The Surrogate

32

When Hester opened her eyes, she was standing in front of the cot, looking at the baby. Her memories receding, waiting for her husband to arrive.

What the fuck’s the matter with you now, woman? What you standin’ there like that for?

He was there. She quickly wiped her eyes, willed the last smoky trails of her memory to be gone. She didn’t want him to know she was thinking of that again. Anything but that.

‘The… the baby…’

What about it?

‘It…’ She knew she had to deflect her attention away from her memories. She took her hands from between her legs and pointed at the cot. ‘It died…’

‘It’s dead,’ she said again when he didn’t respond.

I can see that.

‘What… what should we do?’

Bury it.

So she did. As soon as it was time to get up, she climbed out of bed and took the now cold and stiffening body from the cot. She carried it outside and picked up a shovel. It was difficult. The cold, hard earth proved unyielding to anything less than her pickaxe. So she swung it down, over and over, until she had loosened enough ground to dig a shallow grave.

And there she stood, looking down at the empty patch of earth, the weak early-morning light casting a deep, spidery shadow into it. Hester and her husband were the only people around along the bleak, deserted coastline. She put the pickaxe down and picked up the tiny body in one hand. The sky was grey and oppressive, like it was pressing down on her, trying to squash her into the ground too. She took the blanket from the baby, knelt down and placed the body in the hole.

She stood up, looked down at it. And felt something. Again there was that emptiness, that strange aching feeling inside her. It seemed to well up inside her, building in her chest. She opened her mouth, put her head back. And out came a wail, as surprising to her as it was plaintive and heartfelt. It sounded like a wounded, cornered animal that could fight no more and knew it was about to die. The sound had a pained inevitability to it. She kept howling and screaming, her head back, her eyes closed. Just howling and screaming.

She didn’t know how long she stood there. Time for Hester became elastic and stretched, then fluid and flowed away. Then finally solid once more as she opened her eyes. Her voice was silent, her throat raw. She felt empty, spent. She looked round. The baby’s body was still lying in the grave. She picked up the shovel, began to heap earth on to it. Each spadeful fell with a flat, spattering crash until eventually the body was covered. She tamped and smoothed down the earth, stood upright once more.

The emptiness she had thought she felt wasn’t there. The pain inside her that had caused her to wail was. It had returned when the baby had become obscured by dirt. In fact, it was growing stronger. Her earlier memories of shame and rage were now totally forgotten, or at least suppressed once more. This was a more immediate pain. This called for a direct resolution.

She was holding the dead, headless chicken.

Here, said her husband.You’ll know what to do with that.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the patch of smooth earth. ‘The baby’s gone…’ she said once more. The words, she knew, were unnecessary, but she felt she had to say something. Fill in the gap between the earth and the sky.

‘We were goin’ to be a family,’ she said.

Her husband was silent. She continued.

‘The baby was goin’ to make us a family.’

We’ll get another one.

Hester smiled, eyes shining. ‘Can we? Because that’s what couples do when things like this happen. It’s what makes them families.’

There’s more on the list.

Another smile played across Hester’s features. ‘Have you got one in mind? Have you been out hunting again?’

I’ve got one in mind.

Hester could have kissed him, she was so happy.

‘When can we get it?’

Soon. Now take that hen inside and get to work. I’m gettin’ hungry.

Hester went inside. She gave barely a backward glance to the flattened mound of earth. She didn’t need to now. That was in the past. Water under the bridge and all that. This was the present.

She had something to look forward to. She was going to have a baby. She was going to be a mother again.

She was going to be complete.

Part Two

33

‘Morning.’

Clayton locked his car, strode across the car park, smiling at Anni. She tried to return the smile, found her facial muscles wouldn’t allow her to be wholly successful. Instead she nodded. He reached her, stopped, his own smile evaporating. Scrutinised her face, caught her mood. Frowned.

‘What’s up?’

She dug deeper, crinkled the corners of her lips upwards. ‘Nothing. Everything’s fine.’

Clayton’s smile returned, reassured. ‘Good. Glad to hear it.’

It didn’t take much, she thought, to make Clayton’s world right again. But then he wasn’t the deepest of thinkers. He was charming, though. And handsome. And she was sure she wasn’t the first woman who had been taken in by him.

‘So,’ she said, still deciding what she was going to say, ‘what did you do last night?’

He shrugged. ‘This an’ that. Went to the gym.’ He smiled, as if at a private joke.

She nodded.

‘What about you?’

‘Surveillance. Brotherton.’

A shadow passed over his face. ‘When?’

She shrugged, tried to keep her voice non-committal. ‘Late on. Not been long off it. Should still be in bed.’

‘Why aren’t you?’ he said, very quickly.

Anni smiled inwardly. Feeling guilty? she thought. Think I’ve come in to have a little chat with Phil? ‘Suppose I should be. Still, got to make the most of the overtime, haven’t you?’

He smiled again, clearly relieved to see she was thinking the way he was. ‘Too right.’

She had come straight to work from the surveillance, telling herself she would get cleaned up at the station. She had sat in her car in the car park, waiting for Clayton to turn up. She didn’t have anything specific planned to