The Two Week Wait (17 page)

‘No, I don’t. Illuminate me.’

‘I don’t really believe we should mess with our bodies like that. Cath, you know me, I prefer to pursue the alternative route.’

‘That’s because you’ve never been ill.’

‘I have! I had a cold only last month.’

‘A cold is hardly cancer.’

Sukey hesitates while she lines up her argument. ‘Maybe that’s why I’ve not been seriously ill.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Because I take good care of my body. Vitamins, herbal remedies . . . ’

‘Hang on a minute.’ Rich is with them now. ‘Are you saying what I think you are? Not just that IVF is unnatural – which is fair enough I guess, if that’s your
opinion, though I’m not sure you’d be so confident of your view if you had been through what Cath has – but are you implying people who get ill bring it on themselves?’

Sukey flushes. But it’s impossible to unwind what’s been said: instead she strengthens her stance. ‘I think if we honour ourselves with the right foods and thoughts, then we
are much less likely to get ill.’

‘Cath did absolutely nothing wrong to bring about her cancer,’ says Rich. His voice is a growl.

Sukey glances from one to the other and back again. ‘I can’t apologize for what I believe.’

Just then, Mike walks back into the room clutching a bottle of beer. ‘They’re tucked up, at any rate. Though I can’t guarantee they’ll stay there.’

He looks around at their faces, but before he can appraise the situation fully, Sukey says, ‘
You
believe in alternative medicine, don’t you, darling? It’s worked so well
for you too, hasn’t it?’

Cath sees the panic in Mike’s eyes. She feels for him. For the sake of her brother, she tries to be conciliatory – it will be better for her rather than Mike to broker peace.
‘I’ve nothing against complementary medicine at all. I found a number of holistic therapies really helpful when I was ill.’

‘You had those lovely aromatherapy massages when you were having chemo,’ adds Rich.

‘Ooh yes . . . They were fantastic. And acupuncture, when I got anxious. But it’s important to remember there’s a difference between complementary and alternative.’ Cath
is willing to retreat a little, not completely.

Sukey has another sip of G&T. ‘But putting all that poison into your body . . . The side effects are so dreadful.’

‘You can’t treat cancer with bloody arnica.’

‘Arnica’s for
bruises.
It’s marvellous stuff,’ says Sukey.

‘I know. We use it, don’t we?’ says Rich. ‘But we don’t have limitless resources – we’re pushed to have IVF as it is. We could squander everything on
complementary therapies and get no closer to having a child.’

‘Exactly,’ says Cath. She sighs. She spells it out in black and white. ‘Sukey, you do realize, don’t you, that if all I’d had until now was natural healing,
I’d be dead?’

But Sukey merely dodges the bullet. ‘I wasn’t really talking about your cancer treatment anyway. I was talking about IVF.’

‘Right. Of course you were.’

There’s a long silence. This is where Mike could intercept, thinks Cath, but he doesn’t seem to know how.

‘I’m not quite sure you’ve heard what Cath has been saying,’ says Rich eventually. ‘Cath doesn’t have any viable eggs. End of. I can’t see what
alternative therapy would do for that.’

‘Make my ovaries grow back, perhaps,’ Cath mutters.

‘Have you ever practised acceptance?’ says Sukey.

Rich’s jaw falls open.

‘Like the Buddhists,’ Sukey explains.

Mike clears his throat. ‘I’m not sure that’s very appropriate in this case, sweetheart.’

Cath can’t stand to be patronized a second longer. ‘Sukey. I find it absolutely astonishing how you manage to make people feel so awful. You always make me feel guilty no matter what
I do. Often it seems you positively relish making me feel bad.’

‘Do I?’ says Sukey. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to.’

Mike says, ‘I hardly think that’s fair—’

‘Don’t you dare defend her!’ That she’s seen his attempt at mediation coming only makes Cath more enraged. ‘You always back her up, even when she’s absolutely
out of order. Christ Almighty, Mike, don’t be such a drip! Telling me not to broach the subject in case it offended your wife. Making
me
pussyfoot round
her
, when I’m the
one with no fucking ovaries!’

BANG!
She slams her tumbler down on the table, glass on glass. Then she gets up and storms out of the room.

‘So this egg sharing,’ says Adam, tearing open a second packet of crisps. ‘I’m wondering, how would you feel if you didn’t get pregnant and the
other woman did?’

