She looked back longingly at the set of small cottages on either side of the country lane, a few yards down from where they stood. Nothing else for miles except fields and then the M25. This was a place you might pass on your way to somewhere, Gatwick or Heathrow maybe, and not even know it existed. It didn’t have a name, it was so isolated. Not the kind of place she’d fancy living – she liked to be able to pop out for a pint of milk.

She thought fleetingly of knocking on the door of one of the cottages – especially the one that looked all mod cons, fancy sealed windows with tinted glass and a door that wouldn’t be out of place on a vault – for tea and a warm-up of her frozen feet. But it wouldn’t be right. Not until they’d questioned the occupants about the presence of a dead body mere yards from their doors.

‘Come on,’ she said, resigned. ‘My mam uses the hairdryer to defrost her freezer. Maybe they can do something like that.’

Elle

Elle

‘I’m sorry,’ said the doctor. He was kind in the way private doctors were, knowing that each soothing word was earning them extra. ‘There’s no reason I can find for your infertility.’

She stared down hard at her hands, twisted in her lap. Her mother had always told her never to cry in public. Hold it in, save it for the locked bathroom, the edge of the towel bunched in your mouth to hide the noise from your husband. He should never see you cry, except prettily, with joy. When he proposed, when your children were born. ‘There’s really nothing?’ She’d hoped for an easy answer, a simple fix to explain why month after month her body emptied itself, regular as clockwork.

Of course it’s your fault. Why would any child want you as a mother?

‘In about a third of cases, there’s no reason for it. But there’s always options. Adoption can bring a lot of joy—’

‘No,’ she said. ‘My husband, he wouldn’t want that. He’ll want his own child.’ They had discussed it, of course, when they met years ago, in the crush bar of the Royal Albert Hall, her aglow with a successful concert, him young and handsome, hardly able to tear his eyes from her. But back then, the idea of infertility or babies had seemed so far away. She’d voiced her concerns – her family history, the ethics of continuing her bloodline. He’d kissed her, her face cupped between his hands. I only want you, my darling girl.