The Road Trip(85)

My phone buzzes in my hand. I’ve been staring at it vacantly, with no clear idea of what I want it to do.

‘Hello?’

‘Wow, hello,’ Deb says. ‘That was prompt. So, can I get your take on an ethical conundrum?’

‘Sure?’ I say.

I’ve forgotten to eat. I get up and head to the fridge, scanning it for something in-date.

‘So if I know I want to have a baby, and I’ve thought of someone who is very willy-nilly with sperm distribution . . . Can I just have sex with him and get pregnant and then never tell him he’s the father?’

I blink at the lump of cheddar I’m examining.

‘Umm,’ I say.

‘It’s Mike,’ she supplies helpfully. ‘That bouncer I went back with after your birthday night out.’

I try to compose my thoughts.

‘He’s not big on condoms, basically,’ Deb says. ‘Hello? Are you still there?’

‘Yes, sorry,’ I say, closing the fridge. ‘Just absorbing.’

Deb waits patiently.

‘I think that might be really wrong,’ I say. ‘Yes. I think that’s one of the bad ones.’

‘Oh,’ Deb says, sounding crestfallen. ‘But if I’d done it by accident, it would be fine.’

‘Yeah, true. Only it wouldn’t be by accident if you did it now.’

‘Who’s to know?’

‘Well, me. You told me.’

‘Damn it. Why did you have to pick up the phone?’

I sigh. ‘Why don’t you ask Mike if he minds?’

‘He’d probably say he doesn’t mind,’ Deb says. ‘But then there’s the risk that when my child is seven or something and functioning really well in my lovely single-parent household he’ll come sweeping in demanding rights.’

It’s still so strange hearing Deb talk about having a child. I really thought she’d never come around. I should have known there’d be no grey area, no umming and ahhing. Deb is a yes-or-no sort of woman.

I wonder what she would do if she were me. Deb would never cry on the toilet over any man, and I feel a twinge of shame.

‘Why don’t you just get a donor? Aren’t there private companies that do that sort of thing for you?’ I ask.

‘That sounds complicated. And much less fun than having sex with Mike.’

‘Why Mike, just out of interest?’

‘Hmm? Oh, I told you, he doesn’t like condoms.’

I wait.

‘And I suppose he’s quite a good specimen. Tall, handsome, kind, funny, that sort of thing.’

‘Sounds like a catch.’

‘What? Irrelevant. I’m after a sperm donor, not a boyfriend.’

‘Would it be such a bad thing to get one of those too?’

‘You tell me,’ Deb says dryly. ‘You’re not the best advertisement for relationships at the minute.’

I rummage in the cupboard for a loaf of bread. Stale, but it’ll do for cheese on toast.

‘I’d say being in a relationship with one person is great,’ I tell her. ‘The trouble is, at the moment I feel like I’m in a relationship with two people.’

‘Dylan and Etienne?’

I freeze, holding a slice of bread hovering over the toaster.

‘What?’

‘No?’ Deb says, sounding uncertain.

‘Why did you say that?’

‘Sorry, did I upset you? I thought you fancied him.’

‘I meant I felt like I was in a relationship with Dylan and Marcus.’

‘Oh, of course. Right.’

My heart is beating too fast. Deb knows me better than anyone. If she thinks I fancy Etienne . . .

I mean, don’t I? A little bit? What have I just spent my evening thinking about? I rub my belly, feeling nauseous again. I love Dylan. I love Dylan.

‘Sorry, Ads.’

I push down the toaster. I need to eat. It occurs to me as soon as I’ve done it that I should have put the bread under the grill, with the cheese.

‘It’s OK,’ I manage. ‘It’s just . . . weird that you said that. I didn’t realise I’d even talked about him.’

‘You talk about him quite a bit, actually. But that’s probably just me getting the wrong end of the stick.’

There’s a long silence.

‘Not . . . totally,’ I say in a small voice.

‘Oh. So you do fancy him?’

‘Sometimes. I don’t know. Oh, God, I’m an awful person. I’m a cheat.’

‘Addie! Please. It’s not cheating to fancy someone else a little bit. Do you like him more than Dylan?’

‘What? No! Of course not! It’s just . . . I guess things are so – so fraught with Dylan. So it’s like an escapist thing.’

The sound of keys in the lock. I spin, guilty. The toaster pops and I jump.

‘I’ve got to go. Love you, Deb.’

‘What if Mike was the one who decided not to use a condom? Then it would be a known risk he was taking on his own.’

I close my eyes. ‘Bye, Deb.’

‘Oh, fine. Bye.’

Dylan looks exhausted. All the anger evaporates as I watch him stagger to the cupboard and pull out a glass, fill it with water, down it and pour another. I step towards him to hug him but he backs away.