Take a Chance on Me (5 page)

Oh God
. She shuddered at the word; up until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to her that this was what he’d turned her into.

Cleo swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth; technically, albeit unwittingly, she had been his mistress. Just the thought of the word was enough to bring the traumatic memories flooding back. She was nine years old again, feeling sick and filled with fear at the sight of Auntie Jean in another of her states. At the time, she hadn’t understood what a mistress was, but Uncle David had had one and it was clearly someone vile and repulsive, worse than any mass-murderer.

‘Cleo? Is it our turn soon?’ Saskia’s nose was pink with cold but she was still zinging with pent-up anticipation.

‘Not long to go now.’ Cleo lifted her into her arms for a cuddle to warm them both up and take her own mind off the fact that she may as well have Evil Harlot scrawled in red felt-tip across her forehead.

Then the door of the wooden hut opened and Will and his family emerged. The children were excitedly clutching wrapped presents and their mother was exchanging cheerful words with the next people to go in. Passing Cleo and Saskia, she smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry, he’s worth the wait!’

Meaning Santa, presumably. Not Will.

‘Can we open them now, Daddy?’ The boy rattled his parcel.

‘No, come on, let’s get back to the car.’ As he hurried both children past Cleo, Will’s glance met her unwavering gaze. There was pleading apology in his eyes and with his wife safely behind him, his left hand came up to shoulder level, thumb and little finger extended to indicate that he would call her.

Pointedly Cleo looked away. Three whole months of her life, wasted. And to think that she’d actually had high hopes for Will. He had ticked so many boxes that had for years remained resolutely unticked. Apart from the disappointment and the fury at having been strung along, she just felt so used and gullible and
stupid
.

‘You look funny.’ Saskia, with not a care in the world, beamed and said, ‘You’ve got all pretend snow in your hair.’

Ha, not to mention murder and retribution in her heart.

Abbie had been going relentlessly over and over the moment of Tom’s return, working out what she was going to say, but when it actually came to it, she didn’t need to say anything at all.

His key turned in the front door, the overnight case, cooler, and fishing rods were dumped in the hallway, and he yelled out, as he always did, ‘Hi honey, I’m home!’

It was their little joke, the way he always greeted her, and every time he did it, Tom varied the accent. Today, in honor of the fishing trip, it was Irish, and just to prove it—because some of his accents weren’t instantly recognizable—he added, ‘Bejaysus, it’s bloddy frayzin’ out dare tonight!’

Ironically, he sounded more cheerful than he had done for the last fortnight. Was that because he’d spent the weekend with his daughter?

Then Tom appeared in the kitchen doorway and his expression changed. The moment he saw her sitting there, he knew.

Abbie knew she looked a fright but she didn’t care.
He
had done this to her. It was his fault she’d spent the day a trembling wreck, red-eyed, dry-mouthed, and with a whole world of pain in her chest.

‘Oh God.’ The color drained from his face. His hand rasped over his unshaven jaw and he shook his head. ‘How’d you find out?’

‘About Georgia, you mean?’ Abbie barely recognized her own voice; she certainly couldn’t believe she was saying these words. ‘Your…
daughter
?’

Tom exhaled noisily. ‘Oh God. Did she turn up on the doorstep? I
told
her not to do that. Abbie, I’m so sorry, I was going to tell you—’

‘Were?
Were you really
? Well, how fucking considerate of you!’ As her voice rose, Abbie realized he was moving towards her, arms outstretched. CRASH went the kitchen chair as she leapt up, sending it flying. Backing away, stumbling against the upended chair legs, she shouted, ‘Keep away from me! How
dare
you! Do you seriously think I want you
near
me?’

‘But—’

‘Oh dear, Abbie’s a bit upset,’ Abbie mimicked viciously. ‘Never mind, soon sort that out, a hug and a kiss’ll make it all better!’

Tom stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Look, I’ve said I’m sorry. And I knew you’d be upset. That’s why I didn’t tell you before. I was trying to work out a way of breaking it to you gently…’

‘Wow, what a hero!’ She saw the guilt in his eyes and marveled at his reasoning.

‘Abbie, it’s been as much of a shock to me as it has been for you. I still can’t believe it’s happened.’ Will shook his head. ‘But we’ll get over this, I promise. We just have to work through it together.’

‘Are you
serious
?’ Jesus, had he
no
idea how she felt? ‘Tom, how can I ever trust you again? Our whole marriage has been a sham! Maybe some women could put up with what you’ve done, but I’m not one of them. That’s
it
for me. I feel sick just looking at you… I never want you to
touch
me again!’

Tom was staring at her. ‘Abbie, that’s not fair.’

