For Our Children's Sake. Natasha Oakley
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looked at him blindly. His name obviously meant nothing to her. Why should it? He wasn’t arrogant enough to assume she’d recognise it from the television documentary he’d made two years previously, and even if she were one half of the couple he’d hoped to see there was no reason she should know his name. The hospital had been scrupulous in keeping that information secret. He tried another tack. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’
She’d begun to shake her head even before he’d finished speaking. ‘Nothing. I’ll be fine. Thanks for this, though,’ she said with a small brave smile, before turning away to walk down the steps.
It was something in the way she smiled, or turned, perhaps, but he couldn’t let her go. Dominic quickly walked down the steps beside her. ‘I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I have to ask.’
She turned and looked back up at him, her brown eyes troubled and a little scared.
Dominic took a deep breath. He was going to sound stupid but he couldn’t let this chance escape him. Before they knew it they were going to be overtaken by people whose concern was the legalities. There was just a small chance for him to take control—now, before all their lives were blighted more than they already were.
‘Have you by any chance just been told your daughter isn’t yours?’ he asked in a rush, before his courage failed. He saw the way her mouth moved in a soundless exclamation and rushed on. ‘My wife and I received IVF treatment seven years ago and I’ve just discovered the embryo used…’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish the words. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not even sure what I’m doing here.’
‘Lucy Grayford.’
Dominic turned back and looked at her.
‘My name is Lucy Grayford,’ she said slowly. ‘And, yes. Yes, I have.’
They stood in complete silence, each searching for some kind of truth in the face of the other. Dominic took a shaky breath. ‘I’m glad to meet you.’ He stepped down the final step. ‘My name is Dominic Grayling,’ he repeated, certain this time she’d actually heard him.
Her eyes never left his face. She was like a scared fawn. Her dark eyes were frightened and her whole body was tense.
‘I think perhaps we ought to talk.’
She nodded.
He wanted to put her at ease, and yet what could he say that would make this any easier to bear? It was as though a door had opened to hell itself. And here they were, two strangers brought together by a human tragedy with no easy way to navigate a path through it.
‘There’s a park around the corner. Perhaps that would be best. There’s a place to get coffee nearby. Perhaps that would be better than—’ He broke off again. They were complete strangers. Why should she agree to this? He could be anyone. Some strange crank. ‘Or would you rather leave it for another time?’ He reached into his pocket to pull out a notepad and pen. ‘I could give you my number. We could talk later. When you’ve had time to think about it.’ He started to write.
‘No.’ He looked up as she spoke. She shook her head firmly. ‘I don’t want to go home yet.’
That was a feeling he understood. He knew how hard it was to discover the child you loved, believed was your own, was not. And, knowing that, you then had to go home and pretend nothing had changed. That the centre of your world hadn’t been ripped out and shredded as though it were some discarded document. He’d walked out of this same hospital and wandered in the rain for over two hours before he’d summoned up enough courage to take himself back to Abby.
‘I’d rather talk.’
He nodded. With tacit agreement they turned and walked along the pavement. Despite her words neither spoke but, in the strangest way, the silence was comforting.
Lucy put her hands deep in her coat pockets and let the wind dry the tears on her face. The pain had settled deep within her heart and she felt cold. Frightened. Nothing in her life had ever prepared her for this.
Covertly she looked up at Dominic Grayling. In any other circumstances he might have been an attractive kind of man. Handsome, even. He was tall, loose-limbed and wiry, with an intelligent face and kind eyes. Not particularly like Chloe, though, she thought. She was much fairer; her hair was a shining curtain of ash blonde. Yet maybe there was something indefinably like her in this man. Perhaps in the shape of his face? An expression?
Who knew why she’d agreed to talk to him? Surely she’d have been more sensible to wait until the professionals were involved. They’d be able to work out a way through this nightmare. And yet…Dominic’s eyes told her he shared her pain, understood what she was feeling. Dr Shorrock, with all his calm, professional detachment, hadn’t even touched on the agony she was feeling.
‘We can get a coffee here.’
His deep voice broke into her thoughts and she looked up to see him pointing across the road at a narrow shop frontage with a chipped sign above reading Sarah’s Teas.
‘Fine.’
They crossed the road and Dominic held open the door to allow her to pass before him. The shop was full, a lunchtime crowd of busy, bustling people. Some were sitting round melamine tables reading newspapers over limp sandwiches. All infuriatingly normal. Yet here she was with her life in tatters.
‘How do you like your coffee?’
‘Coffee?’ she repeated stupidly, until her mind shifted back into gear. Oh, yes, she was going to have coffee. ‘White, one sugar.’
Lucy turned back to look at the room and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her reflection looked normal. That surprised her. Was that what everyone else saw? How strange. Surely if the world as you knew it had just ended, something of that should show on your face? Was that why everyone had gone on and on saying how well she’d looked after Michael had died? It had puzzled her at the time.
‘Coffee.’ Dominic’s voice interrupted her as he held out a cardboard cup with a plastic lid on top.
Once again his eyes held complete understanding. They were nice eyes. Steely blue with golden flecks like sunshine. You could trust eyes like that. She took the cup. ‘Thank you.’
‘The park is round the corner. It’s not too far.’
Lucy didn’t care. She’d have followed him anywhere at this moment. Just knowing she didn’t have to make a decision was enough. Her brain couldn’t cope with anything. He wanted to walk in a park—she’d walk in a park.
It wasn’t much of a park. It was smaller than the ones near her home, surrounded by high iron railings and hemmed in by densely packed housing. The concrete walls of a nearby high-rise were covered with graffiti. An ugly place, she thought with a curious detachment.
‘We could sit on the bench over there,’ he said, and pointed at a wooden seat underneath some old oak trees. His kind eyes glanced down at her. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this to you. It’s too soon. You’re still in shock.’
‘I’ll always be in shock.’
An almost imperceptible nod of the head before he turned and walked towards the seat.
‘Do you want to tell me what they told you?’ he asked as she sat next to him.
Lucy shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘Not yet.’
‘No,’ he agreed, and in that one word she could feel his compassion.
She watched him take the lid off his coffee and sip.
He looked up and caught her watching. ‘Drink your coffee. At least it’s hot.’
‘Everyone seems to want me to drink something. The nurse back at the hospital kept wanting me to have tea.’
His smile was gentle. With fingers that trembled slightly she struggled with the plastic