My Sister's Child Page 8

  When it was her turn the doctor showed her into the surgery and took a seat opposite her.

  “Good to see you, Isla. You haven’t been in a while. You’ve been keeping well, I presume?”

  “Yes, I have, thanks.”

  “So what can I do for you today?”

  Isla took a deep breath. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “I-I-I’ve been thinking . . .” She paused and looked around at the posters on the wall.

  The doctor was looking at her expectantly, her pen poised to take notes.

  “About trying to have . . .” Isla found herself unable to say the word but at last managed, “a . . . baby.”

  The doctor put her pen back down on the keyboard so that it slotted in between the space bar and the bottom row of letters. She paused for a moment before she looked up at Isla thoughtfully and then said, “Okay . . . I see . . . and are you back together with your boyfriend? If I remember correctly, the last time you told me you had broken up with him?”

  “No, I’m still single.”

  “Right, I see,” the doctor said somewhat cautiously.

  Isla was sure she was thinking that she didn’t need to spell it out for her that somehow she would need male involvement.

  Isla had been pregnant once before. That was Nevis’s baby. He was in a band she used to follow. He was dark and intense like his music. He played bass. They had been together on and off for five years. She would stand at the side of the stage watching him come alive. He would lean over the guitar, his skin almost silver with sweat underneath the heavy yellow lights, with a cigarette hanging out from the side of his mouth. She knew what his skin would feel like under her fingertips when she was alone with him later that night. She knew it would feel sticky with sweat with a few odd hairs sprouting out.

  This was the same doctor who had also later referred her to hospital when she had started cramping and bleeding that time in the supermarket. She was standing in a queue at the checkout when she started to feel the warm stickiness pooling between her legs and she knew. She lost the baby at eight weeks. And when she had called over to tell him that the baby was gone, like every good cliché she found him in bed with another girl. She recognised her as one of the groupies that followed his band around at their gigs. Isla calmly announced what had happened and then turned around and walked out of his apartment, pulling the door shut behind her. It was only in the hallway that she had allowed herself to dissolve into tears. He hadn’t even bothered to come after her.

  “I was hoping to do it alone,” she said in a voice so low it came out as almost a whisper.

  “So do you plan on using a donor then? Is that the route you’re thinking of going down?” the doctor teased out gently.

  Isla nodded.

  A silence followed before eventually the doctor spoke again. “Okay, well, it certainly wouldn’t be the most common thing that I’m presented with in the surgery, that’s for sure!” She laughed nervously. “You’ve thought it out, Isla? I mean it’s a big decision – huge even . . .”

  Isla could see that she was doing her best to be tactful. “Yeah, I have. It’s all I’ve thought about for the last while to be honest.”

  The screensaver flashed up on the computer screen. It was a picture of a hammock on a tropical beach somewhere.

  “Okay . . . it’s just – and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way – but on a practical level, speaking not as your doctor but as a mother myself, you do realise that doing it on your own won’t be easy, don’t you?”

  “I know, but it’s what I want. I’ve given it a lot of thought.”

  “Okay, if it’s what you want then I will have to refer you on to a fertility clinic which will be able to help you in this regard. But please bear in mind, Isla, your age – you’re almost thirty-nine – could make things more difficult. I don’t want to sound negative but try not to get your hopes up too much, okay?”

  She nodded.

  “You also should be prepared financially as it can be expensive treatment, especially if it doesn’t happen first time.”

  “Of course,” she said, even though she really hadn’t thought that end of it through very well.

  “They will also make you take counselling first, to make sure it really is what you want – they have to by law.”

  “I know that.”

  “Okay, then, if you’re sure, just let me type up this referral to the clinic.”

  She typed the letter, printed it, folded it in two and then handed it to her.

  “Well, then, let me wish you the very best of luck!” She reached out her hand to Isla’s and shook it warmly. “Hopefully, the next time I see you it will be to confirm your pregnancy.”

  Isla went outside and stood in the cool evening air with her letter. She still felt almost incredulous that she was doing this. It almost felt like it was someone else entirely and not her standing there in the middle of the street with this letter in her hand. She was not really sure what she should do next. Once she put that letter in the post-box, she would be a client of a fertility clinic and would be going down the route of choosing the most suitable sperm-donor to father her baby. It was not exactly what she had in mind when she had originally thought she might like to have a baby. She had decided not to tell anyone what she was doing, not even Jo. She knew she would probably try to talk her out of it. She hadn’t decided whether or not she was going to be honest with people if the treatment was a success. What would she tell people? Would she tell them that she used a donor or that it was some random one-night stand? There was no point in stressing about that stuff now, she decided. She would worry about that further down the line.

  She walked down the street until she reached the post office. She joined the queue for a stamp, and then she threw the letter through the slot in the post-box.

  Chapter 10

  Compare and Contrast

  That Saturday afternoon, Isla almost felt claustrophobic as she stood just inside the entrance to the shopping centre where she was due to meet Réiltín. The mall was crowded and people were hitting against her legs with pointy-cornered paper bags.

