Read Online The Making of Us by Lisa Jewell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Jewell
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certain, her mother had a hard mouth, lips like tramlines. And her father, well, obviously she hadn’t got her mouth from him, because he wasn’t her real father and her mother had never met her real father so she had no idea what sort of face he might have had. Full-lipped, she’d have to assume. Full-lipped and dark, with cheekbones like boomerangs.
She knew a few things about her real dad. He was French. Lived in London. A medical student. And not just any old medicine but children’s medicine. How amazing did he sound? And he was a – what was it they’d called him, her mum and dad? – an altruist . That’s right. He worked with sick children and he gave his sperm away to strangers. Which was quite funny because apparently altruism was also something that occurred in the animal world where a creature forwent its own comfort and safety to ensure the dissemination of its genes. Not necessarily by giving its sperm to lady animals, but just, you know, looking out for its own kind. Anyway, he sounded like the nicest man in the whole world and Robyn was never going to meet him but she loved him all the same, loved him for his altruism and for making her the way she was, so pretty and clever and everything.
Everyone knew that Robyn’s dad was a sperm donor. It was no biggie. There were three completely separate people at Robyn’s school who lived with gay parents, you know, two mums or two dads, and there was a kid in year ten who was having hormone therapy to turn him into a girl, so really, all in all, an anonymous dad was totally nothing. Half the kids at the youth project round the corner probably had anonymous dads but Robyn would bet that theirs weren’t French paediatricians.
Her phone vibrated across the top of her dressing table. She grabbed it.
‘Nush! Fuck! Did you get home all right? Christ, I thought that bloke was stalking you. Yeah, that weird one. I mean, did he have an actual forked tongue or was I just imagining that? Ha-ha! Yeah, no, I feel fine, you know me. Liver of steel. Yeah. Yeah. It was brilliant, wasn’t it? Seriously brilliant. Totally. I know. Today? Oh, nothing much, lunch out with Mum and Dad and my aunty and cousins and stuff. Roast at the Hog’s Head. No, it’ll be nice. I’m wearing that dress from Kookai, you know, the one with the sash thing round the waist. Hair up, it’ll have to be … aw, and thanks for the beautiful necklace, it’s so gorgeous. I love it. I love you. Yeah, I do! I love you, Nush! I love you so much that it makes bluebirds fly around my heart. Yeah. Right now. They’re flying round and round it right now, can’t you hear them tweeting – listen …’
At the Hog’s Head later that day, Robyn felt like a celebrity. She’d been coming to the Hog’s Head with her mum and dad since she was a few months old and everyone round here knew her. Everyone had known about Robyn since before she was even born. There was a newspaper clipping on the wall in her bedroom headlined: Baby Joy for Tragic Buckhurst Couple . It was illustrated with a photograph of her mum with really bad hair sitting on the sofa in their old house, cupping her baby bump, with her dad stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder. They didn’t look much like they were in the throes of baby joy, they looked really old and really tragic, but then they’d had a tragic few years and Robyn didn’t suppose they were ready to look really happy just yet. Robyn’s mum always said she wouldn’t believe it was going to be OK until she’d held her baby in her arms. Understandable really, given what they’d gone through. But it was Dad’s face in that photo that was really interesting to Robyn. What must he have been feeling, knowing that that wasn’t his baby inside his wife?
She sat on his lap now, her big lovely dad. He was solid, like an armchair, and he smelled of pillows and fabric conditioner. They were having a happy time. They were a happy family. She kissed him on the cheek
She knew a few things about her real dad. He was French. Lived in London. A medical student. And not just any old medicine but children’s medicine. How amazing did he sound? And he was a – what was it they’d called him, her mum and dad? – an altruist . That’s right. He worked with sick children and he gave his sperm away to strangers. Which was quite funny because apparently altruism was also something that occurred in the animal world where a creature forwent its own comfort and safety to ensure the dissemination of its genes. Not necessarily by giving its sperm to lady animals, but just, you know, looking out for its own kind. Anyway, he sounded like the nicest man in the whole world and Robyn was never going to meet him but she loved him all the same, loved him for his altruism and for making her the way she was, so pretty and clever and everything.
Everyone knew that Robyn’s dad was a sperm donor. It was no biggie. There were three completely separate people at Robyn’s school who lived with gay parents, you know, two mums or two dads, and there was a kid in year ten who was having hormone therapy to turn him into a girl, so really, all in all, an anonymous dad was totally nothing. Half the kids at the youth project round the corner probably had anonymous dads but Robyn would bet that theirs weren’t French paediatricians.
Her phone vibrated across the top of her dressing table. She grabbed it.
‘Nush! Fuck! Did you get home all right? Christ, I thought that bloke was stalking you. Yeah, that weird one. I mean, did he have an actual forked tongue or was I just imagining that? Ha-ha! Yeah, no, I feel fine, you know me. Liver of steel. Yeah. Yeah. It was brilliant, wasn’t it? Seriously brilliant. Totally. I know. Today? Oh, nothing much, lunch out with Mum and Dad and my aunty and cousins and stuff. Roast at the Hog’s Head. No, it’ll be nice. I’m wearing that dress from Kookai, you know, the one with the sash thing round the waist. Hair up, it’ll have to be … aw, and thanks for the beautiful necklace, it’s so gorgeous. I love it. I love you. Yeah, I do! I love you, Nush! I love you so much that it makes bluebirds fly around my heart. Yeah. Right now. They’re flying round and round it right now, can’t you hear them tweeting – listen …’
At the Hog’s Head later that day, Robyn felt like a celebrity. She’d been coming to the Hog’s Head with her mum and dad since she was a few months old and everyone round here knew her. Everyone had known about Robyn since before she was even born. There was a newspaper clipping on the wall in her bedroom headlined: Baby Joy for Tragic Buckhurst Couple . It was illustrated with a photograph of her mum with really bad hair sitting on the sofa in their old house, cupping her baby bump, with her dad stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder. They didn’t look much like they were in the throes of baby joy, they looked really old and really tragic, but then they’d had a tragic few years and Robyn didn’t suppose they were ready to look really happy just yet. Robyn’s mum always said she wouldn’t believe it was going to be OK until she’d held her baby in her arms. Understandable really, given what they’d gone through. But it was Dad’s face in that photo that was really interesting to Robyn. What must he have been feeling, knowing that that wasn’t his baby inside his wife?
She sat on his lap now, her big lovely dad. He was solid, like an armchair, and he smelled of pillows and fabric conditioner. They were having a happy time. They were a happy family. She kissed him on the cheek
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