Coincidences (7 page)

‘I’m just not sure we’re
going about it the right way. We don’t know Miranda.’

‘Well, we’ll be meeting her
soon, and then I’m sure we’ll be able to get an idea about whether she can be
trusted or not. You do still want to meet her?’

Roger stood up and looked
down at her. ‘What do we tell the child when it grows up? Are we going to
pretend that you are its real mother?’

‘I hadn’t thought about
that.’

‘It’s something we have to
think about. If we do go ahead with this plan, I think we should tell the truth
to the child; tell him or her about the surrogacy agreement.’

Stephanie felt as if her
dream was being watered down with a dose of reality. She wanted a child of her
own and had seen the surrogacy agreement as a way of getting that—after all,
Miranda didn’t want the child; it would only be born because Stephanie had
asked for it. ‘Would it be absolutely necessary to tell the child? Wouldn’t it
be better to say that we are the real parents?’

‘No,’ said Roger, sitting on
the edge of the sofa. ‘That wouldn’t be right. The child should be told.’

‘We can deal with that when
the time is right. The child would have to be old enough to understand.’

‘I think you’re living in
some fairy-tale land, Stephanie. You do realise that this child won’t be yours,
and you can’t buy a child and pretend it’s yours?’

His words further diluted her
dream. ‘Why are you being like this?’

‘Like what? Realistic?’

‘No. You’re treating me as if
I’m stupid.’

‘I know what you’re like,
Steph. I won’t agree to this surrogacy arrangement unless you agree that we’ll
do things properly. I want this child to know everything when he or she is old
enough. Everyone has a right to know who their real parents are.’

‘Okay.’ Stephanie stood up.
‘I never said we wouldn’t tell the child about the surrogacy’. But deep inside
she was questioning why it was necessary. Miranda didn’t want the child; why
should she have any rights?

Reflecting on her thoughts, Stephanie realised that if
she’d still been with Roger, Alice would probably have known about Miranda by
now. She began to question herself. Had she been selfish, keeping the truth
from Alice for so long?

Lying in bed, she thought back
to the one and only occasion she had come close to telling Alice everything.
Alice had been thirteen years old. It was late October or early November; the
leaves were falling from the trees outside. Alice and Stephanie sat together
close to the gas fire. They had made some popcorn and settled down to watch a
rented video. Alice had chosen the video on the way home from school. It was a
popular film amongst her school friends; the story of an orphan girl, adopted
and brought up by a couple who treated her badly. The girl had eventually
managed to run away. Thinking back, Stephanie could not remember the details of
the film, but the thing that stayed in her memory was the conversation she’d
had with Alice that night.

‘What did you think of the film, Mum?’ Alice asked,
cheerfully, as she pressed the rewind button on the video recorder. ‘It was
good, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, darling, it was very
good,’ Stephanie said, wiping away tears.

‘Typical of you to cry at the
end.’ Alice laughed.

‘Well, it was so sad.’

‘Yes, but it was a happy
ending. I’m glad she got away from those people,’ commented Alice.

Stephanie nodded.

‘I felt sorry for Amy. The
people who adopted her were so cruel.’ Alice took the video tape out of the
machine and placed it back in its box.

Stephanie found Alice’s
comment moving, and the thought occurred to her that maybe it was the right
time to tell her the truth about her birth. Standing up, Stephanie walked over
to the light switch and turned on the lights. Alice had wanted the lights off
during the film to create a “Cinema” effect.

‘Alice, dear,’ she began, ‘do
you know any children who have been adopted? For example, someone in your class
at school?’

‘No.’ Alice shook her head.
She was now seated on the sofa with her legs resting on the coffee table in
front of her.

‘Take your feet off the
table,’ scolded Stephanie.

Alice sighed and curled her
legs up on the sofa instead. She reached for the television remote control.

Stephanie sat on the sofa
beside her. ‘Not all children who are adopted are treated badly, you know.’ She
waited anxiously for a response.

