CLONER : a Sci-Fi Novel about Human Cloning (A Captivating Story about Reproduction Outside the Womb and Identical Humans) (16 page)

‘This is Betsy Beste,’ Alec introduced her, towering just behind a short neat dark-haired woman in her forties.

Shiny crinkled black curls revealed one or two white hairs. Betsy Beste bent her head towards her left shoulder. Small eager eyes lowered immediately after contact with Lisa’s.

‘She and Nellie Kirby are neighbours. Well, almost more than neighbours,’ Alec said, brandishing open the door and guiding the small figure through into the living room by gently putting his hand against her elbow. ‘Nellie has the flat above Betsy’s.’ He held out an expansive arm.

‘Hello.’ Lisa prised her lips into a forced greeting, tense and uncertain. Suddenly she felt exposed. Was she expected to leave her triplets - all four precious children - not to the familiar and reliable Nellie Kirby, but to someone she’d never even met before? She felt Alec had pushed her into this. She drifted vaguely after them, feeling resentful.

‘Wasn’t it lucky she could come at such short notice?’ Alec was looking over his shoulder at Lisa, nodding encouragement, beckoning her to follow through.

Lisa stared at him stonily, then softened her eyes and turned to Betsy Beste. ‘You live alone?’

‘Oh no, Mrs Wildmore. I live with my husband and my daughter Mandy. She’s sixteen now. She hardly needs me any more.’

‘I’m sure she does.’

‘They grow up ever so quickly,’ Betsy sighed. ‘So now I’m free to help out. I do so love the little ones, you see. And I only had the one, myself.’

Betsy Beste’s small round form was perched, uneasy on an easy chair, her legs tucked under her. She seemed about to leap to her feet again.

‘I’ll show you where the children sleep,’ Lisa suggested. ‘Seb may still be awake. It would be a good idea if he met you just in case he wakes up later.’

Betsy was already standing before Lisa had finished speaking. ‘That would be wonderful,’ she said. ‘Mr Wildmore’s been telling me all about your little family. I can hardly wait to see them.’

Lisa began to relax. The stiff pretence of a smile eased off to a genuine one as she led the way upstairs and into Sebastian’s room.

‘’Nigh’, Mummy,’ he turned towards them, lids lowered, Jasper clutched firmly to his chest.

‘He sleeps like a log all night. I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble.’

‘Of course you need that, what with the triplets,’ Betsy Beste cooed. ‘And
isn’t
he a lovely little boy?’ Her eyes sparkled at Lisa, wide with enchantment.

Unwinding even more, Lisa pushed open the door to the triplets’ room. Light from the corridor slanted across the cots, showing three golden-headed babies sleeping contentedly.

‘Oh, that is beautiful,’ Betsy whispered as she crossed the room and walked up to the cots. She stood peering at each baby in turn, then tiptoed softly back and beamed at Lisa. Her eyes had misted up. Lisa, relaxing, realised Betsy had empathised with her own role.

‘I’ll just show you how the TV works, shall I?’ Alec chirruped at them as they came out of the nursery. He clearly wanted to do his bit to make the new baby-sitter feel at home.

‘No, thank you, Mr Wildmore,’ she said softly, looking over her shoulder at the cots. ‘I think I’ll just sit quietly with my knitting. I’ll leave the living-room door wide open, if that’s all right. It’s such a big house. That way I can be sure of hearing anything that’s going on upstairs.’

‘We have a baby-listening device.’

‘I like to make sure.’ Betsy Beste turned to take one more look inside the nursery before Lisa leaned the door to. ‘You have the most wonderful family, Mrs Wildmore. I do envy you.’

A feeling of calm reassurance came over Lisa as she led the way down the broad staircase and into the hall. ‘I’ll just show you where everything’s kept in the kitchen, shall I?’ she said. ‘In case the babies wake up, or there’s something you would like.’

Betsy Beste stood, reminding Lisa of a mother blackbird standing poised, head cocked to the side. She listened, nodding dark curls, to Lisa’s instructions.

Quite suddenly Lisa knew her children would be completely safe with this woman. Alec, raising his brows at her, caught Lisa’s smile of assent. He leapt up quickly.

‘Well, we’ll be off then. I’ve put the name and number of the family we’ll be with by the phone in case you need to be in touch. We won’t be far away, and we shan’t be late.’

‘All right?’ Alec said smugly in the car. ‘She’ll do?’

‘A miracle,’ Lisa breathed easily. ‘Especially compared to Geraldine.’

‘Let’s not go into that now,’ Alec said quietly. ‘Let’s just enjoy ourselves. It’s our first outing together since the triplets were born.’

The Audi hummed its way across the moor and the main road to Wells. Despite herself, misgivings began to tug at Lisa. Was she mad to risk her family like this? To a complete stranger? What if - what if another child appeared? That was the crux of it.

