Their Own Little Miracle. Caroline Anderson
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I love this!’
‘Me, too. It goes downhill a bit from now on, mind,’ he said with a low chuckle that did something odd to her insides. ‘Come into the kitchen, I’ll make you a coffee.’
She followed him through a glass door into a large rectangular room that ran away to the right across the back of the house. To the left were double doors into another room, in front of her beyond a large dining table was a set of bi-fold doors, opening she assumed to the garden, and on her right at the far end of the room was the kitchen area.
Not that there was much kitchen.
‘Ahh. I see what you mean.’
He chuckled again. ‘Yeah. It’s a mess. I got the bi-folds put in and the dividing wall taken out, so I lost most of the units, but to be honest I haven’t got the time or energy to decide what I want in here and it’s a big job, starting with taking the floor up and re-screeding it because they weren’t quite level. So I’m learning to love the tiny scraps of seventies worktop and the ridiculously huge sink and the utter lack of storage, but it’s only me so it’s fine. And the pub’s handy when I get desperate,’ he added with a grin. ‘So, coffee. Caf, decaf, black, white, frothy?’
She stared at him, slightly mesmerised by the sight of him propped against the sink with his arms folded, relaxed and at ease. It was gradually dawning on her just how incredibly attractive he was, how well put together, how confident, caring, thoughtful, sexy—
‘Hello?’
She pulled herself together and tried to smile. ‘Sorry. I was just a bit stunned by the kitchen,’ she lied. ‘Um—can you do a decaf frothy?’
‘Sure, that’s what I’m having.’ He flipped a capsule into the machine, put a mug under the spout and pressed a button, put milk into the frother and then propped himself up again and frowned thoughtfully at her.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Well, nothing you want to hear. You told me to butt out.’
‘Are we back to that?’ she said with a sigh.
‘Yes, we are, because... Iona, if you want a baby, why wouldn’t you look for a partner?’
‘I’ve tried that,’ she said, really not wanting to go there. ‘And, anyway, that’s not what it’s about.’
He looked puzzled, then shrugged. ‘OK, so why not go through a proper sperm bank or clinic? The risks to you are huge if you don’t use a donor regulated by the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority. They won’t have had genetic testing, no sperm quality check—it’s a minefield, even if you don’t take into account the risk of picking up a life-changing infection such as Hepatitis or HIV. The screening process is so thorough, so intensive, the physical and mental health screening, sperm quality, family medical history, motivation—and the children have the right to trace their fathers now once they’re eighteen, so nobody’s going to be doing it for anything other than the right reasons. Why on earth would you go anywhere else?’
‘I wouldn’t. I haven’t. I’m not that stupid, so you can relax and stop fretting. I wasn’t serious about picking up a random stranger, I was winding you up, really, but I am looking for a sperm donor. That much was true.’ She studied him thoughtfully. ‘You seem to know an awful lot about it,’ she added, searching his eyes, and something in them changed again.
He looked away briefly, then back, the silence between them somehow deafening in the quiet room.
‘Yeah. I do,’ he said finally, as if it had been dragged out of him. ‘I’ve done it, but that was years ago, before I properly understood the knock-on effect of it.’
Wow. ‘Knock-on effect?’ she asked, still processing the fact that he’d been a donor. Ironic, since she’d mentally given him ten out of ten, but he didn’t need to know that.
‘Yes. Wondering—you know—about the children, if there are any, if they’re OK? That sort of stuff.’
‘Can they contact you?’
‘No, because I did it before the law changed, but I can still provide contact details if I want to via the HFEA, and I could also find out how many children there are, their ages, their genders, but I can’t contact them to find out if they’re OK, and that troubles me. Are they happy? Are they safe? What are their parents like? Are they still together? Are they well? I just don’t know, and it’s unlikely I ever will, and it bugs me.’
‘But it’s not your worry, surely?’
‘Yes, it is,’ he said emphatically. ‘I know they aren’t technically my children, but in a way they are because without me they wouldn’t exist, so morally I feel responsible. What if they’re unhappy? What if someone’s hurting them? It’s unlikely, I know that, but still I worry. Of course I worry.’
‘But as you said, it’s highly unlikely and, anyway, you’ve signed over that right, that responsibility. They’re not your children, any more than this would be my child. I’m doing it for my sister, and I won’t have any rights, I know that because I’ll sign them all over to Isla and Steve when they adopt it, but I’m fine with that. That’s why I’m doing it, not because I want a child.’
His eyes widened and his jaw dropped a fraction. ‘You’re going to give it away?’ he said. ‘Iona, that’s—Will you be able to do that? It’s going to take so much courage. What if you change your mind when it comes to it? Are you able to change your mind?’
Her heart gave a little hiccup, but she ignored it. ‘I won’t change my mind, because there’s no room in my life for a child now, and I don’t know if there ever will be, and this is something I can do for Isla and Steve, and I want to help them because I love them.’
‘Yes, of course you do, but—’ He rammed a hand through his hair, his eyes troubled. ‘I only gave away my DNA and that feels hard enough sometimes. You’re talking about cradling your own baby inside your body for nine months! How will you be able to give it away, even if it is to your sister? I know you love her and you know her very well, so you know the baby will be safe and loved, but—what about you, Iona? How will you feel? And what if they split up? What if their marriage breaks down?’
‘It won’t! And this is my sister, Joe—my identical twin sister, so genetically it would be identical to a child of her own. It could be her own. It’ll be just like being the incubator for their own baby, and I want to do it for her because I love her and I want to help her—’
‘I know you do, but...?’
‘But? How many siblings do you have?’
‘None.’
‘None?’ She laughed disbelievingly. ‘None. So how can you possibly judge my motives?’
‘I can’t. I’m not judging your motives, I wouldn’t presume to do that and I’m sure you’re doing it for the all right reasons. I have immense respect for your courage in even contemplating it. I’m only thinking of the impact it would have on you, knowing how hard it’s been for me, and what I’ve done is nothing compared to what you’re talking about. Please tell me you’ve thought it through.’
‘I thought you were making me a coffee?’ she said, changing the subject abruptly, and he swore softly, threw away the one he’d made ages ago and dropped another capsule in the machine. Then he scrubbed a hand through his hair again and sighed as he turned back to her.
‘Sorry.’
‘Are you?’
He sighed again. ‘Yes and no. I know I keep banging the same old drum, Iona, but I’m really worried about you now.’
‘You really don’t need to be, Joe, I do know what I’m doing. It’s not an idle thought. I’ve researched it, I’ve considered it at length, discussed it endlessly—I’m