The Perfect Mother (ARC) Read online

  would not be dwarfed by that flirt from the magazine.

  ‘Any nibbles from the site?’ Daniel asked, swinging

  her bare feet on to his lap in preparation for a foot rub.

  Sheridan admired his attempt at changing the sub-

  ject. She didn’t mind; the hunt for a child was the most

  exciting thing going on in her life right now. A lifetime

  of photoshoots and interviews paled in comparison. She

  opened her laptop, groaning in satisfaction as Daniel

  gently kneaded the soles of her feet with his thumbs.

  He had the magic touch, and she was only too happy to

  succumb to it.

  ‘I was waiting for that journalist to leave before I

  checked,’ she said, feeling the stress ebb away. ‘You can’t be too careful.’

  They had already taken the utmost care with security.

  They owned their own internet servers, and Daniel used

  burner phones, changing them every month. There were

  only a few people in his life he needed to contact – his

  agent and immediate family – and they all had his email

  address. Privacy was everything. The journalists granted

  entry to their home visited designated areas only. All press and promo happened strictly under their own terms. Leo

  featured only in the publicity shots that Sheridan took

  herself. They were released at a premium, strengthening

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  the brand she was working so hard to build. These days,

  she monitored her social media profiles more than she read

  scripts. Fifty-nine million Twitter followers. The arrival

  of another child would easily bring that up to sixty. She

  imagined the sponsorship deals, smiling as Daniel kissed

  the tips of her manicured toes. She must have been a saint

  in a former life, to deserve such a devoted husband. And

  now one more child to seal their success. Was her wish

  really going to come true?

  ‘Yes!’ She bounced on the sofa as the notification on

  her computer came into view. ‘She’s replied.’

  ‘Cool,’ Daniel grinned. ‘What’s she said?’

  ‘Only to ask if we’d like to progress.’

  ‘You still want her?’

  Sheridan curled up next to him, tingles of excitement

  chasing her headache away. ‘More than anything.’ She

  turned the laptop to face them both. ‘She’s perfect. I’ve

  such a good feeling about this.’

  ‘Mother knows best,’ Daniel said, giving her a squeeze

  before rising to his feet. ‘I’m going to get a bath. Keep

  me in the loop.’

  ‘Your script’s in the drawer next to your side of the

  bed,’ Sheridan replied, unable to tear her eyes from the

  screen. Their bathroom was his sanctuary, and more like

  a hotel spa. With a monsoon shower, ambient lighting

  and Bluetooth speakers built into the ceiling, it was no

  wonder Daniel spent over an hour in there most days.

  Lying in the freestanding tub, he would use the time

  alone to memorise his lines.

  Sheridan checked her watch. Leo was on a play date.

  She would have dropped him off herself, but she couldn’t

  go very far without paparazzi cameras being thrust in

  her face, along with the usual questions about where

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  her husband was. It was all about Daniel these days. She

  touched her face, as if her wrinkles were scars. Botox could only hold them back for so long, and she couldn’t bear to

  end up looking like a shop-window dummy, like some

  of her friends. It was time for her to accept that her best days as an actress were behind her. Her heart throbbed

  with longing to be needed. She had precious minutes to

  compose a response to Rosalind. There would be lots

  of prospective couples after her, given that 99 per cent

  of the women who used the site were from the US. She

  didn’t need to check with Daniel. He was happy for her

  to reply on his behalf.

  Dear Rosalind

  Thank you for getting back to us both. We

  are thrilled you would like to progress things

  further. Apologies we have been unable to

  reveal our identities just yet …

  She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

  But if you’d like to talk over the phone, I can

  call at a time which is convenient to you.

  I think you should know that we already

  have a little boy. He has started school and

  would love a sibling. Unfortunately, I’m un-

  able to have further children. My husband

  and I are very happily married, and we can

  provide a wonderful safe, secure home for

  our new baby. We would like our donor to

  come to New York to live with us until the

  baby is born. Full costs would be met, as well

  as a generous living income and the expenses

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  Caroline Mitchell

  listed on the Miracle-Moms site. We will al-

  ways be truly indebted for such a generous

  gift and will do everything in our power to

  make the birthing experience as pleasant as

  possible, particularly for a first-time mom.

  Our donor would be welcome to stay with

  us after the birth for as long as she needs to.

  I hope this all sounds acceptable to you

  and I wait for your response.

  Warmest regards.

  She leaned back from the keyboard, rereading her words.

  She could make this work. She had to. Yet a small, creeping voice whispered from a distant place. A place she could not escape. Rosalind sounded like a nice girl. Naive. Alone.

  It was the reason she had chosen her. She was a vessel,

  nothing more than an object that fitted a set of criteria

  and had the right set of genes. On the plus side, she was

  young, pretty, artistic. But how would she react when she

  discovered the true nature of Sheridan’s plans? Her lips

  thinned in a cold hard line. It would be too late by then.