Lou shrugs. ‘Hard to say till it happens. My feeling at the moment is that I’d like to know that even if I didn’t carry a child myself, I’d enabled someone else to, so to
speak.’ She looks down at the floor, as if the beer-stained carpet might help her find the right words. Instead she finds herself distracted by Adam’s towelling socks, peeking out from
the gap between his cords and his lace-ups. They are greying, have seen better days. So he might be able to deal with life and death, but he hasn’t mastered separating his whites, she thinks.
She finds it rather endearing. She refocuses. ‘I suppose I see it like this. If I couldn’t produce my own eggs, I hope someone would donate eggs to me. If I want it one way, it has to
work the other too. I know some people won’t believe me’ – privately she accuses Sofia – ‘but the finance is a minor issue. I genuinely want to take part.’

‘You know the chances of IVF success aren’t always great? They may be even less for your recipient than for you.’

Adam holds out the bag and again Lou reaches in. ‘I do. From what I understand, my odds at the age I am are better than if I leave it. The crucial thing is I gather those odds aren’t
lessened if I keep all my eggs or share a few.’ She is conscious he will know more about the medical implications than she does.

‘I still think it’s generous, though.’

‘I like helping people, but don’t be fooled, I’m not that selfless. I get a lot back from knowing I’ve helped someone. I don’t see this as any different.’ Lou
hunts for the right words; this is important. ‘I’ve been thinking about this a great deal lately, because of what’s happened, and deep down I’ve realized that I have an
intrinsic belief I’m meant to create life. It’s part of what makes me a woman.’ It’s good to say this aloud; she hasn’t confided it to anyone. ‘Sofia
couldn’t get her head round this whole egg-sharing thing, but I felt she was missing this point: I would be far more distressed at being unable to do what a woman is meant to do, than knowing
that my egg donation worked for someone else and not for me.’

‘You don’t think you might be bitter?’

‘No, not really . . . Why would I feel resentful because my egg helped another woman become a mother? Compared to what some women go through, my operation was a minor hiccup, but it did
make me appreciate how much having a child mattered to me.’ She frowns, suddenly sensing her mirror woman. ‘For someone who can’t use her own eggs at all, I can only begin to
imagine how upsetting it must be.’

*  *  *

Quietly, Rich tiptoes into the spare room. Cath is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands. He checks if she’s crying; she isn’t.

The mattress dips as he sits down beside her. ‘You OK?’

‘No, I’m bloody well not OK.’

Stupid question, Rich berates himself. ‘I agree it was completely uncalled for.’

‘It was more than that. It was cruel. Sukey’s poisonous. I don’t know how Mike can have married her. If she wasn’t so damn pretty, he wouldn’t give her the time of
day, I swear. Did you know she doesn’t want us to stay, while we’re down here at the clinic?’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Apparently Mike had to talk her round so she’d allow us to come today. I tried to get you alone to warn you but you didn’t take the hint.’

‘Oh.’ Once again he’s been too slow. Is all this his fault? ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s OK, you weren’t to know.’ She reaches for his hand.

Phew, thinks Rich. If Cath had ended up attacking him too he wouldn’t have been surprised. When she’s very upset she often can’t contain her emotions, and in this instance he
wouldn’t blame her.

‘She talks such claptrap,’ says Cath. ‘You know she’s reading that stupid book?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Oh, I can’t remember its bloody name. But it’s on the living-room table – some Australian woman going on about how you can have whatever you want in life if you wish
hard enough.’

‘If only that were true,’ says Rich. No one could have wished Cath’s cancer was a misdiagnosis more fervently than he had.

‘Quite how you tie that in with a philosophy of acceptance only she could fathom. Then again, we both know how evangelical Sukey can be.’

Rich nods. ‘I’d have expected that attitude to conventional medicine if she was some born-again religious nut. But she’s not.’

‘Sukey wouldn’t know God if he came along and thrust a burning bush in her face.’

Rich laughs. ‘And now Buddhism!’

‘I tell you, it’s because she doesn’t like me.’

‘It can’t be that.’

‘It is, I swear. Well, I don’t like her either. I never have. If she wasn’t married to my brother, I’d be more than happy never to see the sanctimonious cow again in my
life.’ Cath lurches from one grievance to another. ‘Suppose Sukey’d had to fill in a whole load of forms like we’re going to have to before she was allowed to become a
mother? It makes me so cross that we have to be tested at every bloody stage. No one had to check their parenting skills before they had Alfie and Dom, did they?’ Before Rich can respond, her
mood has changed again. ‘I want to go home.’ She gets to her feet, retrieves their still-packed suitcase from the chaise longue at the bottom of the bed, snaps shut the fasteners and
starts lugging it to the door.

