Lies Lies Lies. Adele Parks

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ the good guys. I’ve read about it.’

      ‘There are cases where things can be done. I’m afraid your readings don’t place you in that bracket.’

      ‘What are my chances? Put a percentage to it. Go on, don’t worry I won’t hold you to it. It won’t be legally binding.’ Simon laughed at the phrase as though the very suggestion was ridiculous. He knew he had to make the consultant feel at ease. He was surprised the man was being so cautious. His previous experience had been that if there was any hope at all the doctors would push ahead. Often, they were always doom and gloom, always presenting the worst-case scenarios but they still took your money. ‘What are we talking about? A four per cent chance? Two, one?’ Simon watched as the doctor became increasingly awkward. He dropped his gaze, tapped his fingers on the ostentatious desk. He was able to say ‘ejaculate’ all day long, but he couldn’t talk about this percentage. ‘We can pay,’ Simon added. It wouldn’t be easy but they’d find the money, he’d already decided that.

      The consultant sighed quietly and leaned forward in his chair. ‘Mr Barnes, you cannot impregnate your wife. You are sterile.’

      The word was a fucking weapon. He was no longer capable of fathering a child. The thought exploded in Simon’s head. Why? What had happened? Had his sperm quality, or quantity, or mobility or whatever deteriorated?

      Before he could form the words to ask, Martell said brightly, ‘There are options. If you want to extend your family, I would recommend you consider sperm donation, as you did before. That worked out splendidly last time, didn’t it?’

      ‘I’m sorry I don’t understand.’

      The consultant reached for the file. ‘It says here you had four rounds of in vitro fertilization. I assumed Millie was conceived that way, correct? I assume with a donor.’

      ‘No.’ Simon brightened, realising the doctor was missing an essential piece of information. Despite the odds, Millie had been conceived naturally. He was also irritated; he was paying enough, the least Martell could do was get the facts straight. He tried to be patient as he explained, ‘You see that’s where you’re wrong. She was conceived naturally. Against the odds. Which goes to show I can do it. We can. We had been doing IVF. Yeah, like you say, four attempts but—’. Simon stopped talking. There was something different in Martell’s face. Not just seriousness, now there was a flash of unease, alarm.

      ‘I had thought a donor, but if not a donor then maybe a lab mix-up. These things do happen, I’m afraid. They are rarely acknowledged but they do. That would have been regrettable, an inquiry would have been necessary, but you are telling me that she wasn’t conceived by IVF.’

      ‘Yes, that’s right. She was conceived months after a failed attempt. We weren’t even sure we were going to try again.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘What do you see?’ Simon demanded.

      Dr Martell sighed slightly. It was a breath that offered a level of apology, or regret. ‘All I can say, Mr Barnes, is that with the results here in front of me, it is my professional opinion that a donor would be the only way your wife could conceive.’

      Simon began to feel the irritation grow into something bigger. Resentment. Anger. ‘Well the results are wrong.’

      ‘We can re-run the tests. Certainly.’ The doctor said it like a man who was confident that the results were correct. He brought the tips of his fingers together and placed his chin in his hands. He waited a moment until Simon understood.

      ‘No, no you fucking idiot. I’m her dad.’ Dr Martell didn’t say a word. ‘Fuck you, you quack. You’ve got it wrong. Do you hear me? You’ve got it wrong!’

      Simon stood up and stormed out of the office. The violence with which he flung open the door meant it swung back on its hinges and banged against the wall, causing the pictures of ancient frigates to shiver.

5

       Chapter 5, Daisy

       Friday, 17th June 2016

      Millie’s recital starts in ten minutes, 5.30 p.m. A time that does, I suppose, acknowledge that the vast majority of the performers are under the age of nine, but does not take into account that the vast majority of the performers’ parents work, and commuting isn’t easy at this hour. Millie and I came straight from school. I’m lucky that my daughter attends the school I teach at. I’ll need to do a heap of marking later tonight, and I had to swap my after-school club duties, but we were able to have a quick tea on the high street and still get here in plenty of time. I’m on the front row. There’s an empty seat next to me that I’ve saved for Simon. I’ve had to guard it quite ferociously. One woman even had the audacity to point out that the dance teacher’s rules (sent out prior to the concert) specifically stated that the saving of seats was prohibited. I pointed out that I wasn’t saving seats, simply a seat and therefore didn’t feel the spirit of the rule had been broken. I felt the tips of my ears burn as I said this, yet I held my ground. I then called Simon, again, to chivvy him along, but it went straight through to voicemail. I hope that means he’s on the tube, on his way.

      Before Millie started primary school Simon and I debated whether it was a wise move for her to attend the same school as the one I teach at. We debated the issue for many months. He’d read some report or other about children being either bullied or spoilt if their parents went down this route. He said it might be suffocating for her and tricky for me. True, it can be embarrassing for a child if they bring home a friend for a playdate and that friend is confused to see their teacher out of the classroom and in the home, but I teach Year Six, not reception. By the time she reaches Year Six all her friends will have adjusted to the fact that I’m their teacher and Millie’s mother. I also understand that there could potentially be a problem if some of her teachers found it uncomfortable knowing I am in such close proximity, but I’d never dream of interfering. I know the boundaries. I told Simon that I’d always put school trip money in an envelope, put forms in her book bag like other parents. I didn’t plan on collaring her teacher in the staffroom and asking for a progress report.

      For me, the plus factors regarding her attending the same school were overwhelmingly positive and outweighed any potential negatives. Firstly, I love my school. Newfield Primary is friendly, small enough to be manageable but big enough to be inclusive and representative. The staff are dedicated and approachable. It always scores pretty well on the Ofsted report (good rather than outstanding, but that’s more than respectable). Millie and I sharing a schedule makes things easier when it comes to drop off, pick up and school holidays. I immediately get to hear if she’s sick or hurt and I never miss her school assemblies or sports day. Besides, quite simply, I like having her close by. That’s the most important thing. I waited long enough for her. Now I drink up every moment. I promised Simon I’d be vigilant to bullying, alert to any favouritism, and I put Newfield Primary as my first choice on the application form. Then I crossed my fingers. We are in the catchment area. We got lucky.

      On days like this I’m so glad I pushed for us to be at the same school. Since Millie has started to dance I’ve come to understand just how serious her performances are, at least to her, her dance teacher, and a fair amount of the attending parents. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Not that I’m enjoying myself today, at least not yet. I sit, stiff-backed and self-conscious. I wish Simon СКАЧАТЬ