  52

  CHAPTER TEN

  Roz

  There were times when the realisation of my pregnancy

  hit me with the force of a steam train. I didn’t want

  kids – at least, not yet. Yet there I was, a cliché. The result of a drunken night with the worst possible person. I

  tried to pinpoint what had stopped me from getting the

  morning-after pill. Was it my moral compass? Fear of

  God’s judgement and the fires of hell? Or was it a spark

  of love for the bunch of cells growing inside me? It was

  all of the above and more. Love is a dangerous emotion.

  It can lead to bad judgements and a lifetime of regret.

  I couldn’t spend my life resenting this baby – like my

  mother had resented me.

  I researched why some couples choose a pregnant do-

  nor rather than go down the surrogacy route. There were

  blogs by infertile women whose lives were dominated by

  chemicals: hormone injections, followed by egg harvests

  and transfers, granted them short periods of hope. But

  each month, they were plunged into depression as their

  attempts at pregnancy failed. Many could not bear the

  thought of another woman carrying their husband’s child.

&n
bsp; Adoption seemed their only hope. It was hard not to feel

  some sympathy for these parents, so desperate for a child.

  Could I kid myself into believing that I was doing some

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  good? Or would the guilt of handing over my baby haunt

  me for the rest of my days? Not that I was complacent.

  I was only a couple of months gone. There was nothing

  to say this pregnancy would even go to full term. But I

  wanted it to. Despite my conflicting emotions, I wanted

  my little bean to live.

  I sat back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my hands

  resting over the waistband of my jeans. It felt good to mull over the thoughts and emotions swirling around in my

  head. Things were moving quickly, and I still couldn’t

  believe a diamond couple were interested in me. Well,

  interested in my baby; but we came as a package for now.

  I turned to my computer and brought back up their

  message, my nerves tingling with anticipation. She wanted

  a phone call already. Normally, donors shortlisted a few

  couples, spoke to them online, got a feel for what they

  wanted and then made contact by phone. I hadn’t mes-

  saged anyone else, but instinctively I knew that talking

  to this woman was the right thing to do. It wasn’t just

  her wealth that attracted me. It was the way her words

  hung tantalisingly in the air. Safe, secure and stable. Plus, a happy marriage and a big brother to look out for her.

  What more could I want?

  The television chattered in the living room as some

  reality TV show played. Dympna was curled up on the

  sofa with Seamus. They were going to visit her parents

  soon for an early supper. Her brother was home from the

  army and they were having a party afterwards to celebrate.

  As for me, reheated fish fingers would do; they’d invited

  me along, but there was no way I could go now. I fan-

  tasised about standing on their lavish dining room table.

  Their shocked faces as I announced I was pregnant and

  that someone in the room was the father of my child. It

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  The Perfect Mother

  would be like something out of Fair City, Dympna’s favourite TV soap. Of course, it would never happen. But

  I had a vivid imagination and could not help playing the

  scene in my mind. These thoughts made me all the more

  certain that I was making the right decision in allowing

  my baby to live elsewhere. I typed in my response on the

  Miracle-Moms site.

  Hi Julie,

  It would be lovely to chat. I’m available now

  if you are?

  And please, call me Roz :-)

  I couldn’t stay up too late, I had to be out the door by

  seven in the morning. The hotel had asked me to work

  out my month’s notice, which would keep me going fi-

  nancially for a couple more weeks, at least. I nibbled on

  my bottom lip before deleting the last line and inputting

  my full name. Nobody called me Rosalind, but perhaps

  it was too early for informalities. It felt unnerving, not

  knowing who I was talking to. It could be anyone. But it

  was doubtful I’d recognise her by her voice. I was about

  to get up when another message flashed up on the screen.

  I was surprised, because my profile had been hidden from

  potential new candidates. I clicked on my inbox. It was

  Julie. Had she been sitting by her computer, waiting for

  me to respond? What time was it over there?

  Hi Rosalind,

  Yes, I can call now if you like. I’m not work-

  ing today so I’m flexible.

  Speak soon

  Julie

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  Springing from my bed, I paced the room, feeling pan-

  icky. She wanted to call me, and I looked a right state in

  my faded jeans. I wasn’t even wearing any make-up! I

  picked up a hair bobble from the carpeted floor. Winding

  my hair into a bun, it was only when I looked in the

  mirror that I asked myself what on earth I was doing. It

  was a phone call, not Skype or Facetime. She wouldn’t

  actually see me in my grotty little flat. It was just as well.