‘Wait.’ Rich hurries to block her path. ‘Stop a moment. Think. Do you really want to drive a wedge between you and Mike like this?’

‘He should have stood up for me.’

‘He didn’t witness the whole thing, he doesn’t know what happened.’

‘He’s always so quick to defend her. It’s as if she can do no wrong.’

‘Can you imagine how awful it would be if he did take issue with everything she says? I wouldn’t like to take her on, that’s for sure.’ Rich persists, ‘And what
about the boys? You don’t want to make it difficult to see them.’

Cath bursts into tears. ‘I’d see more of them if weren’t for Sukey . . . She has no idea what it’s like, has she? There she is with her pert behind and weeny hips
and
the twins and a devoted rich husband. And here am I, all fat and horrible, having gone through an early menopause.’ Rich wants to contradict her – but she’s going way
too fast. ‘Does she know what
that’s
like? How unfeminine I feel? I don’t even have a job I particularly enjoy!’ She’s like a skier hurtling out of control; he
is on the sidelines, powerless to stop her. ‘You know what? I wish
she
could have cancer, and then she’d know. It would serve her bloody well right.’

‘Now, love . . . ’

‘Don’t “now love” me! If I was a witch, it’s the first thing I’d do. Ta-dah!’ She waves an imaginary wand.

Rich chuckles.

‘I hate her,’ Cath sniffs.

‘I know you do.’

He pulls her to him, cuddles her in tight. She’s gone all floppy, worn out by the argument. She rests her chin on his shoulder. Even like this – especially like this – he loves
the feel of her. The softness of her hair, the scent of her skin, the way she moves when she relaxes her muscles. It’s the Cath only he experiences.

He mutters into her ear. ‘Do you think we could just get through tonight, though, my love? You’re so tired after the clinic – they took all that blood. And now you’re
upset – we both are . . . I think we could do with a decent night’s sleep.’ He brushes her fringe away from her face, looks into her eyes. Her lashes are wet with tears, her
make-up blotched down her cheeks. ‘I don’t really know where we could go, not at this hour. I’m not sure we’d be able to get a train back up north and it’s awfully
late to find a hotel.’

Cath hesitates, then says, ‘OK . . . I don’t want to eat dinner with them, though.’

‘Fine.’ How can he get round that one? He has an idea. ‘What if I say you’re not feeling well and are having a lie-down?’

‘But I’m hungry.’ She sits back down on the bed.

Typical. ‘I could bring you some cheese on toast or something.’

‘And a glass of wine.’

‘They won’t think you’re very ill then.’

‘Just sneak one. They don’t need to know.’

‘OK.’

‘There’s usually a bottle in the fridge.’

‘I’ll do my best. Now you put your feet up, try to relax. Sukey’s not worth it, truly she’s not.’

*  *  *

‘I have to confess I’m starving,’ says Adam.

Even after all those crisps? Lou suppresses a smile. She’s sorry to see him leave; she’s getting so much from their conversation and yet it feels they’ve only just touched the
surface. ‘How about you come back to mine and I make us some dinner?’

Adam shakes his head. ‘I really must get home.’

‘Oh.’ Lou is disheartened. Perhaps he’s not interested in pursuing the idea of co-parenting any more deeply after all. Maybe the complications of egg sharing have put him off .
. .

He appears to pick up on her dejection. ‘Believe me, I’d much rather carry on chatting. It’s only boring paperwork that needs sorting, but I’ve already procrastinated the
whole weekend. Can we do another night?’

‘Sure.’

‘Wednesday? I’d love to talk more.’

‘Perfect.’ Lou grins.

They say goodbye outside the pub and Lou strolls along the high street back to her flat. It’s April but surprisingly warm and sunny; it’s still light, spring is in the air. A woman
struggles to manoeuvre her bags of groceries past a cluster of people smoking outside a bar and a jogger flashes by, dressed in a tiny vest and even tinier shorts, showing off well-oiled muscles.
The old man who runs the corner shop is pulling down the blinds, locking up.

From what I’ve seen so far, I really like Adam, Lou concludes. Nevertheless, this is one of the most important decisions she’ll ever make and she’d like more insight into his
character. Given how keen he is, doubtless he’s been trying hard to make a good impression.