Not fair?
Not fair
? Rage surged up through her. This morning she’d promised Des Kilgour she wouldn’t tell Tom about last night, but maybe she wouldn’t be keeping that promise after all. She’d slept with Des to punish Tom, by way of retaliation and in the hope that it would make her feel better. OK, so that hadn’t worked, and she’d been stupid to think it would, but if it would hurt Tom to hear all about it, maybe it wouldn’t have been a completely wasted evening after all… yes, and then he’d know how it felt…

‘So as far as you’re concerned, the fact that you had an affair with another woman is something I should just…
forgive
.’ Abbie’s fingernails dug into the palms of her hands as she spat the words out. ‘Does that mean you wouldn’t mind if I did it? Would you just say Oh dear, never mind, I’m sure we can
work through it together
? Because if that’s what you think, let me—’

‘Hang on. Whoa.’ Tom frowned and raised a hand to stop her. ‘
What
did you say? What are you talking about? There was no…
affair
.’

Oh for crying out loud. ‘Fine,’ Abbie bellowed, ‘like it makes any difference! So she was just a casual fling, a one-night stand, some tart you had sex with… however many times you did it with her, the end result was the same!’

‘No, no,
no
.’ Shaking his head in disbelief, Tom said, ‘Is that what she told you? Georgia… did she say it was an affair?’

‘I haven’t seen her! I never
want
to see her!’ Abbie wrenched the letter from her jeans pocket and slammed it down on the scrubbed oak kitchen table. ‘It’s all in there.’

Something altered in Tom’s face. He looked at the letter. Then he looked up again at her.

‘Not quite all.’ Even his voice sounded different now.

‘You’ve got a daughter.’ As she said it, Abbie felt her mouth twist with misery. ‘What else is there to know?’

‘Oh Abbie… sweetheart… I love you so much.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘But it’s true. And there’s one question you haven’t asked yet.’ Closing his eyes briefly, Tom said, ‘The name of Georgia’s mother.’

Nausea crawled up Abbie’s throat. If she’d thought it couldn’t get any worse, she’d been wrong. Now he was going to tell her she actually
knew
the woman he’d slept with behind her back.

Feeling sicker by the second, she said, ‘Go on then.’

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. ‘This is going to come as a shock to you.’

‘Just tell me.’

The silence stretched between them until she was ready to scream. Finally Tom rubbed his hands on the sides of his worn corduroy trousers and said, ‘It’s Patty Summers.’

Patty.

Patty Summers.

What
?

Patty Summers from nearly twenty years ago, with her rippling silver-blond hair and her long floaty skirts? Abbie was confused, struggling to take this information in; it was
the
most unlikely name he could have come out with. Had Tom carried on secretly seeing Patty afterwards?

‘I’ve never cheated on you, Abbie. Never wanted to, never have.’ Sensing her bewilderment, Tom moved towards her. His voice infinitely gentle, he said, ‘Sweetheart, she lied to us.
She lied
.’

***

Nineteen years ago. Abbie remembered it as clearly as if it were yesterday. She had been twenty-five and frantic, a seething hormonal maelstrom of desperation and impatience. The more everyone had told her to just relax and stop worrying, the more desperate she had become. Surrogate mothers had been in the news, and being told by her disapproving doctor that this wasn’t something she should even consider had been the final straw. Who needed an official organization to make the arrangements anyway? Thanks to all the reading up she’d done, Abbie knew it was a straightforward enough process, and taking matters into their own hands seemed to be the only way to go. Using a box number, she had placed an advert in the local Bristol papers. Surrogate mother required for couple unable to have children of their own. Please help us, we want a baby so much!

Nothing. No response. ‘Told you,’ said Tom. ‘Why would anyone offer to do something like that for a couple of complete strangers?’

So the following week, Abbie placed the amended ad: Could
you
be a surrogate mother for a couple unable to have children of their own? Please help! Generous expenses paid.

Tom was wary but supportive, her overwhelming need overcoming his own natural reticence. And four days later, the letter had arrived from Patty Summers offering herself to them, volunteering to be their surrogate.

It was as if a miracle had been granted; something wonderful was happening at last. They made arrangements to meet up at a café in Clifton, the upmarket area of Bristol where Patty lived. Abbie, who had never been more nervous in her life, changed her clothes five times beforehand, terrified that the wrong style of trousers or not-trendy-enough shoes might alienate Patty and put her off. She’d made Tom wash and polish their red Astra until it gleamed inside and out.

Not knowing what to expect, meeting her for the first time was a revelation. Patty swished into the café, greeted Abbie and Tom like long-lost family, and dazzled them with her warmth and joie de vivre. She was beautiful, like Claudia Schiffer, with dancing eyes and a wide smile. Spotting their ad in the paper, she told them emotionally, had captured her heart. It had reached out and touched her. What better way could there be to help others than by carrying a baby for a couple who weren’t able to procreate themselves… she would be
honored
if they would allow her to do this for them.

