logs. ‘I already got a little something for Rich,’ she admits, ‘but for
you
, it’s going to be a book token, you know.’ She calls into the kitchen: ‘Unless you can suggest something else?’
‘There isn’t anything, Scarlett,’ I try to say, but the words stick in my throat.
‘Remember the year we planned to hijack Father Christmas on his way down the chimney?’ she remembers suddenly. ‘We set that booby trap with a bag of flour.’
‘You
set the booby trap,’ I remind her. ‘And I was the one who ended up poking around in the dark with a coat hanger trying to dislodge it before anyone found out…’
‘I held the torch!’ she protests. ‘I kept thinking if Santa comesin and finds us we’ll be doomed – we’ll lose it all. I was terrified of getting caught.’
‘I’m surprised you still remember that.’ I come out of the kitchen with the mixing bowl still in my hand. Is she still going to give me a hand with tonight’s dinner like she promised? ‘You were always getting in scrapes when you were a kid. You’ve been addicted to danger all your life, haven’t you?’ I smile as she comes up and prods me in the ribs.
‘It’s not the danger I’m addicted to, believe me. I’ve just got this terrible…’ her eyes roll upwards, searching for the words, ‘This huge
urge
that always pushes me towards getting what I want. If something’s on my mind, I find I can’t stop thinking about it till it’s mine. Whereas you, darling sister, are precisely the opposite. You never even
want
anything, do you? I’ve
got
to get you something for Christmas, there’s only a couple of hours before the shops shut. If only there was something you really
wanted
…’
I look into my mixing bowl and give it a little stir but my heart isn’t in it. I can’t ask her. I can’t.
‘There
is
something, isn’t there?’ She’s looking at me triumphantly now. ‘I’ve sussed you out! There’s something you want and you’re not saying. Tell me.’ She shakes my hands insistently. ‘Spit it out! In fact, I promise you right now the answer’s yes, so don’t be coy.’ She does her Jane Austen impression, shaking an imaginary fan in front of her face. ‘Anything you want, dear sister…’
‘It’s not quite that simple,’ I croak. I wish that it was. ‘Look, there is something I want. I mean, something you could do for me, but it would involve a huge sacrifice on your part. And it wouldn’t be fair to ask you because your own life is really cooking at the moment – you’ve got everything going on, haven’t you?’
I bite my lower lip as my sister pressures me further. ‘Ask, Hollie. Just ask. You never know your luck. How much does it cost?’ she teases.
‘It’ll cost you not a penny,’ I breathe at last. ‘But maybe a hell of a lot more than that. What I want will cost you perhaps a whole year of your life…’
Scarlett
‘So, let me get this clear…there are these surrogate women in India…’I look up from the BabyinIndia leaflet which she’s just placed in my lap ‘…but you’re telling me that this route isn’t any good for you because…?’
‘Because of the low quality of my eggs.’ Hollie’s voice is subdued.
‘Bummer,’ I console. But where do I fit into any of this? My sister doesn’t expand, even when I open up my hands in a gesture of
where are we going with this?
‘I don’t understand,’ I concede after a while, but a huge silence has opened up in the room. Right now Flo’s old grandmother clock in the hallway is the only thing that’s making any sound at all. Even the fire crackling in the grate seems to be burning lower. I skim over Dr Shandaree’s letter again. Then the penny drops.
‘You’d like me to donate my eggs?’ I say at last. ‘Is that it?’
Of course, that way the baby will be as genetically similar to her as possible.
I didn’t see that coming. When I said I’d give her anything I never thought she’d be asking for anything
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