Nothing else had been said after the first storm of questions, a lot of it about the process, along with the jokes about Gully’s right hand being put to good use.
Which it had, a week ago.
After a week of talks – there hadn’t been much else we’d talked about – we’d booked an appointment at the clinic Ivy had chosen to freeze her eggs, had various meetings online and a couple of local appointments privately before heading to London for a few nights. We’d visited the clinic, I’d been issued with various drugs and injections and instructions, and Gully had deposited his sample.
He'd made no secret of what he was going to do with his brothers, and the piss-taking had been merciless, which had been exactly what we’d needed. The piss-taking had lessened when we’d found out that Gully’s sperm were strong and decent quality, which led to me getting a text from Ruby, suggesting that Holland men’s sperm was potent and should usually be avoided at all costs. Given that Elias and Elsie were surprises, I understood where she was coming from.
In my case, it was a really good thing.
Two days ago, one of the embryos was implanted into my womb. We stayed another night in London, then made our way back to the island in a painstakingly slow journey because Gully somehow thought that driving like a normal person would have a detrimental impact on me getting pregnant.
Staying pregnant.
I wasn’t sure on what the terminology should be, and right now, looking at the lighthouse across a sea that was choppy and wild, I didn’t understand how I felt.
I knew there was no regret.
Hope. Lots of hope. I’d cried at least five times in the last twenty-four hours, which was stress and hormones and fear and excitement, but I hadn’t let Gully see any of those tears.
Luckily, I wasn’t an ugly crier, so as far as I knew, he hadn’t realised I was currently an emotional ship wreck.
I saw him walking down the garden, a flask in one hand, paper bag in the other. He’d been writing all morning, possibly since before dawn, and I hadn’t wanted to disturb him. I knew from my sister that when inspiration hit, it was best to leave them alone so they could retreat to their writing cave else a growly bear with a sore paw was likely to grump all over the place.
I also wanted to give him space. No one had written any self-help books on what to do when your best friend is your sperm donor for IVF treatment – surely there was a gap in the market for this.
“Hey. I’ve brought you lunch.” He held out the paper bag. “Roast veggies and humous toastie. And tea.” He passed me the flask. “Are you okay?”
I nodded and forced a smile his way. “I’m good. Have you gotten much writing done?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t been writing.”
I frowned. “Oh. I thought you had a deadline.”
“I do.” He retreated under the shelter and sat down on the bench underneath it. “But I can’t write.”
I sat down next to him, the warmth of the toasted sandwich seeping through the paper to my hand.
“Why can’t you write? Want to talk through the plot?” I’d helped Gully out before when he’d been stuck on which way to take a book.
He shook his head. “The book’s not the problem.”
“Oh. Okay.” I took the sandwich out of the bag. It smelt delicious. I’d learned that Gully was a pretty decent cook when he wanted to be, but he only wanted to be when he was cooking for someone else. “What’s bothering you then?”
He swallowed and looked out to the lighthouse, deliberately not focusing on me. “You’re avoiding me.”
I bit into the sandwich, my tastebuds having a little orgasmic dance. “What makes you think that?” He was absolutely right.
“You’re doing everything possible to be wherever I’m not. I want to know why.” He carried on staring out. “Since we got back from London – since, you know, you - ”
“Might be pregnant with your baby?” I looked at him now. I hadn’t realised I was hungry.
“Jesus, Iris. That’s one way to put it.” He looked at me, eventually.
“I need to know why you’re avoiding me. I get it’s intense, we’re kind of together all the time when neither of us are used to that; you’re somewhere new and with new people and there’s a lot going on, and I don’t think this conversation is fair to you, but I need to know if I’ve done something to upset you. I know you’ve been crying loads.” He looked away again. “I don’t know what to do with girl tears.”
I managed to laugh even though my mouth was full. “Girl tears? Really?”
He nodded. “Two brothers. Our mam is fierce and the only time we saw her cry was when someone died. I don’t know what I’m meant to do.”
