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‘Yes, I do…’ That much was true.
‘So you should come along. Meet some other mums. It can be lonely, can’t it?’
‘Yes…’ I was starting to feel out of my depth. I never should have gone along with being Alice’s mum. Then the woman leaned closer to look at her.
‘Wow, she’s the spitting image of you, isn’t she? Those dimples. Adorable. And the same eyes and chin.’
‘Thanks,’ I murmured. ‘And I’ll definitely think about the Thursday group.’
As soon as she’d left with a cheery wave, I peered into the pram. Did Alice really have my chin? Then I felt a curdling rush of guilt. What had I been thinking, having that conversation? Acting as if I were Alice’s mother, if just by silence?
I got up abruptly, pushing Alice out of the park as if a bunch of real mothers were chasing me, accusing me of being the fake I knew I was. Of course I couldn’t go to the group, not without explaining. And yet, as I pushed Alice along, I knew I wanted to.
But I didn’t go. I knew it would be a mistake. And what if Milly decided she would go one day, once she had come home? Because she would come home, I knew that. I had to keep reminding myself: this was a dreamtime, suspended and separate from reality. At some point it was going to end, and I was going to wake up.
Then, one evening when Milly had been gone for over a week, I came downstairs from settling Alice to sleep, and saw Matt slumped in the sitting room, a nearly empty bottle of beer on the table next to him. I doubted it was his first.
‘Maybe this has all been a mistake.’ He spoke into the stillness, staring into the distance. I hesitated on the bottom step, unsure if he was talking to me.
Over the last week, Matt and I had developed our own separate routines. In the evening, when Alice was settled, he worked or watched telly, and I read or surfed online or slept. We didn’t hang out together too much, by silent agreement. He didn’t even spend that much time with Alice, content to give her a feed and a cuddle in the evening at most. So I stood there, unsure how to respond.
Then he turned to me. ‘Anna? Do you think it was a mistake?’
‘What was a mistake?’ I came into the sitting room and perched on the edge of a chair. Matt took a final slug of his beer.
‘This whole thing. The IVF. The sperm and egg donation. All of it.’
Each sentence echoed hollowly within me. ‘What do you mean, Matt?’
He gazed at me blearily, clearly exhausted by everything, overwhelmed. We hadn’t really talked about Milly; I didn’t know how she was doing, besides the basics – that she had agreed to take antidepressants, that her parents were supporting her. Both good things. ‘What do you mean, Matt?’
‘I don’t know.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Just that… it feels like this is retribution somehow. There we were, playing God, making some kind of designer baby, not caring what the cost was, or who would be involved. Affected.’
I remained silent, trying to piece together his disjointed thoughts. ‘You weren’t making a designer baby,’ I finally said. ‘You just wanted a child.’
‘But don’t you wonder if technology has got the better of us? Who are we, to manipulate life that way? I mean…’ He shook his head. ‘I just wonder, if we hadn’t gone down this route in the first place…’ He paused, the silence heavy. ‘Perhaps Milly wasn’t meant to be a mother.’
The words felt like a slamming door, the sound echoing all around us.
‘Sorry,’ Matt muttered, clearly appalled by what he had just said. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘I know you didn’t. Matt, you’re tired, and this is all so overwhelming. Give yourself a break.’
He covered his face with his hands as he let out a ragged sigh. ‘You have no idea, Anna. I feel so completely spent…’
‘That’s understandable.’
‘But I can’t be. I need to be stronger than this.’ He sounded angry, and I knew it was directed at himself.
‘How is Milly, Matt? Do you… do you think she’ll come home soon?’
‘I hope so. I keep asking her.’
‘And the medication…?’
‘I think it’s helping a bit. She sleeps a lot, and she doesn’t always want to talk. To tell the truth, I can’t imagine her back here yet, taking care of Alice. I don’t think she can imagine it, either.’
‘But one day, certainly…’ My mind was racing, already wondering how much time I had left. I knew, I absolutely knew, I shouldn’t have been thinking that way, but I was.
