He’d smiled then, knowing he’d done exactly what he’d set out to do. He’d brought me back from the ledge once again.
‘Keep it there, Lily. You never know how things are going to pan out, and if you don’t use it, you could always make a fortune flogging it on eBay.’
I slit open the envelope now, nodding slowly as though I was answering a question no one had spoken out loud. I’d been expecting the letter, and I wondered if part of me had been waiting for it to arrive before finally embarking on the course of action I’d decided upon five months ago, when Polly had her accident. It felt like serendipity that the letter had dropped on to my doormat on the same day I’d put aside the last of my uncertainty and decided to contact the clinic myself.
I’d never been one to believe in signs, but suddenly the universe was full of them. Every other woman I walked past in the street was either pregnant or pushing a pram. Had it always been so? I had no idea, but the coincidences were piling up thick and fast. A flyer had dropped through my letterbox about a brand-new nursery that was opening just around the corner from my flat, and then, while channel-hopping TV stations a couple of nights ago, I’d stumbled upon a documentary detailing a couple’s IUI journey.
‘IUI. Intrauterine insemination,’ I said quietly in the empty kitchen. A topic I knew a great deal more about now than I had done just five months ago, when the idea of going ahead and having a baby on my own had first occurred to me in Raegan’s home.
I’d researched the procedure exhaustively and knew the chances of success on my first round of IUI were slight, especially if I wanted to go down the natural path, without the use of hormone injections or drugs. Which was the option that most appealed to me.
Adam had always been a fatalist. ‘If something is meant to be yours, it will find its way to you,’ he once said, before pulling me towards him for a kiss.‘Like me finding you on the side of the road.’
I’d kissed him back and laughed.
‘You really do need to find a better way of phrasing that, my love.’
His eyes had twinkled.‘If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.’
So here I was, about to apply his totally unsubstantiated theory in my efforts to become a mum. My first attempt at IUI would be drug free and as natural and normal as getting pregnant with your late husband’s baby could possibly be.
‘Just lie back and relax for about ten minutes or so. Then you can get up and pop your clothes back on.’
Was that it?I wondered, feeling slightly incredulous. I’d had more traumatic visits to the dentist.
I hadn’t slept well the previous night – actually, I’d not slept well for the past few weeks if I was being totally honest. I’d been worrying about the procedure, but it had been surprisingly quick, easy, and almost business-like.
‘I’d imagined making a baby would be more of a big deal,’ I said softly in the empty treatment room.
Ah, those were the days, said the Adam in my head. It was so easy to visualise the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
I remained on the examination table for exactly as long as I was told to do, and then, feeling strangely surreal, I got dressed and made my way back to the car. The receptionist smiled warmly as I walked towards the exit clutching the bundle of literature I’d been given. I would read it all diligently, but I had a feeling I could probably write my own pamphlet on IUI after all the research I’d carried out over the last few months. The one fact I’d very much like to have forgotten was the low percentage of successful first-time attempts. Unfortunately, that one was stuck in my head and would probably be there for the next two weeks until I was able to take a pregnancy test.
As I walked through the elegantly furnished foyer, I passed several couples waiting anxiously for their names to be called. I felt a twinge not of envy, but more of regret that I hadn’t told anyone where I was going today, much less asked them to accompany me. Raegan could easily have been at my side, and I bet even Andie would have jumped on a plane from her home in New York if I’d asked her. She had when Adam was first diagnosed, and then again when he died.
There was no reason to feel that there ought to be another shadow walking beside mine on the journey back through the car park. And yet I did.
You could have asked him. He said he’d be there for you if you ever needed him, said Adam’s voice in my head, so clearly that my steps actually faltered.
‘He didn’t mean for something like this,’ I said out loud, sounding truly horrified at my late husband’s outrageous suggestion. Two young women in uniforms bearing the clinic’s logo glanced my way.
‘Sorry, did you say something?’ one of them called across.
I blushed like the idiot I knew I must surely look.
‘No, sorry. I was just thinking out loud,’ I said, fumbling for my car keys. ‘You’re going to get me committed,’ I muttered to Adam, who’d been far more vocal in my head recently, while I’d been waiting for my appointment at the clinic. I suppose it wasn’t really surprising, given that what I was doing was a chance to bring him back to life in the only way that I could.
The trick, I discovered, was to keep busy and not think about how I’d set something in motion that could change the rest of my life. It probably didn’t help that I was crossing each passing day off the calendar, like a prisoner waiting for release.
In the days that followed the procedure I found myself wanting to inexplicably share what I’d done with total strangers – perhaps because the thought of sharing it with the people whoreallymattered to me made me nervous.
Although Mum and Dad knew about my plans, I hadn’t given them the date of my appointment, because I knew it would make them start worrying about me all over again, and they’d only just begun to relax after eighteen months of being on high alert. But perhaps the real reason was that, for now, this was just between Adam and me, and I really liked that we had this one last secret together.
I double-locked the doors to the workshop, relieved that the day was finally over. I’d stayed later at work than normal, trying to catch up after a taxing afternoon on the phone chasing a missing shipment and dealing with a difficult customer.
The air felt hot and humid as Fletcher and I crossed the car park, and this morning’s bright blue sky had darkened and now resembled an angry bruise. It looked like the weathermen had finally got one right. A summer storm was definitely on the way. I glanced up, wondering if we’d make it home before the weather broke.
I’d just parked up when the first drops of rain began to fall. Pulling a reluctant Fletcher behind me, I ran through the splattering rain towards the short flight of marble steps that led to the main doors of my building. They were slippery underfoot and I realised for the first time how awkward they’d be to negotiate with a pram. And after scaling them, I’d still have to tackle three internal flights to reach my flat. Too late I realised I probably should have givenmore thought to those practicalities before running blithely into the unknown.