  A few minutes later she saw her niece coming towards her in the distance, her shoulders hunched forward as usual to hide her tall, willowy frame. Her auburn hair was tied up into a messy bun and she wore a headband with a large bow.

  “Hi, Isla!” Réiltín threw her arms around her aunt in a hug. “Sorry, the bus was late.” She linked her arm through Isla’s and they walked down the mall towards the cinema.

  “What time is it showing at?” Isla asked, squinting up at the board.

  “You can’t read that?” Réiltín asked. “Seriously, you really need to wear your glasses, Isla. The next one starts in ten minutes.”

  “You sound like your mother. Come on, if we’re quick we’ll have time to grab some contraband first.”

  They both got a crushed ice drink (red for Réiltín, blue for Isla) even though Isla knew that Jo would freak out about artificial colourings and e-numbers – unbeknownst to her, Isla had been buying them for Réiltín since she was four years old and they hadn’t killed her yet. Then they got a large popcorn and mixed a large bag of Maltesers in through it like they always did and went inside to watch the film.

  “That was so sad, wasn’t it?” Réiltín said afterwards as they sat in the fast-food restaurant next door to the cinema.

  “I know,” Isla said. “How’s my eyeliner holding up? I wasn’t expecting it to be a weepie.”

  “It’s fine, surprisingly. How’s mine?”

  “Grand. So what are we having?” Isla scanned down through the menu.

  “I’m going for the burger,” Réiltín said.

  “So predictable,” Isla teased.

  “Well, I bet you’re going to go for the Tuna Melt?”

  “You’re right,” she sighed.

  “Oh, I’m good!” Réiltín said, slapping the table triumphantly.

  The waiter came and they ordered their food.

 
“So how’s school?” Isla asked, sitting back.

  “It’s okay, I guess. Mum wants me to get grinds in Irish and Maths – I got an A in Art last week though! I wish I could just do art all day long. I hate all the other subjects.”

  “You’re clever, you’ll be fine.”

  They chatted until the waiter came with their food.

  “How’s that boy you like . . . what’s his name again . . .” Isla asked as she cut her sandwich, “the one with the nice bum . . . did you ask him out yet?”

  Réiltín started to blush. “His name is Rick but no way – I told you that I’d never ask a guy out!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s just too desperate. And imagine if he said no – I’d be so embarrassed! I don’t think he even knows that I exist anyway,” she sighed.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he always flirts with the other girls. And who would want to be with me anyway?”

  Réiltín placed her palms flat on the table, her fingers long and slender, and Isla couldn’t help but notice the familiarity of those hands. Sometimes it just caught her from nowhere. If Isla was being completely honest, after she had donated her eggs and they found out that it had worked, she did worry that she would see parts of herself in the baby. When Réiltín was born and she got to meet her for the first time, she had studied her tiny scrunched-up face closely for similarities. She didn’t really notice anything initially except for her long slender fingers. Isla got them from her mum, whereas Jo had their dad’s broader hands. When Réiltín’s baby chubbiness waned and her facial features started to be revealed, she could see some likenesses. She had her nose for a start. She had her hair too, the same auburn wildness that had driven Isla mad when she was younger trying to keep it under control. But she didn’t think of her as hers – she saw her as Jo and Ryan’s child from the start and she loved her as you would love any niece. Jo always said that she thought that Réiltín was the image of Ryan but Isla wondered if that was because it was what she wanted to see. As Réiltín grew up, Isla noticed that they shared some traits, such as the way that Réiltín was allergic to dust mites like Isla was. She would sneeze and sneeze repeatedly if she walked into a dusty room. Réiltín could draw too. And there was no one else in the whole world that Isla would rather spend her day with. Jo said it was because Isla was still stuck in the mindset of a teenager herself but Isla didn’t see it like that. It was because Réiltín was a great kid and she enjoyed her company. She was funny and perceptive and, even when she was tiny girl, Isla could never fob her off. She was kind and Isla knew that she would do anything for her family or friends. Isla had seen her when her friends got caught up bitching about someone and she would stay quiet. She didn’t allow herself to get drawn into things like that. Isla thought that she was the most beautiful person on this earth. It was her relationship with Réiltín that made her want a baby for herself.

  “Hey, that’s not true!” Isla snapped herself out of her thoughts before her niece asked her what was up.

  “Yes, it is. I hate being this tall. I look like a man. I’m taller than all the boys in my year except for two of them and they’re both over six foot two!”

  “I’m telling you, one day you’ll be glad that you’re so tall.”

  “Bet you I won’t be,” she sighed. “The other girls are so much prettier anyway. I bet he fancies them.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! He’d be lucky to have you and if he doesn’t notice you then he’s not worth it.”

  After they had finished their food, they linked arms and strolled on through the mall. A shop window displaying a wire tree, decorated with pairs of tiny baby shoes hanging with ribbon from the branches, caught Isla’s eye and she stopped to admire them.