‘I know that,’ said Alice,
switching channels on the television. ‘But it’s not the same as having real
parents, is it? I mean, I know I don’t know my dad, but at least I have you.’
She smiled through her brown eyes. She seemed contented with her life, and
Stephanie felt it would be cruel to now tell her that she wasn’t her mother,
especially after what she had just said.

She leaned back on the sofa,
feeling torn between wanting Alice to know the truth and yet wanting to protect
her from it.

She made one last effort:
‘Alice,’ she fiddled nervously with the fringes of the purple velvet cushion on
the sofa, as she spoke. ‘Wouldn’t it just be the same if you had been adopted
by me?  I’d still be your mother if you didn’t know your real mother.’

Alice looked at her in the
eyes, and Stephanie held her breath, feeling suddenly as if she’d said too
much.

‘No, Mum, it wouldn’t be the
same.’ She turned back to face the television. ‘I think it’s good that people
adopt children that haven’t got parents, but I don’t think it could ever really
be the same as having real parents, do you?’ She seemed to be awaiting a reply.
The innocence in her eyes made Stephanie feel like weeping. There was no way
she could even consider telling her about the surrogacy now.

Stephanie turned towards the
television, unable to meet her gaze. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘Oh, Alice,
isn’t this that programme you watch every week?’ She made an effort to stop her
voice breaking as she stood up and walked towards the door.

‘Yes, it is. Don’t you want
to watch it, Mum?’

She was already at the living
room door, her back towards Alice. ‘Er, no, dear. I’m going to bed. I feel a
bit sleepy; it must have been the dim lighting when we were watching the film.’

Stephanie had cried herself to sleep that night and made
the decision that she would wait until Alice was older, or if necessary she
would never tell her the truth.

Her thoughts returned to the present day as she wiped a
tear from her eye. Alice’s interest in her father was something she had
convinced herself she would never have to deal with, but here it was staring
her in the face, taunting her, stirring up feelings of guilt and regret. Her
selfishness may have denied Alice the right to know her real identity, and the
thought that she had made the wrong decision haunted her, giving her no peace.

She turned to look at her alarm
clock and saw that it was 12 p.m. She had been awake for most of the night and
felt tired still. Suddenly she panicked, remembering that she had promised to
meet Rita at the Tube station at 1.30 p.m. She forced herself out of bed and
hurriedly prepared for her meeting with her old friend.

***

Rita introduced Stephanie and Roger to Miranda Carey in
early 1975. Stephanie had been at her wits’ end at that time; she had spent
endless hours talking with Rita, her best friend, about her problem. She could
not have children, and it was something she was having a hard time facing up
to. She had suggested adoption to Roger, but had been met with a cold hard
stare. He’d crossed his arms in front of him: ‘Stephanie, do you realise how
desperate you sound?’

‘I
am
desperate!’ she’d
screamed, and then saw that look of disdain in his eyes that brought her down
to earth. Part of her could see what he was seeing; she hadn’t been able to
hold a rational conversation since being told she was infertile. She was
screaming inside, angry, and in denial; refusing to give up or to accept that
she would remain childless. Her mind was constantly whirring, trying to think
up the best way she and Roger could have a child. Fostering or adoption—they
seemed like good options—but Roger wasn’t convinced. ‘If we can’t have a child
of our own, I don’t think we should have a child at all,’ was the only thing he
would say when questioned. He was like a brick wall when it came to discussing
the matter.

Stephanie knew the reason Roger
was being so obstinate, but at the time she didn’t want to face up to it. Their
marriage was on rocky ground. They hardly spoke to each other and seemed to
have very little in common. At first, Stephanie had thought having a baby would
focus their attention and bring them closer; after all, they had been in love
once. But after trying for a baby unsuccessfully for months, her nerves were
frayed, and Roger was ever more distant. Looking in his eyes sometimes, she
thought she could see him consciously planning a way to get out of the
marriage. To stay sane, she ignored the signs.

