The Surrogate Read Free Page A

her out as one of them. She had heard them and seen them, though, talking and laughing together, and knew instinctively she would never be part of that. Never be one of them. No matter what circumstances dictated. Now she saw the same women in here and her heart sank. Hair piled up or tied back, trainers or bare feet. All wearing brightly coloured, almost dayglo leotards and co-ordinated joggers. Full make-up. Marina was wearing grey jogging bottoms, a black T-shirt, old trainers. She felt dowdy and dull.

    Someone stopped behind her. ‘You lost?’

    ‘Yes,’ she said, turning. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t emerge.

    ‘Pre-natal yoga?’ the woman said, seeing the mat under Marina’s arm.

    Marina nodded.

    The woman smiled. ‘That’s us, then.’ She patted her stomach. It was much bigger than Marina’s. Taut and hard, the bright orange leotard stretched tight across it. It protruded proudly over the waistline of her rolled-down joggers. Marina could see the distended navel through the material, like the knot of a balloon. The woman smiled like being that size and shape was the most natural thing in the world. She looked at Marina’s stomach.

    Oh God , Marina thought. Looking at stomachs. That’s how I have to greet people from now on.

    ‘How far gone?’

    ‘Just . . . three months. Four.’

    The woman looked into the room. ‘Starting early, that’s good.’

    Marina felt she had to reciprocate. ‘What . . . what about you?’

    The woman laughed. ‘Any day now, from the size of it. Eight months. I’m Caroline, by the way.’

    ‘Marina.’

    ‘Nice to meet you. Well, come on in. We don’t bite.’

    Caroline walked into the room, Marina following. Marina sized the other woman up, looking at her face rather than her stomach for the first time. Mid-thirties, perky, cheerful. Probably a housewife from somewhere like Lexden. Kept herself in good shape, filled her days by lunching with friends, going to the gym, the hairdresser’s and the nail salon, shopping. Not Marina’s type of person at all. Caroline stopped to talk to other women, greeting them like old friends. All of them scooped from the same mould as her. Brightly coloured and round. Giggling and laughing. Marina felt she had walked into a Teletubbies convention.

    She wanted to turn round, walk out.

    But at that moment the instructor arrived and closed the door behind her, cutting off her escape route.

    ‘See we have a new member . . .’ The instructor beckoned Marina into the room.

    Caroline waved her over and Marina, trying to disguise her reluctance, crossed the room, unfurled her mat and waited for the session to start.

    There. She had done it. Admitted it in public.

    She was pregnant.

4

    P hil couldn’t speak.

    He looked at his two junior officers. They seemed similarly dumbstruck as the enormity of the statement sank in.

    There’s every chance that this baby is still alive . . .

    ‘Shit . . .’ Phil found his voice.

    ‘Quite,’ said Nick Lines. He looked back at the bed. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me?’

    Phil nodded and ushered his team away from the bedroom, leaving the pathologist to carry on with his job. The three of them still didn’t speak.

    He felt his chest tightening, his pulse quickening. He could hear the blood pumping round his body, feel the throb of his heart like a huge metronome, marking off the seconds, a ticking clock telling him to get moving, get this baby found . . .

    He called over one of the uniformed officers in the living room. ‘Right, I want this whole—’ He stopped. ‘Liz, is it?’

    She nodded.

    ‘Right. Liz.’ He spoke fast but clearly. Urgent but not panicking. ‘I want this whole block of flats searched. Everyone questioned, don’t take no for an answer, draft in as many as you can on door-to-door work.You know what I mean: did anyone hear anything, see anyone suspicious. Someone must have done. Use your instincts, be guided by what they say. I noticed the