‘Dante had a bad childhood because his parents are vile self-centred narcissists. This baby will have you.’
‘If I go back.’ In her heart she knew there was no if about it. The baby made it a forgone conclusion. ‘It won’t be like the last time. I won’t be brought out like some sort of—’
‘Don’t tell me, Bea,’ Maya cut in. ‘Tell him. Did he know about Mum and the IVF thing?’
Beatrice shook her head. ‘It seems like yesterday sometimes.’
The sisters’ eyes met, their glances holding as they both remembered the period in their teens when, in an attempt to satisfy her husband’s demands for a child of their own, their mother had turned to IVF to give him the real child he had wanted, which he had said would make them a real family.
Witnessing the physical and mental toll that cycle after cycle of treatment had wrought on their mother’s health had been bad, but what had been worse was the blame game that had come after each failure from the man who held his wife responsible for not providing him with his own child.
‘Do you have any idea what this is doing to me?’
The familiar petulant response had soon set the tone of their stepfather’s reaction to having his plans disappointed. It had always been her fault: if she had rested more, if she had been more motivated, healthier, thinner, fatter…if…if… The list of accusations had been endless.
When one specialist had refused to treat them any more because of the impact on their mother’s health, they had moved on to the next clinic.
‘I used to think that I’d never go down that road…’ Maya said suddenly. ‘But, do you remember Prue?’
‘The Prue who married the cricket player, but is much more famous for doing your maths homework?’
‘She and Jake had twins through IVF. I’ve never seen two people happier.’
‘That’s not the same. Prue and her cricketer wanted a baby because they loved…’ Beatrice felt her eyes fill. ‘It wasn’t duty. I left of my own volition, but it was only a matter of time before Dante would have been forced to put me aside for someone with a more reliable reproductive system.’
‘He is a total bastard,’ Maya said conversationally.
‘He’s the father of my child.’
Maya grimaced. ‘I’m sorry…’
‘I’m not.’ Beatrice pressed her hands to her still-flat stomach. The panic was still there but it was pushed into the background by a certainty. ‘You probably think I’m mad, but I want this baby.’
Maya smiled. ‘I don’t think you’re mad, I think you’re… I think you’ll make a marvellous mum and I intend to be a pretty great auntie too.’ Her eyes widened with awed realisation. ‘God, with you as a mum and Dante as a dad, this baby really has hit the gene jackpot.’