Page 93 of The Way We Are Now

‘And that’s your answer to all this, is it? You’re not going to try and find out whose sperm won the race!’

‘Stop it, Michael, that’s beneath you.’

‘Well, you’ve clearly been beneath more than me.’ He smirked nastily. ‘Oh, sorry, the missionary position a bit too vanilla for you when you’re having an affair?’

‘Michael, I really am going to have to ask you to leave.’

‘Got to go anyway. Already missed the flight to Belfast.’

‘Leave it until you get back,’ I pleaded, ‘and you’re not nursing a hangover.’

‘A paternity test,’ he repeated, holding my eye.

‘But I can’t do that until the baby’s born.’

‘Amniocentesis,’ Michael said in some triumph. ‘Rebecca – my ex – informed me. And at your age, I would expect you to be having one. You know, make sure you’re not having a child with Down’s syndrome.’

I immediately thought of Mary, Theo’s sister. Lovely, kind, funny Mary who had just as much right to be on this planet as the next person. Actually, take that back: some of the bastards who’d ruined my clients’ lives through harassment, stalking, assault and rape did not deserve to breathe the same air as anyone on this planet.

‘Sorry, Michael? You were saying?’ I came back to the present, realised Michael was still in full flow.

‘Amnio. Apparently a sample is taken from around the baby…’

‘Michael,’ I said firmly, ‘a pregnant woman can’t have an amnio until she’s at least fifteen weeks pregnant – often more. As I’m, at my reckoning, only about eight weeks pregnant, you’d have to wait a lot longer to confirm what you want to know.’

‘Can you blame me?’ Michael said crossly. ‘Surely you must want to know who the father is?’

‘I’m the mother,’ I said quietly. ‘Look, Michael, I’ve messed up big time. The only way forward I can see at the moment is to remove myself from both you and Theo and sort the situation myself. I’ve got myself into it and I need to live with the consequences. That’s enough for me at the moment. Oh, and just so you know, I won’t be having an amnio to test for Down’s syndrome.’

‘But surely?’ Michael’s eyebrows were up at ninety degrees.

‘Are you trying to tell me you’d want nothing to do with a child with some sort of disability?’

‘I’m not, I… no… I don’t know.’ Michael dropped his gaze and then looked at his watch. ‘Hell, I really must go. I’ve a meeting this afternoon at Stormont.’

‘I’m sorry, Michael. I really am.’

He stood up. ‘Yes, you keep saying. I’ll speak to you at the end of the week when I’m home.’

Well, it was certainly a day for visitors.

By mid-afternoon I’d been to the loo for what must have been the fifteenth time. I felt drained, headachy and stressed and just wanted to go home. To be by myself and go to bed.

‘Gemma, I’ve no one else booked in, have I?’ I almost pleaded on the last loo trip. ‘I’m going home to work.’

‘OK.’

Five minutes later, as I was packing my briefcase and reaching for my jacket, Gemma popped her head back round the door.

‘A Ms Lennox to see you.’

‘Who?’

‘New client? Says it’s important.’

‘Sorry, tell her I’m leaving. I’ve got a meeting somewhere. Make her an appointment for the next couple of days.’

‘She says it’s really important and she has to see you. Says you’ll know what it’s about.’