through to the other side of the house. The walls were lined with framed restaurant menus from when Dad used to drive through France on gastronomic blowouts. Sometimes I would accompany him and whoever his girlfriend was at the time. I remembered how Dad was on those trips, blasting the Stones on the car radio as he took those nasty, twisty corners much too fast. "You'll find your father is much better," Eliska said, going upstairs. The landing carpet was so thick that it absorbed the sound of your footfalls.
I knocked gently. "Fucking come in," said the voice.
Hooked up to the dialysis machine, he looked much worse than when I had last seen him. "Oh, it's you," he said. The leonine mane of hair had thinned and gone grey, and his cheeks were sunken and hollow. Christ, you've got it bad, I thought.
"Eliska said you were coming," he said. The blue digits on the dialysis machine kept changing. Beep beep. Beep beep. Eliska helped Dad struggle up in bed, rearranging his pillows.
"These pills make me feel horrible," he complained.
"You must last the course the doctor prescribed," said Eliska.
"So, I get to meet my daughter-in-law for the first time."
I said, "Dad, this is Emily. Emily, meet my father."
"Come closer, said the spider to the fly," said Dad. He laughed. "Well, come on then, let's have a butcher's."
Mole self-consciously moved towards him and Dad nodded approvingly.
"Not bad. Not bad at all. God knows why you want to be shacked up with him." He jerked his head towards me.
"Oh, he's not so bad," said Mole quietly.
"Parents and children always end up disappointing each other," I said, wanting to cut this conversation off. We chatted for a few minutes before I broached the real subject of our visit.
"Dad, there's something we need to tell you. We've been trying for a baby for the past few months, and it turns out we have fertility problems. We went to see a specialist a few days ago, and he recommended that we go down the surrogacy route, you know, hiring somebody to carry our baby."
"What do you want to do that for?" Dad said. "You only just got married, for fuck's sake. Your mother and I waited for years before we had you."
"My gynaecologist says the longer we leave it, the less chance we'll have," said Mole. "I suffer from an overactive immune system. The thing is, Ronnie, I got pregnant before – my body rejected it ... this is the only chance we have." I wanted to reach out and hold her hand, telling her everything was going to be okay.
"Can't you have treatment or something like that?"
"My doctor says not. Or at least, it wouldn't work. It was he who suggested going down the surrogacy route."
"What happens if this woman wants to keep the baby? What are you going to do then? I can't tell you the number of girls I've lost who said they were coming back to work after maternity leave. Women's feelings change once they've given birth."
This was a turn in the conversation I had already seen off because I had rehearsed it in my head so many times. "There's no chance of that. The clinic makes us sign a legal agreement." This was not entirely true. Wallace-Jones admitted that even though parents and the surrogate sign a document, it is not legally binding. "Everything is set in stone. It's purely a financial transaction."
"You could always adopt," ventured Eliska.
I turned to her. "We've been through that. If we adopt, it still wouldn't be ours, really." I was trying hard to keep exasperation out of my voice. "Hundreds of couples do this each year. I really don’t see what the problem is." Mole subtly motioned for me to calm down.
"How much will this cost?" said Dad. "These things aren't cheap, are they?"
"It doesn't matter how much it costs," I said evasively. "How can you put a value on having a child?"
"Well, if that's how you feel, there's nothing I can do to stop you," said Dad magnanimously. You could tell he was hurt we hadn't consulted him before. "While I've got you 'ere, there's something we
I knocked gently. "Fucking come in," said the voice.
Hooked up to the dialysis machine, he looked much worse than when I had last seen him. "Oh, it's you," he said. The leonine mane of hair had thinned and gone grey, and his cheeks were sunken and hollow. Christ, you've got it bad, I thought.
"Eliska said you were coming," he said. The blue digits on the dialysis machine kept changing. Beep beep. Beep beep. Eliska helped Dad struggle up in bed, rearranging his pillows.
"These pills make me feel horrible," he complained.
"You must last the course the doctor prescribed," said Eliska.
"So, I get to meet my daughter-in-law for the first time."
I said, "Dad, this is Emily. Emily, meet my father."
"Come closer, said the spider to the fly," said Dad. He laughed. "Well, come on then, let's have a butcher's."
Mole self-consciously moved towards him and Dad nodded approvingly.
"Not bad. Not bad at all. God knows why you want to be shacked up with him." He jerked his head towards me.
"Oh, he's not so bad," said Mole quietly.
"Parents and children always end up disappointing each other," I said, wanting to cut this conversation off. We chatted for a few minutes before I broached the real subject of our visit.
"Dad, there's something we need to tell you. We've been trying for a baby for the past few months, and it turns out we have fertility problems. We went to see a specialist a few days ago, and he recommended that we go down the surrogacy route, you know, hiring somebody to carry our baby."
"What do you want to do that for?" Dad said. "You only just got married, for fuck's sake. Your mother and I waited for years before we had you."
"My gynaecologist says the longer we leave it, the less chance we'll have," said Mole. "I suffer from an overactive immune system. The thing is, Ronnie, I got pregnant before – my body rejected it ... this is the only chance we have." I wanted to reach out and hold her hand, telling her everything was going to be okay.
"Can't you have treatment or something like that?"
"My doctor says not. Or at least, it wouldn't work. It was he who suggested going down the surrogacy route."
"What happens if this woman wants to keep the baby? What are you going to do then? I can't tell you the number of girls I've lost who said they were coming back to work after maternity leave. Women's feelings change once they've given birth."
This was a turn in the conversation I had already seen off because I had rehearsed it in my head so many times. "There's no chance of that. The clinic makes us sign a legal agreement." This was not entirely true. Wallace-Jones admitted that even though parents and the surrogate sign a document, it is not legally binding. "Everything is set in stone. It's purely a financial transaction."
"You could always adopt," ventured Eliska.
I turned to her. "We've been through that. If we adopt, it still wouldn't be ours, really." I was trying hard to keep exasperation out of my voice. "Hundreds of couples do this each year. I really don’t see what the problem is." Mole subtly motioned for me to calm down.
"How much will this cost?" said Dad. "These things aren't cheap, are they?"
"It doesn't matter how much it costs," I said evasively. "How can you put a value on having a child?"
"Well, if that's how you feel, there's nothing I can do to stop you," said Dad magnanimously. You could tell he was hurt we hadn't consulted him before. "While I've got you 'ere, there's something we
Similar Books
It's Always Darkest Before the Fridge Door Opens: Enjoying the Fruits of Middle Age
Phil Callaway, Martha O. Bolton
