Slowly Lou raises herself to a sitting position, stands up, tiptoes over. Gingerly, she tries to ease the bottle from Sofia’s fingers.
Sofia stirs, opens her eyes, looks up at her, surprised.
‘
Hola
. . . ’ She realizes what Lou is doing. ‘Oh, sorry.’
‘It’s OK. I was worried you’d spill it.’ Lou puts the bottle on the floor.
‘Yes, sure, you are right. Ooh, I fell asleep. What time is it?’
‘Just gone midnight.’
Sofia yawns. ‘I am so tired.’
‘Me too.’
Lou turns off the television, returns to Sofia, arms outstretched. ‘Come on, let’s get you to bed.’
Sofia reaches up, grabs her hands. ‘Thanks.’
Ow. She’s quite a weight. They’ve both forgotten Lou isn’t supposed to lift anything, but she’s done it now. She sits down on the duvet – their studio is small; the
bed is close by. ‘Can you help me take off my boots?’
‘Sure.’ Still bleary, Sofia crouches to undo the laces, carefully slips them off Lou’s feet. She puts them aside, neat; catches Lou watching her. ‘I’m sorry,’
she repeats.
‘It’s OK.’
‘No, it is not OK. I have been horrible.’
Lou half smiles, appreciative. ‘Yes, you have.’
‘I don’t know what has happened to me. I have been like an idiot.’
‘Yup.’ Maybe, thinks Lou, everything will be all right.
Then Sofia rubs her eyes, ferociously, as if it will help her see more clearly, sighs, and sits back on her haunches on the floor, a few feet from Lou. Her voice is small, woeful. ‘I
can’t do it, the baby . . . you know.’
Lou exhales. ‘I know.’
Sofia starts to cry. Lou moves to sit cross-legged with her – even though it tugs at her stitches to get herself there and the wooden floor is hardly comfortable. Again she reaches for
Sofia’s hands, takes them both in hers.
This is the wrong way round, she thinks. She should be comforting me, but no matter. This is what happens.
‘I am not ready,’ says Sofia.
Lou laughs, almost bitterly. ‘I’m not sure I am.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Lou nods.
‘And I cannot . . . get in your way.’
‘No.’
‘It would be terrible, you’d always hate me.’ Sofia looks up; it’s those big brown eyes again, only this time they’re filled with tears. If Lou’s heart
weren’t breaking already, this would smash it to pieces.
‘Hate you?’
‘Yes, you would.
I
would. I would hate myself. It just wouldn’t work.’
They are quiet a moment. Lou knows Sofia is right. The evidence is there: she’s only to consider Sofia’s behaviour of the last twenty-four hours. Sofia will get more
self-destructive, crueller, if they carry on.
‘It’s rubbish, isn’t it?’ Lou says. For some reason she can’t cry, maybe because Sofia is.
‘Yes.’ Sofia giggles for a split second through her weeping. She strokes Lou’s fingers. Her touch is feathery, delicate. ‘I wish life is not . . . was not . . . so
complicated.’
‘Me too.’ Lou strokes Sofia’s fingers back.
‘And it’s worse sometimes, for us.’
‘Eh?’
‘Well, if we were straight, you would probably have got pregnant by accident.’
‘Mm. Maybe you’re right. Though I’ve always disliked women who do that. It seems so manipulative.’
‘
Si
. . . We do not have that luxury.’
‘We have to plan it all, think everything through.’
‘Be rational.’
‘Not blurry.’
‘I feel blurry,’ says Sofia.
‘So do I,’ says Lou. They smile at one another. ‘Listen to us. Agreeing on everything . . . How ironic, eh?’
‘Very.’
‘Though we always did agree on most stuff.’
Did
, Lou thinks. Past tense. She used it without meaning to. She says, ‘I’m not even completely sure I want a
baby.’
‘I know,’ says Sofia. ‘Though I think you do. And I really don’t. Not yet, not this fast. I feel rushed – what is that word you use sometimes?
Bamboozled . .
.
But you . . . You love kids. You
should
be a mother. You deserve to be, and I can’t ask you to wait, when I might never be ready.’
‘Though it might not happen,’ says Lou. ‘I may not be able to get pregnant.’
‘Still, you have to try.’
‘Yes,’ says Lou.
It’s becoming clearer. Lou has no idea how she’ll cope with a baby all on her own. Being a single mum is not a situation she ever thought she’d find herself in. She can only
begin to imagine how people will react, what her family will say. Her mother will be a nightmare for a start. Lou can’t see Irene liking the notion of a baby conceived by sperm donation any
more than she has liked the fact that her daughter is gay. But whilst she’s still undecided about egg sharing, now Lou is up against it, she is certain that she has to give having a baby a
go. Even though it means forfeiting her relationship – probably the best relationship she’s ever had – to do so. That Sofia has at last been honest has helped her see this.