  “Oh my God, they are so cute!” Réiltín squealed.

  “They are adorable, aren’t they?” Isla watched through the glass as women with rounded tummies or with infants sleeping in prams lifted the clothes from the rails inside. She felt her stomach flip and that feeling of emptiness filled her once again. She linked Réiltín’s arm and walked on.

  When they reached the house, Isla saw that Jo was home. They strolled over the pebbled driveway and Réiltín opened the door.

  Isla followed her down the hallway and into the kitchen.

  “Hi, Mum!”

  Jo swung around. “Oh, hi there, how did you two get on?”

  “Great,” said Réiltín.

  “Will you stay for dinner, Isla?”

  “Oh, we had a bite to eat after the cinema so I’m honestly not hungry.”

  “Oh, come on, join us anyway. I’m sure Réiltín will find room for more. I found a recipe for baked polenta vegetable lasagne so I thought we’d give it a try.”

  “Eugggh,” Réiltín said. “We’re not even vegetarians!”

  “Now, love, it’s full of nutrients. It’s not just vegetarians who eat vegetables, you know!”

  Isla had to stifle a laugh as Réiltín made a face behind her mother’s back.

  “Not too much of that, love – it’s full of sugar,” Jo admonished gently as Réiltín took some juice from the fridge.

  “Is Dad not home yet?” Réiltín asked, ignoring her mother and filling a glass up to the top.

  “No, they won their tournament so I think they’re celebrating. So how was the movie?” Jo began to set the table.

  “Good,” Réiltín replied.

  “How’s your chest, love? I hope you took your inhaler?”

  “Yes, Mum,” Réiltín sighed.

  They had only just sat down to eat when Isla’s phone started to ring. She bent down, lifted her bag up onto her knee and rooted through it to find it. She eventually fished it out and switched it to silent but then she noticed that the letter that had come back from the fertility clinic the day before was lying on the floor at her feet. Isla had been a little taken aback when the letter had arrived, with an appointment for the following month, just days after she had posted off the referral.

  Jo leaned over to pick it up but Isla reached down and snatched it out of her hand quickly.

  “Oh sorry,” Jo said, surprised by her reaction. “I was just trying to help.”

  “I . . . em . . . sorry, it’s just some bank stuff,” Isla said, stuffing it back into her bag again.

  “I see,” Jo said. “Must be some pretty important bank stuff!”

  Isla looked down at her plate as she felt the heat creeping up her face.

  Ryan came into the kitchen just as they were almost finished, his cheeks flushed. He bent and kissed Réiltín on the forehead and Jo on the cheek. Jo could smell the wine on his breath.

  “So how are my two favourite ladies? Not forgetting you too, of course, Isla.”

  Jo smiled at the unusual display of affection from her husband. She knew it was the alcohol talking but it still felt good. These days she’d take whatever was on offer. “Sit down – I’ve kept a plate for you.”

  “So what did you two ladies get up to today?” he asked Isla and Réiltín.

  “We went to the movies,” Réiltín said.

  “Oh yeah, what did you see?”

  “The Fault in Our Stars,” Réiltín replied.

  “That was nice of you, Isla – thanks for taking her.”

  “Don’t mention it. It was good, wasn’t it, Réilt?”

  Réiltín nodded. “But really sad.”

  Jo looked concerned. “Well, I hope it was suitable for Réiltín’s age group?” she asked, turning to Isla.

  “Don’t worry, Mum, it was over twelves!” Réiltín said, cutting across her.

  “That’s okay then,” said Jo.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Jo, that Vera had her baby – a little boy,” Isla said. “They’re naming him Jules. He was three weeks early – he arrived a couple of days after her baby shower!”

  “Oh wow, I’m delighted for her, pass on my regards, won’t you? Now the hard work starts!” Jo paused. “So how’s work in the caff? You k
now I was just thinking the other day that you’ve been working there for over three years now . . . that’s a long time for you!”

  Isla could almost see Jo’s thought process in the air in front of her: Vera = successful doctor; Isla = lowly café worker. She knew where Jo was trying to steer the conversation. She never missed an opportunity.

  “I like it there – Greg is cool – he’s a nice boss.”

  “Well, I think you’re too talented for that place.”

  “It’s all right, it pays the bills.”

  “Well, I think you’re too talented to waste your life serving up plates of chips and tea for two. Isn’t she, Ryan?”

  Ryan nodded, obviously more to appease Jo than because of any strongly held belief that Isla was a wasted talent.

  “Would you not have a look at courses, try and make something of your life?” Jo used the tongs to lift a pile of salad onto her plate. A stray leaf landed on the table between the bowl and her plate.

  Jo said this to Isla a lot. She had never forgiven her for dropping out of school in fifth year. Jo was always an over-achiever and Isla had learnt early on that no matter how much she tried, she could never, and would never, live up to her, so she didn’t try. Why bother when you were not going to succeed anyway?