‘All babes and no outings make Lisa a dull wife,’ she vaguely heard as Alec backed the Audi into the last space in the Carruthers’ massive driveway. It was going to be a big party.

The triplets were quite safe. It simply wasn’t conceivable that Betsy Beste would take the bracelets off.

‘Let’s make a real night of it. Everybody’s here, and there’s even a live band.’

The party was in full swing. Lisa edged into a corner, trying to decipher words through the steady beat of music straining her ears. She sipped the frothy snowball Alec had spied for her, allowing the bubbles to release the tension in her veins.

‘Hello, my duck.’ Meg was a few feet away, a full moon face shining beneath pan makeup inexpertly applied.

‘Hello, Meg. What a lovely colour,’ Lisa said, unnerved by brilliant taffeta. ‘Is that new?’

‘Belonged to me old Mum,’ Meg told her, laughing easily. ‘Do fit like a glove. Made they big enough in them days. Yer left Betsy in charge?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ Reminded, Lisa felt nags of worry through the alcohol. ‘D’you think they’re going to be all right?’

‘Evening, Lisa.’ Frank’s eyes traced her shape through the black silk hugging slim perfection. ‘Them’ll be all right along of Betsy.’

‘Still worrying?’ Alec swallowed the smoked salmon he was savouring, took another sip of Pouilly-Fuissé, and looked towards his wife. ‘She’s got this number.’

‘Betsy’d ring the minute there be any problems, Lisa,’ Meg soothed.

‘You’re sure?’ Lisa’s smooth brow was knotted into deep vertical stripes.

‘Of course she’d ring if anything was up.’ Lisa could feel Alec’s irritation, his holding back. He took another bite of smoked salmon and emptied his wine glass. ‘But if you’re going to fuss why don’t you give her a buzz?’

Lisa almost knocked into Frank in her hurry. Hands trembling, beads of sweat on her upper lip, she tapped the number in.

A tentative small voice answered before the second ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Betsy?’ Well, who else could it be, Lisa smiled gaily to herself, relief flooding over her at the sound of the baby-sitter’s voice.

‘Yes, this is Betsy Beste.’

‘Hello, Betsy. This is – ’

‘I’m sorry; you’ll have to excuse me for a moment. I think I can hear one of the children crying.’

‘ –Lisa Wildmore speaking.’

The sound of the phone laid aside at the other end left Lisa rooted to the spot, clenching her mobile in her right hand, drumming the little table she was next to with her left. Seconds ticked by as her mind formed dark shadows moving in the triplets’ nursery. She blinked and looked away, towards the rich oak of the banisters. Travelling up her eye registered a series of exquisite prints; Munch’s
Frieze of Life
stepped along the wall by the Jacobean staircase. The eloquence of monochrome stirred her imagination. She wondered idly whether she should make an effort now to escape from her rut of chocolate box watercolours and try something new. Too soon, she was aware. That would take too much creative energy.

Edvard Munch. Seeing the prints brought back the poignant round of the opened mouth in
The Shriek
as Lisa’s eyes, huge saucers, saw again the innocent meadow, then the splitting of the butterfly in Seb’s hands, the rabbits proliferating in the field, the clover leaves dividing, over and over. A fungoid mass, black, menacing, began to move, overwhelm the other shapes, blot them out. Fleshy lobes of oozing matter elongated, split, detached themselves, reformed into original shapes. Small specks of white infiltrated them, turned into eyes which opened up and pierced her mind, gleaming at her. Hundreds of eyes, alive along the wall, moving now. Lisa let out a cry of pain at what she saw happening: the unleashing of a force beyond control. It ate up everything; hundreds of identical beings overwhelming the planet, running amok. She saw them move, growing long spiky legs. Spiders, spinning their silky prisons ...

‘You all right, Lisa?’ Diana Carruthers asked her, tripping by on her way to greet new arrivals.

Lisa shuddered in the warmth of the hall. ‘Just checking on the children,’ she explained, her throat tight, her hand white around the mobile now pressed hard against her ear.

The voice came back on to the line. ‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I’m afraid Mr and Mrs Wildmore have gone out.’

Lisa paused for a moment. ‘I know, Betsy.’

There was a further silence, then the voice came through again. ‘They went out about an hour ago. They left their mobile number, if you want to get in touch with them.’

‘No, Betsy. It’s me, Lisa Wildmore. I’m just ringing to make sure that there aren’t any problems.’

Another long deep pause. ‘That’s Mrs Wildmore, is it?’ the voice asked cautiously.

‘Yes.’ Was something terribly wrong? Had a bracelet come loose and... Butterflies somersaulted in Lisa’s stomach. She saw the quivering flight of a myriad peacocks, gleaming circles of shimmering colour, a chimera of accusing eyes. They milled around her, squeezed her tight. She fought for air, heaved oxygen into her lungs. ‘Is everything all right?’ she managed to breathe.