‘Thank you,’ she says.
Then very gently, a little tentatively, she leans forward and kisses Sofia. Sofia kisses her back, and helps her get to her feet, and they go to bed, and make love, tenderly, sweetly, sadly, one
last time.
‘We’re here to see Mr Edwards,’ Rich says.
The cashier looks mystified.
‘About a loan? It’s Mr and Mrs Morris.’
She checks a screen. ‘Ah, yes. If you’d just like to take a seat at the desk over there, I’ll call him.’
Shortly there’s the click of a lock, and a young man in a suit comes to join them. His hair has too much gel in it, thinks Rich, and his shirt is pink and stripy. He shakes their hands in
turn. His grip is not as firm as Rich’s and he looks at least ten years his junior. ‘Thank you so much for coming in.’
Rich shifts in his chair. Even though he’s a fully grown adult, he doesn’t feel any more comfortable in this environment than he did as an overdrawn student, despite the posters of
smiling staff with slogans claiming they’re listening and helpful.
Mr Edwards says, ‘I thought it would be better to meet face to face in this instance, because I wanted to run through a few things with you.’
‘Sure,’ says Cath.
Rich says, ‘I had hoped we could have sorted this out on the phone.’ They’ve yet to see the specialists at the clinic – they simply want to know they can find the funds,
if they have to.
Mr Edwards beams at Cath. ‘Sometimes we can. But I’m sure you appreciate we’re having to be a little more, um . . . ’ – he hunts for the word –
‘
discerning
in who we give loans to these days.’
‘Of course,’ says Cath.
Rich wonders why she is agreeing with him.
Mr Edwards consults a form before him. ‘So, to clarify . . . I see that you borrowed two thousand pounds in November. Can I ask what you’re wanting the money for this
time?’
‘The first loan was to take my wife on holiday just before Christmas,’ says Rich. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware but she’s not been very well, and we wanted to
celebrate making a fresh start. We even chose to go before peak season so as to save on the cost.’
‘Ah, right,’ says Mr Edwards. Momentarily he looks disconcerted, as if illness was not something he’d factored in. But then he beams again at Cath. ‘Go anywhere
nice?’
‘Skiing,’ she replies.
‘I hope you had a good time.’
‘Yes thanks, it was lovely.’
Mr Edwards nods. ‘So . . . I gather you’d like to borrow another ten thousand pounds.’
‘Yes,’ says Rich. He tries not to sound annoyed. ‘Though not to go on holiday.’
‘OK . . . So what are you wanting this new loan for, then?’
Rich finds this intrusive. He’s worried about the money already; he doesn’t need some guy with a different agenda making it worse. ‘Do you need to know?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Perhaps they should say it’s for a car. But before Rich has worked out a plausible fib, Cath volunteers: ‘It’s for fertility treatment.’
‘Oh.’ This time there is no concealing Mr Edwards’ disconcertion. For several seconds he appears not to know what to say.
‘My wife has had cancer,’ says Rich. If this man is going to be so nosy, he might as well embarrass him in return. ‘So we need IVF if we want to have a baby and be a
family.’ He’s surprised: he hadn’t realized he felt so passionate about it. Evidently he’s in less of a quandary than he thought.
‘Ah.’ Mr Edwards blushes.
Rich has a flush of caustic pleasure. For a spontaneous tactic, it’s shrewd: hopefully Mr Edwards will feel too guilty to turn them down.
Mr Edwards directs his attention back to Cath. ‘So, your illness, um, is that the reason your income has been a bit . . . sporadic, Mrs Morris, over the last couple of years?’
‘It is,’ says Cath. ‘I was on statutory sick pay for quite a while.’
Another pause. ‘Which made you, Mr Morris, the main, um, breadwinner, I take it.’
‘For a while I was, yes.’
‘And you’re in the music industry?’
‘That’s right, I’m a product manager.’
‘Must be a lot of changes in that at the moment . . . ’ He smiles, as if out of sympathy, but Rich can discern the implication. Only last week there was another round of redundancies
at the label’s head office; Mr Edwards has tapped directly into one of his most prescient concerns.
Mr Edwards drives the point home. ‘You’d say your job was secure?’
Surely no one’s job is safe these days? thinks Rich, but instead he lies, ‘Yes, I’d say so.’
‘He’s very popular with clients,’ interjects Cath. ‘And the bosses like him.’ She squeezes Rich’s knee under the table.