  I took a breath in an effort to slow my heart rate, which

  was beating like a Congo drum. Opening my drawer,

  I plucked out the ‘do not disturb’ sign I’d stolen from

  Jurys hotel. It was a signal to Dympna not to burst in

  at full volume, as she usually did. One advantage of her

  recent weight gain was that she was no longer able to fit

  into any of my clothes, so there would be no wardrobe

  emergencies before she slipped away to her parents for

  the evening. After putting the sign on the door handle,

  I closed the door. Hands trembling, my fingers clacked

  on my crumb-speckled keyboard as I replied to Julie that

  now was fine. I took another soothing breath and told

  myself to calm down. It was just a phone call. Nothing

  was set in stone.

  Yet I could not avoid the feeling that something monu-

  mental was underway. I had always wanted to broaden

  my horizons. Excitement bubbled inside. As well as doing

  something wonderful for my baby, this could change my

  life for the better, too.

  I jumped as my mobile phone rang. That was quick!

  Closing down my computer, I pulled my duvet up to my

  waist, keeping the chill at bay.

  ‘Hello?’ I said, trying not to sound too countrified

  down the phone.

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  The Perfect Mother

  ‘Oh, hi, is that Rosalind? It’s … Julie. From the

  Miracle-Moms site.’

  I pursed my lips. She sounded so American! So New

  York! My cheeks flushed as I held the phone tightly in

  my hand. It was as if I was scared the opportunity would

  slip away.

  ‘Hi, yes it is. Please call me Roz,’ I replied, forgetting

  my earlier decision to keep things formal.

  ‘Nice to speak to you, Roz. I hope I haven’t disturbed

  you.’ I could hear the smile in her voice, and it made me

  smile too.

  ‘No, not at all. It’s great to hear from you, too.’ I

  chewed my inner lip, unsure what to say. ‘I’m sorry…’ I

  exhaled the breath I was holding. ‘This is all new to me

  and I’m a bit nervous.’

  ‘Me, too,’ she chuckled. ‘But it’s better to chat in per-

  son than by email, don’t you think? I’m sorry I’ve not

  given you my real name just yet. I hope you understand.’

  ‘Sure, no worries. And I won’t breathe a word. Not

  that I have anyone to tell.’ I coloured at the lie as I heard the front door of our flat slam; Dympna and Seamus had

  just left. But as far as Julie was concerned, I was estranged from my family and living on my own. She was not the

  only one with a lot to lose if this got out. The line fell

  quiet and I sensed she was gearing up to something.

  ‘It’s just that … ’ She paused, her accent strong but

  crisp down the line. ‘Well … we hope to raise the baby

  as our own. Would that be a problem for you?’

  My mouth dropped open at her directness and I felt
/>   a pang of gratitude that we weren’t on Skype. She wasn’t

  just talking about adoption. They wanted to pass the baby

  off as their own. That’s why there was so much onus on

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  Caroline Mitchell

  secrecy, why nobody else could know. Would she wear

  a pretend bump? Keep me hidden from the world?

  ‘Of course, we’d keep a medical record of the do-

  nor’s background in case of future health issues. We

  would tell the child when the time was right, but

  nobody else would know, and it’s unlikely they would

  seek you out.’

  ‘That suits me fine,’ I replied. ‘I’d rather not have

  future contact. I don’t want him or her getting confused.’

  ‘I’m so pleased to hear it.’ Her relief was audible. We

  were on the same page. ‘If things work out, we would

  need you to live with us before you show. We have a

  basement luxury apartment so you would have complete

  privacy. We have a full medical team, and it would be a

  home birth.’

  ‘Home birth?’ I echoed, my eyes widening as I imag-

  ined myself lying on a beanbag in some New York flat.

  ‘Don’t sound so scared,’ she laughed. ‘You’d have

  access to all the drugs you need, as well as one of New

  York’s best OBGYNs. If there were any complications,

  you’d be whisked away for a hospital birth.’ She paused.

  ‘I’m just getting the deal-breakers out of the way before

  we progress.’

  I nodded into the phone, my mouth dry. I was gag-

  ging for a cup of tea, but didn’t want to move in case

  Dympna hadn’t really left.

  ‘That all sounds OK,’ I said.

  ‘What about you? Any must-haves?’

  I smiled as I imagined relaying the conditions of six

  months’ supply of Häagen-Dazs and a subscription to

  Netflix.

  ‘I’d like to go to church at some point,’ I said, which

  was a great fat lie. But I had told them I was a practising 58

  The Perfect Mother

  Catholic and I needed to follow it through. ‘But mostly …

  a secure and happy home for the baby.’

  ‘Of course. And financially, we’re as secure as you can

  get. Our child would have a private education, the best

  health care money can buy and entry into one of the top

  universities in America.’

  ‘I thought that was down to results.’ I switched the

  phone and rubbed my right earlobe, which was red and