In the midst of all this
turmoil, and as her mind was restlessly going over it all again for the
hundredth time, she overheard a conversation on the bus one day on her way to
work. She was seated behind two young women; one of them was blonde, with a
bob-cut hairstyle, and the other had permed light brown hair. Stephanie always
noticed hairstyles before anything else, being a hairdresser. She had been
trying to distract her thoughts by looking at the girls’ hairstyles when she
heard something that caught her attention.

‘Well, you know how much Josie has always wanted
children of her own,’ said the blonde girl.

‘Yes,’ said her friend. ‘I
must admit I was quite surprised when I first heard what you were planning; but
I suppose if she’s happy, and you—’

‘She is. I think it’s all
worked out well. I haven’t seen her so happy in years. She has a child. It’s
her dream come true.’

On hearing that, Stephanie
couldn’t help feeling the stab of pain associated with the knowledge that she
could never have a child. The doctor had been clear about that: ‘I’m sorry,
Mrs. Forester, I’m afraid you will never be able to have children.’

It had been such a final
blow. Like someone had taken a baseball bat to her dreams. Knowing that she
would never know the joy of holding her own child was a burden she carried with
her every day. Every time she saw a small child playing, or a baby in a pram,
she would be back there in the doctor’s surgery, tears flowing from her eyes,
shock taking hold and refusing to let her go.

‘But how do you feel?’ asked
the girl with the brown hair, bringing Stephanie out of her trance.

‘Oh, I’m fine,’ said the
blonde girl. ‘It’s a wonderful feeling. I’ve given my sister something she’s
always wanted—a child of her own.’

‘But... it’s not really
hers.’

The blonde girl took a tissue
from her bag and blew her nose.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to
upset you, Stacy,’ said the brown haired girl.

‘No, no, you haven’t. I just
get a bit emotional...’

‘Well, yes, I suppose you
would. It must be the hormones. I’m not judging you or anything, but I really
don’t think I’d be able to give my baby away to someone else.’

‘It wasn’t hard to do. Josie
isn’t a stranger; she’s my sister, and we’re very close. Throughout the
pregnancy I told myself the baby was Josie and Paul’s. It is Paul’s baby, and
I’m sure Josie and Paul will make the best parents. I don’t regret it for a
minute.’

When Stephanie got off the
bus, she felt a new sense of hope surge within her. It was raining and she had
to open her umbrella, but it seemed to her as if the sun was shining. Roger
hadn’t agreed to adoption because he didn’t want a baby that wasn’t theirs. He
could still have a baby. Someone could have a baby for her and Roger. She
smiled to herself.

Stephanie mentioned the surrogacy option to Rita and she
actually asked Rita whether she’d consider having a baby for them. Rita
declined, saying she didn’t think it was a good idea. However, a couple of
months later, Rita phoned her:

‘Steph, remember you were telling me you wanted to
consider surrogacy as an option?’

‘Yes. Have you changed your
mind? Oh, Rita—’

‘No, no. I’m not offering.
But I talked to a friend of mine and she said she knows someone who might be
interested.’

‘Oh. Do you know her?’

‘No. She’s a student,
apparently. She has plans to travel abroad but is short of money. She mentioned
to my friend that she’d be willing to have a baby for you if you pay her.’

‘Well, how much does she
want? We have some savings, but bringing up a child is expensive and we’ll need
money.’

‘She hasn’t said how much,
but she’d like to meet with you and maybe you could discuss it with her. Her
name is Miranda Carey.’

Stephanie told Roger about it when he came home form work
that night:

‘Are you going completely crazy?’ was his initial
reaction.

‘You know how much I want a
child,’ she said. ‘I thought you did, too.’

They were sitting in the
living room on the brown leather sofa. Roger was smoking. He put out his
cigarette and turned to face her. He saw how his comment had upset her, as her
eyes were welling with tears. He reached out and touched her face softly.

‘Darling, you have to admit
this is a crazy idea. What woman in her right mind would give up her baby to a
complete stranger?’