‘Am I?’
‘Gonna die, silly!’
‘We’re all going to die some day, Ellabella,’ I say, squinting into the sky. ‘But hopefully I’ll be really old when it’s time for me to go to heaven.’
‘Heaven must be full of old people.’
I fake a smile for Ella’s sake. ‘Mostly old people. But not always.’
Ella giggles.
‘So, do Mummy and Daddy and Nanny always talk about grown-up stuff in front of you?’
‘They thought I was sleeping.’ She presses a finger to her lips. ‘Mummy says you’re having a baby. Will the baby go to heaven? Like Max?’
‘I hope not.’ I start threading a daisy chain to make a bracelet.
‘Can it be a girl?’
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘Would you like it to be a girl?’
‘Yes! I hope it’s a girl. We could call her Susie.’ She sits up and kneels down beside me, and I fasten the bracelet around her wrist. ‘If you die, we’ll all have to help take care of the baby because that’s what families do. If it’s a girl, she can have Wally giraffe. I don’t play with him any more.’
‘What makes you think… How do you know this, Ella?’
‘Nanny,’ she says. ‘Nanny told Uncle Nick and then Nanny told Mummy and then Mummy told Daddy.’
‘Oh. While you were sleeping?’
She giggles melodically and cups a hand over her mouth. ‘Yeah. But don’t tell Mummy.’
Two hours later, Caitlin and I are unpacking groceries in her kitchen while Ella and Ethan are happily seated at the outdoor table playing with Play-Doh. After our argument the last time I was here, things haven’t been the same.
‘So, how are you feeling?’ I ask. With her last two pregnancies, she told me about every single itch, pain, cramp and craving, but this time I know nothing about how things are progressing. In a way I suppose that’s been my fault. I’ve been the one keeping my distance.
‘I’m fine,’ she replies dismissively, which implies the exact opposite of course. Caitlin, like me, is a terrible liar.
‘Was everything okay with your last scan? Did you find out the sex?’
‘Yes, all okay. And no, not this time.’
‘Mark didn’t want to find out? I thought he said—’
‘We didn’t find out, Paige. Okay?’ So much for the tiptoeing around. This is regular old Caitlin speaking.
‘Woah,’ I say, holding up my hands.
‘Sorry, I’m very tired at the moment. Mark’s been working long hours and spending a lot of time renovating the cottage. We’re in the final stages now, thank goodness.’
‘If you need a hand with things, all you need to do is ask. I’m here.’
Caitlin tips some peaches into the fruit bowl. ‘I think you have enough going on right now. But thank you.’ She straightens up as if to regain her composure and then empties the contents of another shopping bag onto the counter.
‘If there’s something wrong, you know you can tell me.’
She flips around to face me. ‘I don’t know where you got the idea something’s wrong, because there’s not, but I do wish you’d drop it. I’m fine.’
‘I’m sorry about what I said to you – about the whole surrogacy thing.’
With that, she starts busying herself by emptying sugar into a Tupperware container. ‘I know you didn’t mean it.’ She briefly looks up and her eyes lock with mine. ‘I’m sorry for what I said, too.’
We leave the conversation at that, and I take the carton of milk from the pantry and put it in the fridge. If she notices, she doesn’t let on. ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘If you say you’re fine, then I suppose I will have to believe you.’ I hold up a bag of Brussels sprouts. ‘Please don’t tell me your kids actually eat these?’
‘I pack Ella’s lunch box with them.’
‘Since when do kids love Brussels sprouts?’
‘Since never,’ she says.
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Well, of course. They’re…’
‘Revolting.’
‘Then why do you buy them?’
She shrugs. ‘Mum used to. They’re good for you. Varied diet and all that. They say if you expose children to a variety of different foods, it’s good for them. So I do what I think is good for them.’
‘You’re an adult now. You get to choose to not feed your family Brussels sprouts. Even if the literature states you should. Just because research says something doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. The research can be wrong. The so-called experts can get it wrong.’
Caitlin’s eyes widen. ‘Hold on,’ she says, raising a hand. ‘Are we still talking about Brussels sprouts here?’
‘I’m not going to die,’ I say, helping myself to a peach. ‘I know you’re scared but I don’t want you to be scared. I want you to… be here… for me.’
She blinks slowly, taking the news in. ‘So you’ve decided, then?’ she whispers.
‘I’m in the process of deciding. I have an appointment booked with a counsellor at a clinic to talk about things.’
‘An abortion clinic? Do you… want me to come with you?’
‘Thanks, but this is something I need to do alone. And I really need you on my side, regardless of what I decide,’ I say. I bite into my peach. ‘Because I’m fairly sure I want to keep the baby.’
‘And Nick?’
‘Does not want what I want.’ I gaze out the window. ‘But not because we want different things. We both want a baby. The problem is this pregnancy.’
‘My God, Paige.’ Her hand rises to her mouth. ‘How can you be disagreeing on something like this? How can you decide on something like this with him not being on board? Have you thought this through? I mean, properly thought this through? You still have a few weeks before you need to make a final decision. It’s not too late…’
I swallow a mouthful of peach. ‘Look at them, Caitlin.’ I point out the window to Ella and Ethan. ‘They’re here because of you.’
I tear my gaze away and let it fall on her belly. Caitlin’s hand slides over it. ‘They’re here because of me… but they also need me.’
Of course Caitlin is going to take Nick’s side. She’s not the one that’s childless.
‘I think it’s better that we don’t talk about this together,’ I say sharply. Too sharply, perhaps.
‘You’re impossible,’ she mutters.
‘Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Caitlin.’
‘I’ll do it. I’ll be a surrogate for you when the timing’s right. I’ll give you what you want, Paige. If you can’t do this down the track, I’ll help you.’
The problem is, I don’t want her help. I don’t want anyone’s help. I want this baby.
I meet Mum and Caitlin at the local farmer’s market around the corner from Mum and Dad’s place on Sunday morning. The two of them are trying out home-made hand cream at one of the stalls when I show up.
‘How’s the rest of your week been?’ asks Caitlin casually as we stop at another stall, this one for honey.