‘Everything is perfectly all right, Mrs Wildmore. The children are all fast asleep. I look in on them every ten minutes, just to make sure. Sorry to keep you waiting earlier on; I thought I heard a noise.’

‘That’s absolutely fine,’ Lisa, shaking off suffocating worries, almost sang her relief. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you.’

When Lisa returned to the buffet table Alec was deep in conversation with Nigel Carruthers.

‘So this is our dainty lady with the gigantic family,’ he boomed at her. ‘Know when to stop, I hope?’ His eyes were crinkled into a smile, but Lisa felt the cold calculating pierce of pale hard eyes sunk well below shaggy brows. ‘Identical triplet boys. An extraordinary achievement for such a delicate lady. The mind boggles to think how it was done.’ The eyes bored openly into her midriff, then held her own in what seemed a stranglehold to Lisa. What did he mean: “was done”?

Diana Carruthers swept up to them, flowing through a magnificent Zandra Rhodes, jagged edges of rose and magenta transparent over gold. Her throat was choking with enormous pearls. Lisa watched, fascinated, as they jiggled up and down whenever Diana spoke.

‘Darling,’ she trilled, shrill above the band. ‘I think you’re
such
a clever girl.’ Lisa cringed nervously into the Caroline Charles which had made her feel so attractive earlier in the evening. ‘Have you met Wilford Gudgeon?’ Diana introduced Lisa. ‘Sir Wilford farms the thousand acres next to us. He’s Master of the Pakenham Moor pack.’ She paused. ‘One of the great bloodhound packs in the country. And he’s just joined the Flaxton board.’

Lisa smiled doubtfully. Diana was an avid rider. Lisa watched her metamorphose from social butterfly into competent sportswoman as she talked to Sir Wilford.

‘You live near here?’ Gudgeon demanded, his eyes devouring the table laden with food.

‘In Lodsham,’ Lisa said. ‘Sedgemoor Court. Your hounds often run over Mark Ditcheat’s fields. He’s our neighbour.’

‘Of course they do. I remember now,’ Diana yelped over the thump of baying music, like a hound herself, grabbing a tray of beautifully presented poultry slices and holding it out for Lisa. ‘I’d forgotten that. You must be quite isolated there. May I tempt you to some of this?’

Lisa took a single slice of dark duck meat.

‘Any family?’ Sir Wilford demanded.

‘Four boys under two, Willie,’ Lady Carruthers told him. A spike of chiffon twirled itself around Sir Wilford’s arm. ‘Isn’t that just too divine?’

‘Four? Under two?’ He snorted, thick florid sinews in his neck swivelling as he examined every inch of Lisa. ‘How on earth d’you manage that?’

‘Triplets the second time around,’ Diana shrieked over the babble, her head pointed forward. ‘Quite a brain teaser, isn’t it?’

Lisa saw solid red nostrils flare into disdain. ‘Triplets? You mean three at one go? That’s overdoing it a bit, what?’ Gudgeon’s loose flesh shook admonishingly at Lisa. ‘House must be like a rabbit warren.’

‘And so alike they’ve had to put identification bracelets on them,’ Diana giggled, beckoning a maid to offer further food.

Sir Wilford commandeered a whole plate and began to eat from it.

‘Isn’t that simply gorgeous? Who’s your obstetrician?’ Diana suddenly asked Lisa, lowering her voice slightly. ‘I had Ian Parslow.’

‘Actually, that’s the man I went to,’ Lisa told her. ‘The specialist at the Hammersmith recommended him.’

‘Brilliant mind,’ Nigel put in. ‘Absolutely brilliant. He’s one of the country’s leading embryologists. He’s into DNA research.’

Lisa spluttered the mouthful of champagne she was about to swallow. Brilliant Parslow might be, but as far as she was concerned he was too damned patronising, too smooth; too bloody know-all.

‘Did you say bracelets?’ The poultry slices were disappearing at an extraordinary rate as Gudgeon’s jaws worked overtime. ‘Metal, d’you mean?’

‘Quite narrow little silver chains, with their names on a tab,’ Alex explained.

‘Keep ’em on all the time, what?’ Gudgeon was still staring at Lisa. What was he asking her?

‘It’s just so other people don’t mix them up,’ she told him carefully. ‘Just in case of accidents, or something. Even identical triplets have quite distinct needs, you know. Janus, for instance, is allergic to goat’s milk. It’s important to think ahead about that sort of thing.’

‘Goat’s milk? I thought it was cow’s milk which caused so many problems,’ Diana put in.

‘I suppose it all depends,’ Alec intervened. He savoured the wine in his glass. ‘This is outstanding, Nigel. Where d’you buy? Harvey’s of Bristol?’

‘Import it directly from the chateau,’ Carruthers told him. ‘Only way I can be sure they don’t use additives. It’s quite disgusting what even the most reputable firms get up to.’

‘Additives? You mean they add chemicals to chateau-bottled wine?’ Alec sounded quite shocked.