‘And your monthly outgoings . . . ’ says Mr Edwards. ‘You think you could manage another three hundred and fifty pounds?’
‘Yes.’ He’s still struggling not to lose his temper.
‘You have been overdrawn . . . ’ Again, that obsequious smile.
Rich has half an urge to punch him, but of course he won’t. ‘Hardly by much, and it was with prior agreement. It was because Cath was unable to work: with her full-time, we’ll
be fine.’
‘Though should you have a baby, then I’m assuming, Mrs Morris, you’ll take maternity leave . . . ?’
‘She would take some time to spend with a newborn, yes.’ Again, Rich is surprised by the force of his feelings.
‘And you’re wanting to pay back this loan over thirty-six months . . . ’
‘We’ll manage.’
‘I think you understand why I needed to run through this, though . . . ?’
No, I bloody don’t!
Rich wants to shout. He senses Cath beside him, full of expectation and hope. He can’t bear to think how upset she’ll be if they are declined.
She’s been through such heartache already.
Suddenly she leans across the table. ‘Please, I know it’s a lot of money. I know you’re under pressure not to lend so much these days. But this isn’t a new BMW
we’re talking about, or even a holiday – if we’d known we’d need this loan, we’d have forfeited the trip abroad, just like that, even though we really needed a break.
We’ve only recently found out it might be a possibility for us to do it this way. This is a
baby
we’re asking for help with. A child. We want one so very badly.’ She
glances at Rich. Inside he is cringing at her forthrightness, but he nods – increasingly he’s realizing how much he wants this too. She continues, ‘We’d rather it
wasn’t going to cost us anything to conceive, of course we would. For lots of people it wouldn’t cost a bean – probably it won’t for you when the time comes. Do you have a
girlfriend – a partner?’
Mr Edwards blushes. Rich notices he’s wearing a wedding band. For the first time Rich feels for him – they both find this excruciating, it seems.
But Cath doesn’t hold back. ‘Well imagine, in the future, if
you
wanted a child, and you’d both been trying for years, and then found out she couldn’t, or you
couldn’t, for whatever reason—’
Mr Edwards coughs and looks sheepish. ‘Actually, we’ve got two children,’ he mutters.
Cath gulps. Of course she’d assumed he was too young to be a father, just as Rich had. Though it merely appears to make her more passionate. ‘Well, you’re lucky. But it’s
not the same for us – this is the only way we can do it. If we have to, we’ll offset it against the house, our mortgage. Whatever. I’ll work harder, my husband will bust a gut;
crikey, I’ll walk the bloody streets if I have to.’ Rich can hardly believe she’s just said that, although he’s impressed by her honesty. At least she’s broken through
the phoney smiles and platitudes. ‘Don’t turn us down. I’m begging you.’
Mr Edwards looks at his form again.
Rich swallows his pride. ‘Please,’ he adds.
Mr Edwards reaches for a calculator. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
There’s another long silence, while he taps in a succession of figures. Finally, he lifts his head.
‘OK . . . We can do it. But this is the last loan we can grant you until the ten thousand pounds is paid back. That is our absolute limit, I’m afraid.’
It’s past midday and Lou is not even dressed. Several weeks have passed since her operation and she’d been planning a run to help her get fit again. At the very
least she should shower, but this online forum is fascinating.
Hello everyone, After years of assuming our problem was my husband’s low sperm count, we went for a review of our second failed IVF to be told
apparently my eggs are ‘very, very poor quality’. I am absolutely devastated. I don’t understand how it’s taken them this long to find out. I thought I was fine. The doc
basically said there is only a 5% chance of IVF working and he did not want us to waste £5k, so suggested we go away and think about egg donation. Enquired if I had a friend/sister who might
donate. But I don’t know anyone! I feel sick and can’t stop crying. I can’t believe I am never going to have my own child. Annie33
Annie, It must be such a shock to find out there’s an issue with your eggs. I’ve been an egg donor, and I took part in an egg-share scheme. The
idea is someone like me, who’s already going through IVF, shares their spare eggs. Might such a scheme work for you? If you look at the egg-share thread, you’ll see that you’re
not alone. There are many women who have had babies from donor eggs and they are in NO WAY NOT THEIR CHILDREN. Yes, you may need help getting there, but when that egg has been fertilized by your
partner’s sperm, grown inside you for nine months and it’s you who has carried it, nourished it and felt every movement, it is most definitely your baby. I also believe a child is what
they become because of the love they receive from their parents and the experiences and lifestyle they are given. I hope with time you start to feel the same and can have your own child even if
it’s not genetically ‘yours’. Shadow