Abbie was mesmerized, completely entranced by Patty Summers. It was left to Tom to ask the sensible questions. And no, Patty didn’t have children of her own—she’d never been the maternal type, never
wanted
any—but she just knew this was something she was capable of doing. She was twenty-six years old, completely healthy, didn’t take drugs or even smoke cigarettes. Her last job, working in a bar, had come to a bit of a sticky end when she’d broken up with her boyfriend, who happened to own the bar in question. This was why she’d been flicking through the local paper in search of work. And that was why it all made such perfect sense. Either she could start some boring new job she didn’t enjoy, or she could relax, chill out for a year, and grow a baby instead!

After an hour, Abbie’s mind was made up. In order to pay the rent on her modest flat in Clifton and cover the rest of her bills, they agreed to pay Patty a thousand pounds a month. More than they’d been expecting, but not unreasonable when you thought about what she would be doing for them. And the beauty of going with Patty was her willingness to start straight away—no more interminable hanging about and waiting for appointments and being told for the millionth time to be patient until you wanted to scream at whoever had just said it. Patty was ready to go, fizzing with enthusiasm, as eager to get on with it as they were.

‘A thousand pounds a
month
,’ hissed Tom when Patty left them to visit the loo. ‘For nine
months
.’

But Abbie wasn’t to be swayed. Nothing was going to stop them now. They had their savings, Tom could work overtime, and she would take an extra evening job. ‘We’re not going to argue with her. And you’re definitely not going to haggle.’ She clutched his hand beneath the table and gave it an iron squeeze. ‘Tom, think of the beautiful baby we’ll have! We’re going to do it and it’ll be worth every penny. This is the answer to our dreams!’

‘I know. I know. But we don’t even know her. We only met her an hour ago.’

‘Don’t you dare spoil this.’ Abbie’s chest was tight with anxiety; she felt like a child being told her birthday was being cancelled this year.

‘She could be anyone.’

‘Don’t
say
that!’

‘He’s right.’ Patty, back from the loo and overhearing their fraught exchange, said, ‘I
could
be anyone, but I’m not. I’m me.’ She looked at the pair of them. ‘OK, how about if I show you my flat? Would that help?’

So they’d done that, gone along with Patty to her attic flat on the fourth floor of a Georgian house in Cornwallis Crescent. The place was tiny but the views over Bristol were stunning. Photos of Patty with friends and family chronicled her life to date, she’d painted the walls a sunny shade of yellow, and there were books and drawing materials and CDs everywhere. ‘Sorry, not very tidy.’ She gestured apologetically at the clothes drying on a fold-out wooden rack in a corner of the sitting room. ‘I’m a messy pup. Now, how else can I prove you can trust me? Shall I show you my bank statements? Would you like to meet Dilys who lives downstairs, so she can tell you I’m a nice person?’

‘We could do that,’ said Tom.

‘No, it’s fine.’ Vehemently, Abbie shook her head. ‘There’s no need.’

‘Well, if you’re sure. But you’re very welcome to.’ Busy checking her calendar, Patty said, ‘So, looking at dates, I reckon next weekend’s when we want to make a start. And I’m free on Saturday afternoon.’ She looked at them brightly. ‘That OK with you?’

‘Next Saturday.’ In a daze, Abbie nodded. It was February… if everything worked first time, they could have a baby by Christmas.

‘Brilliant!’ Patty’s silver bracelets jangled as she clapped her hands together in delight. ‘We’ll do it here!’

‘Hang on.’ Reddening, Tom said, ‘There won’t be any… you know,
contact
. I mean, you and me won’t be… um, doing anything together.’

‘Oh bless, is that what you were worried about? All this time?’ Patty burst out laughing. ‘Of course we won’t be having sex! We use one of those baster thingies, don’t we? You do your business into a teacup or whatever, then I’ll take care of the girly side of things… they sell chicken basters in John Lewis.’ Shaking her head at Tom, she went on, ‘No offense, darling, and I’m sure you’re marvelous in bed, but you’re really not my type.’

The following Saturday they had gone back to the Clifton flat. They handed over the first check for a thousand pounds so Patty could pay her bills, and Tom asked her to sign the legal document he’d had his solicitor draw up, in order to ensure they both stuck to their side of the bargain. It wasn’t
actually
a legal document—the solicitor he’d consulted had flatly refused to have anything to do with such a potentially incendiary situation—but it looked official and that was the main thing; anyone who wasn’t on the level would surely balk at the sight of it.

But Patty was absolutely fine about it. She happily added her signature to the foot of the document and offered them tea or a glass of wine. Then thirty minutes later, the deed was done and she hugged them both goodbye, taking Abbie’s hand, placing it over her flat stomach and exclaiming, ‘Just think, it could be happening in there right now, at this very minute! Can you picture that? Isn’t it the most amazing idea
ever
?’

The next two weeks crawled by with agonizing slowness. All they could do was wait. Abbie barely slept; convinced it had worked and that their longed-for baby was already on its way, she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. Was it a boy? Was it a girl? What names would they choose? Would it be wrong to start buying clothes for it? Not loads of clothes obviously, that would be stupid, but maybe just a couple of teeny tiny white onesies?