Page 84 of The Mother-in-Law

‘There is altruistic surrogacy here. Where a friend or family member offers to do it. I asked Lucy, but she wasn’t open to the idea.’ Nettie is speaking quickly; she sounds almost manic. Her hands, I notice, are shaking. ‘And it’s illegal to be a surrogate for financial gain. The most common way, and the route our doctor suggested, is to source a donor egg from India and pay a surrogate in the USA. The thing is . . . it’s not cheap. The process, including the eggs, the insemination, the surrogate’s medical expenses and fees, our travel . . . it will all come to well over a hundred thousand.’

She finally pauses, takes a breath. Her eyes lock on mine.

‘A hundred thousanddollars?’ I stare at her. ‘Can you afford that?’

Nettie holds my gaze. ‘No. But you can.’

I put my teacup back in its saucer. Suddenly I understand the purpose of the visit. I feel a little foolish that it’s taken me this long.

‘You wouldn’t even miss the money,’ she says, already countering my yet-to-vocalise arguments. ‘And it would be a grandchild!’

‘But what if it didn’t work?’ I say, turning it over in my mind. ‘What if we found a surrogate and you implanted an embryo and it didn’t . . . take? What then?’

‘We’ll try again.’

‘How many times, Nettie? At a hundred thousand dollars per go?’

She shrugs as if it’s a minor detail, something that can be ironed out later. ‘As many as it takes, I guess.’

How have I not seen this? I knew she was desperate to have a baby, I suspected she might even be depressed because of it. But today I wonder if it’s more than that. If it’s the beginning—or middle—of a descent into madness.

‘So what you’re really asking me for,’ I say carefully, ‘is access to unlimited funds.’

‘This is my last chance. I need you, Mum.’

All at once I’m back at Orchard House, sitting opposite my mother, begging. Begging for my baby.I close my eyes, take a breath.

‘I’ll think about it, okay?’

55

DIANA

The past . . .

I’m standing in the dining room sorting through donations of baby clothes when I hear the distinct sound of footsteps on the parquetry floor. I go very still. The footsteps are heavier than Nettie’s, less precise and careful. It is in moments like these that I see my vulnerability—an older woman alone in a cavernous house—and it feels like a shock. I creep a few steps toward the double doors and catch a glimpse of a huge, lumbering shadow.

‘Oh.’ I find my heart. ‘Patrick, it’s you.’

‘Sorry to sneak up on you,’ he says. ‘The door was unlocked.’

Patrick doesn’t often drop by for a visit. I’m not sure heeverhas without Nettie.

‘I need to talk to you about Nettie,’ he says.

He pulls out the chair closest to me and sits. I remain standing.

‘What’s wrong with Nettie?’ I ask.

Patrick raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you seriously asking what is wrong with Nettie?’

As I recover from my surprise, irritation kicks in. Patrick has a nerve coming here, speaking to me like this, when everyone in the world knows he’s messing around on my daughter. ‘This is about the surrogacy?’ I upend a new bag of baby clothes onto the table.

‘What else?’ Absently, Patrick picks up a tiny knitted jacket. ‘I’m assuming Nettie has her wires crossed because she says you’re thinking about paying for it.’

I fold a onesie and put it into the newborn pile. ‘And you’ve come to plead your case?’

‘Actually I’ve come to plead the opposite.’