’t done yet. Far from it.
‘Josh is coming to see you. It’s going to be a surprise,’ she said, ruining it without even a hint of remorse. ‘But before he gets here and says God only knows what, it’s about time you knew the truth.’
‘What truth?’ I asked, sitting up straighter in my chair, because suddenly the whole situation had changed. Even the ions in the air felt different.
‘The thing that your husband wanted Josh to tell you . . . I know what it is. And unlike my brother, I have no desire to protect you, or hide something from you that you should have been told years ago.’