“Come on then, you lot. Let’s get some hot tea in you.” He motions to the house and shepherds us inside, Phil, still filming, bringing up the rear.
We leave them to it as the light starts to fade, and make our way to the glamorous lights of Folkestone and the Premier Inn, where we’ll be sleeping tonight.
Nothing’s Premier here except the prices. The soap is antibacterial foam that comes out of a wall dispenser. I call Mark, almost reluctantly. I feel so awful about hurting him yesterday, but he’ll be worried, so I force myself to call. Mark tells me he’s had some terrific news about the business. A potential client got in touchtoday; he’d heard about Mark’s new firm through a colleague and he said he’d be looking to move over to Mark once he’s up and running. Plus, Hector has confirmed he’s definitely going to move companies; he’s delighted to be joining Mark. It’s going to be a new start for both of them. I’m so glad he’s decided to take matters into his own hands. He’s had no new ideas about the diamonds; he’s been too busy. I tell him we’ll work something out, we always do. We just need to hold tight. I just need to finish here with Alexa and get through Eddie’s filming on Saturday. Then I’ll have time to work something out.
This new company is a real lifeline for Mark. The job market is dead right now, and I really don’t know what he would have done without this. I kiss him goodnight down the phone and go to sleep on my rock-hard bed, smiling like an idiot.
—
Alexa’s fertility clinic appointment is at 10:35 the next morning back in London. It seems funny that since we last spoke about getting pregnant, I am pregnant. My secret passenger will be joining us on our visit.
Alexa is quiet this morning, nervous, her hands tightly clasped as we sit in the Lister Hospital’s waiting room. We have permission to film today’s doctor’s appointment. I’ve done some reading around fertility, but I have no idea what to expect really.
—
After a certain amount of reshuffling we all manage to squeeze ourselves and the filming equipment into the small consultancy room.
Dr. Prahani, a well-groomed doctor in her forties with a reassuringly serious smile, offers Alexa a seat.
She folds her manicured hands and rests them lightly over Alexa’s paperwork, which covers her desk.
“Now, the main aim of our consultation today is to ascertain whether you actually need IVF treatment or if we can proceed with the less invasive method of insemination, IUI for short. IUI is much simpler than IVF; it’s the process of selecting the best sperm from your selected donor sample in the lab and then introducing that sample directly into your uterus via a catheter. It would be a very minimal, noninvasive process, which we could do for you in about five minutes. Obviously that would be our preferred method!”
Alexa raises her eyebrows hopefully and nods in hypothetical agreement.
The tests are easy and surprisingly quick. A vial of blood is taken. Then the curtain around the bed is drawn and Phil, Duncan and I watch the extra monitor as it shows grainy black-and-white footage of Alexa’s uterus.
It’s funny how little we all know about fertility, pregnancy. It’s the single most important subject for the whole of humanity and yet I feel like I’m trying to read Urdu.
Her egg count is good. Alexa’s body softens in relief. They’ll need to get her AMH levels back from the blood work tomorrow to be sure, but it looks very promising so far.
—
We hug outside the clinic. I’ve somehow slipped from professional to personal with her. It’s been an emotionaltwo days. Alexa jokes that she’d like to keep Duncan as her emotional support animal. I laugh. She’s funny. And Duncan does have a pretty outdoorsy beard these days. I arrange to Skype her, off the record, tomorrow night once she’s back in Kent. See how she’s doing.
It’s strange; I feel like I know her. Really know her. And I feel like she might know me. She falls somewhere between my old life and this new one I’m creating. Alexa seems more alive than anyone I’ve ever met. And suddenly I realize I care very much what happens to her next.
28
Friday, September 23,a.m.
Strange Things
When I got home yesterday, Mark was working in his study. He stopped when I came in and we went and sat in the kitchen together. We’d been given tea bags and biscuits from Fortnum & Mason as a wedding gift, so I made us a pot. He only managed a few sips and a bite of orange rind biscuit. I don’t know why, but being away from him, even for a night, made me desperate for him. I led him upstairs and we made love as the daylight faded. Perhaps it’s all these new hormones; that, and the fact that we hadn’t slept together since Geneva five days previous. As I’ve said before, disgusting as it may seem, that’s a long time for us. I needed it. I hadn’t known I needed it but I did. After, as we lay tangled together on the sheets, I thought about telling him. About our baby. But I couldn’t seem to form the words. I didn’t want tospoil the moment. I didn’t want him to stop me trying to do what I need to do. And it’s still early days. The pregnancy may come to nothing. Anyway, I’ve made a promise to myself: I will go to the doctor and I will tell Mark everything, as soon as the diamonds are out of our house and we’re safe.
—
In preparation for Eddie’s interview tomorrow, I was called to Pentonville Prison at seven forty-five this morning. It’s been a week of early starts.
As Pentonville is a male facility, I’ve been told there are a few slightly different angles I need to be aware of, as I can now imagine. For example, I’ve been told to wear trousers tomorrow, that sort of thing. Best not to analyze it.
After a lot of listening, nodding, and paper signing, I make it out of the final security door and back into the icy wind on Roman Road. I wrap myself up in my coat, winding my scarf tight, trying to remember where I need to be next, when a voice behind me calls out.
“Excuse me? Hello?”
I pivot back toward the gates to see a friendly looking man in a suit jogging toward me.
“Sorry, one second—sorry to slow you down there,” he huffs, ruddy-cheeked in the cold, his hand extended. “Patrick.”
