doctor said the only way forward is egg donation.’
‘Using another woman’s eggs?’
‘Uh huh. Mixing them with Alex’s sperm and planting them in my womb.’
‘So it wouldn’t be your baby?’
‘Not biologically mine. But it would be Alex’s. And I’d carry it, I’d give birth to it. But it’s not so easy. There aren’t any eggs in this country. The government changed the law so donors lost their anonymity. Which means hardly anyone is prepared to donate any more in case a child turns up on their doorstep eighteen years later. And the waiting lists are horrific. So now if you want an egg you basically have to go abroad. But of course you have no idea whose eggs you’re getting. I mean they say you do but you can’t be sure and there are these rumours about girls from eastern Europe being forced into it and…’
‘Right.’ Bridget reached out and squeezed Gemma’s hand. She’d had a new tattoo done on her knuckles, Gemma noticed as she squeezed back, took a deep breath and blurted it out.
‘So I was wondering if we could use one of your eggs.’
‘Sorry?’
‘One of your eggs.’ She shrugged. ‘If you’d be OK with that.’ She made it sound as if she was asking to borrow a jumper. Not that she’d be seen dead in one of Bridget’s moth-eaten numbers knitted from sustainable llama’s fur, but anyway… ‘I mean, I know we could adopt but we want a baby and it’s practically impossible to find a newborn and I’d like to have some blood tie and if it’s your egg…’
She looked expectantly at her sister’s face. She’d anticipated delight, disgust, dubiousness, but Bridget seemed merely amused.
‘I don’t see why not. I don’t want kids. Not yet anyway. So why shouldn’t you have them?’
Hot, salty tears flowed down Gemma’s cheeks. ‘That’s so kind of you. I can’t believe it. I don’t believe it. I…’
‘’s OK,’ Bridget grinned, pink in the face and obviously chuffed with herself.
‘It’s wonderful!’ Gemma checked herself. ‘Before you definitely commit you need to know exactly what will be involved. It’s quite an ordeal. You’ll have to take all sorts of drugs and…’
‘Well, it won’t exactly be the first time,’ Bridget chortled.
That laugh brought Gemma right back to earth.
‘Bridget, you can’t take drugs if you’re going to be an egg donor. It would be incredibly irresponsible.’
Bridget laughed again and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Chill, Gems. I was only joking. I mean, you can’t discount what I’ve done in the past but I’m clean now. Well, pretty clean… I mean, I do the odd spliff and things but…’
‘You couldn’t do that if you were giving me an egg.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Bridget said, ‘Um. Sorry. I thought I was helping you out. But obviously not.’ She stood up, wrapping her scarf around her neck.
‘No, sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, it’s just this means so much to me and I can’t… I’ve lost my sense of humour.’
‘You mean you once possessed one?’ Bridget teased, sitting down again.
Gemma tried to get a grip. ‘Listen, you don’t need to make your mind up straight away. Have a think about it. Read up on it. I can send you some links.’
‘Sure,’ Bridget shrugged, good-naturedly. ‘But I’ll do it. Why ever wouldn’t I?’
Gemma’s phone rang again.
‘Oh sorry, I’d better take this, it’s Alex. Hi, darling! Yes, Lucinda says he’s definitely interested… No, I won’t get my hopes up but it’s looking good… I know, we’ll see, but I might as well be optimistic, for once. And…’ She looked at Bridget, who gave her a perky thumbs up. Gemma was infused with love for her sister and the world in general. ‘I’ve got some other news… I’ll tell you later. Do you think you can get home early tonight?’
3
It was Friday morning in the offices of the Sunday Post newspaper and Karen Drake, deputy editor of the All Woman! magazine
‘Using another woman’s eggs?’
‘Uh huh. Mixing them with Alex’s sperm and planting them in my womb.’
‘So it wouldn’t be your baby?’
‘Not biologically mine. But it would be Alex’s. And I’d carry it, I’d give birth to it. But it’s not so easy. There aren’t any eggs in this country. The government changed the law so donors lost their anonymity. Which means hardly anyone is prepared to donate any more in case a child turns up on their doorstep eighteen years later. And the waiting lists are horrific. So now if you want an egg you basically have to go abroad. But of course you have no idea whose eggs you’re getting. I mean they say you do but you can’t be sure and there are these rumours about girls from eastern Europe being forced into it and…’
‘Right.’ Bridget reached out and squeezed Gemma’s hand. She’d had a new tattoo done on her knuckles, Gemma noticed as she squeezed back, took a deep breath and blurted it out.
‘So I was wondering if we could use one of your eggs.’
‘Sorry?’
‘One of your eggs.’ She shrugged. ‘If you’d be OK with that.’ She made it sound as if she was asking to borrow a jumper. Not that she’d be seen dead in one of Bridget’s moth-eaten numbers knitted from sustainable llama’s fur, but anyway… ‘I mean, I know we could adopt but we want a baby and it’s practically impossible to find a newborn and I’d like to have some blood tie and if it’s your egg…’
She looked expectantly at her sister’s face. She’d anticipated delight, disgust, dubiousness, but Bridget seemed merely amused.
‘I don’t see why not. I don’t want kids. Not yet anyway. So why shouldn’t you have them?’
Hot, salty tears flowed down Gemma’s cheeks. ‘That’s so kind of you. I can’t believe it. I don’t believe it. I…’
‘’s OK,’ Bridget grinned, pink in the face and obviously chuffed with herself.
‘It’s wonderful!’ Gemma checked herself. ‘Before you definitely commit you need to know exactly what will be involved. It’s quite an ordeal. You’ll have to take all sorts of drugs and…’
‘Well, it won’t exactly be the first time,’ Bridget chortled.
That laugh brought Gemma right back to earth.
‘Bridget, you can’t take drugs if you’re going to be an egg donor. It would be incredibly irresponsible.’
Bridget laughed again and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Chill, Gems. I was only joking. I mean, you can’t discount what I’ve done in the past but I’m clean now. Well, pretty clean… I mean, I do the odd spliff and things but…’
‘You couldn’t do that if you were giving me an egg.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Bridget said, ‘Um. Sorry. I thought I was helping you out. But obviously not.’ She stood up, wrapping her scarf around her neck.
‘No, sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, it’s just this means so much to me and I can’t… I’ve lost my sense of humour.’
‘You mean you once possessed one?’ Bridget teased, sitting down again.
Gemma tried to get a grip. ‘Listen, you don’t need to make your mind up straight away. Have a think about it. Read up on it. I can send you some links.’
‘Sure,’ Bridget shrugged, good-naturedly. ‘But I’ll do it. Why ever wouldn’t I?’
Gemma’s phone rang again.
‘Oh sorry, I’d better take this, it’s Alex. Hi, darling! Yes, Lucinda says he’s definitely interested… No, I won’t get my hopes up but it’s looking good… I know, we’ll see, but I might as well be optimistic, for once. And…’ She looked at Bridget, who gave her a perky thumbs up. Gemma was infused with love for her sister and the world in general. ‘I’ve got some other news… I’ll tell you later. Do you think you can get home early tonight?’
3
It was Friday morning in the offices of the Sunday Post newspaper and Karen Drake, deputy editor of the All Woman! magazine
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