Chapters (82)
- Cover
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
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‘No. I didn’t know you were coming here today. You just turned up.’
‘So can you check now, please?’
‘It will take me a while.’
‘I can wait.’
‘I’ll phone you,’ Moller said. ‘But you’re worrying unnecessarily. It’s not my clinic that’s at fault.’
‘Please check now and I’ll wait in my car for your call. I’m not leaving until I have the answer.’
‘That’s your decision,’ Moller said, and closed the door.
Ian returned to his car. Arrogant bastard!
He was prepared to wait outside the clinic all day if necessary. He had the right to know if he and Emma shared the same donor, horrendous though that possibility was. If the clinic was keeping proper records as Moller had said then it shouldn’t be too difficult to find the information.
Ian stared, unseeing, through the windscreen, angry, upset and fearing the worst. Five minutes later his phone rang and it was Carstan Moller. ‘I have checked our records and, as I thought, you and your wife don’t share the same donor.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘So why can’t we have healthy babies?’
‘I really don’t know. There could be many reasons. I’m sorry for you, but it has nothing to do with my clinic. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think you’re becoming obsessed with this. Take Emma’s advice and get on with your lives. Now I really need to do some work. Goodbye, Mr Jennings.’ He ended the call.
‘Arsehole!’ Ian cursed, and started the car. He didn’t like the man, but at least he had answered his question. He and Emma didn’t share the same donor, so that was a great relief.
Ian drove the 200 or so metres into the village and parked outside the shop. He hadn’t smoked in years but now felt desperately in need of a cigarette. Discovering he’d come from donor sperm had been a huge blow.
He was the only customer in the store and a teenage lad was behind the counter listening to music. He took out his earphones as Ian approached.
‘A packet of Marlboro, please.’
The lad opened the cabinet behind him and placed the cigarettes on the counter, the printed warning on the packet face up – Smoking reduces fertility.
‘That’s all I need,’ Ian sighed, taking out his wallet.
The lad grinned. ‘You been to that clinic on the hill then?’ he asked.
‘Yes, how did you know?’
‘Most strangers who come in have been or are going there. Eleven pounds fifty pence, please.’
‘Jesus! Is that what a packet of cigarettes costs now? Just shows how long it’s been since I last smoked.’ He gave the lad a twenty-pound note and waited for his change.
‘What did you think of Mr and Mrs Frankenstein then?’ the lad laughed.
Ian shrugged. ‘Why do you call them that?’