‘Thanks for a fantastic meal,’ Jack says, and bends to kiss her cheek, and then shake Matt’s hand. We exchange a flurry of goodbyes, and then Jack and I are walking outside into the balmy June evening.
I want to say something, but I’m not sure what, and so we are both silent as Jack opens the passenger door and I slip inside. It isn’t until we’re halfway back to my place that one of us speaks.
‘That was amazing, wasn’t it?’ Jack says, his eyes on the road. ‘Looking at that photo. That baby…’ He trails off, shaking his head. I don’t trust myself to respond, so I stay silent. ‘That baby… it’s half you, half me, Anna.’
I feel a weird tumble of sensations – guilt and embarrassment, longing and something I’m not ready to name. I turn to look out the window, trying to diffuse the sudden intimacy that has fallen on us like a silken blanket. ‘That baby is Milly’s,’ I say as firmly as I can. ‘Milly and Matt’s. Milly did loads of research,’ I add for emphasis, ‘and she actually imparts some of her DNA to the baby.’ Or something like that. I wasn’t quite sure of the details, but Milly was adamant that studies showed a baby had some genetic material of its birth mother, even if she was a surrogate.
‘But Matt doesn’t,’ Jack says, and I turn to look at him sharply. Why is he mentioning that? Why is he making it sound as if there is something questionable here, something we can pry and probe and perhaps even take apart? Because there isn’t. There absolutely isn’t.
‘No, but he shares fifty per cent of your DNA,’ I counter. ‘Those babies will have something – a lot – of Milly and Matt in them, Jack, and that’s without even mentioning the power of nurture versus nature.’
‘I know that,’ Jack says, but he doesn’t sound convinced, and a weird panic sweeps over me, because I can’t let him make me think this way. It feels treacherous, dangerous. Wrong. There’s no point to it, no purpose, no hope.
‘Milly’s adopted, you know. She understands what really makes a mum or dad, and she and Matt will make fantastic parents,’ I say, a determined, almost savage note to my voice. ‘Really amazing.’
‘Oh yes, definitely. Absolutely.’ He lets out a little laugh and shakes his head. ‘No question about that.’ I feel as if we’ve steered away from some unspoken precipice that was looming before us, and only just in time. My heart is still racing, the post-adrenalin hit of having just avoided a danger.
We don’t talk again until we’ve reached my flat; the street is quiet, twilight just settling, the cherry trees in full blowsy blossom, the flower beds bursting with tulips. The whole world in bloom and expectant. Jack turns to me.
‘Anna…’
My breath and heart rate both hitch. Some part of me knew this was coming, after the intimacy of this evening, and I am ready. I am so ready. He smiles and then he reaches for me. The feel of his lips on mine is strange, because it’s been so long. Have I forgotten how to kiss?
His hands tangle in my hair. He moves closer, or maybe I do. I feel awkward, all angles and elbows, having to think before I control each limb, a hand here, my hip there, because I don’t remember how this works. Maybe I never knew.
But Jack knows; Jack knows very well. His lips are sure, his movements too, maybe a little too sure. He’s not worried about my response, and I tell myself I don’t mind. At least one of us should know what we’re doing.
Eventually he pulls away, smiling, and I smile back. At least I think I do. I feel shaken right down to my core, as if I need to reconstruct myself, and it was only a kiss. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
‘See you again?’ he says, and it doesn’t sound like a question. I nod dumbly, and then I slip out of the car. I feel strange, as if I am floating, but also as if I am leaden. I put my fingers to my lips.
I am still thinking about the kiss the next day, when I wait for Jack’s call that doesn’t come. Milly calls, though, clearly wanting the low-down on Jack and me.
‘So what’s going on there?’ she asks, and there is a jolly note to her voice that sounds a bit false.
‘Nothing much, really.’ Already I feel guarded, and it’s so bizarre. This is Milly.
‘Are you dating?’ she asks bluntly.
‘We’re seeing each other,’ I admit. ‘It’s very early stages, Milly.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ She sounds hurt, just as I knew she would.
‘I’m not sure. I thought maybe you’d… mind.’
‘Mind?’ Her voice comes out sharp. ‘Why should I mind?’
‘I don’t know. Because it’s a bit strange? Us being, you know…’
‘You being what?’ Her voice hardens, and I feel as if I have suddenly stepped into deep waters, and I am flailing.
‘The donors. I don’t know. It all just seems a bit…’ I trail off, unable to put it into words, wishing I hadn’t said anything.
Milly doesn’t reply, and the silence feels frozen. ‘Why should that be strange?’ she finally asks, and although her tone is matter-of-fact, I sense something dark swirling underneath, and instinctively I back away from it.
‘I suppose it isn’t, not really. Sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking.’
‘It’s just, Jack is a bit of a player, Anna,’ Milly continues after a strained second of silence. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get hurt by him. He has a lot more experience than you do, and it’s likely that he’s not taking this – whatever this is – seriously.’