Читать книгу With Love From Cape Town - Joss Wood - Страница 15

IT WAS the second week of filming and, once again, Robina was sitting in with Niall as he consulted with couples. At home, everything had carried on the same as it had before, with the two of them spending as little time together as possible, meeting only over breakfast or when Ella’s school functions demanded their presence. She had spoken to him about her promise to Ella and Niall had wholeheartedly agreed that they needed to make some time for the three of them to spend together. Despite this, they still hadn’t managed an outing as a family. Niall had been on call the day after the charity dinner and had spent the whole day seeing emergencies at the hospital.

The patients they were seeing today, the Davidsons, were an ordinary couple with an ordinary life. Patricia, an anxious looking woman with short brown hair, was a primary school teacher and her husband, Luke, was a farmer.

Niall introduced her as usual, although she had met the couple before, and reminded them that they could withdraw from the filming at any time. Then he leaned forward and asked them to explain why they had come to see him. Once again Robina was struck by his warm, encouraging manner with his patients. How could she have forgotten the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the way his mouth lifted when he smiled, how sympathetic he could be?

‘We’ve been trying for ages to have a baby,’ Patricia was saying. ‘We wanted to wait until my career was established first. Then one thing after another happened. My mother became very ill and I had to look after her as well as work full time, so we kept putting it off. Sadly she passed away just over a year ago, but as soon as everything settled down we started trying. But months have passed and nothing.’ She glanced over at Robina. ‘I saw you on the telly, talking about your book on infertility, and I went out and bought it. It made me realise we had to do something, and quickly. So that’s why we’re here. To see why it isn’t happening.’

‘I see from your notes that you are forty-three,’ Niall said gently.

‘That’s not too old, is it?’ replied Patricia anxiously. ‘I mean, I don’t feel old. I’m fit, I exercise regularly. I feel as good as I did in my twenties. Anyway, don’t they say your forties are the new thirties?’

‘Yeah, she even drags me to the gym,’ Luke added. ‘I don’t know where she gets her energy from.’ He smiled fondly at his wife. ‘She’ll be a great mother. We’re even looking forward to the sleepless nights.’

Robina felt a pang of envy. Whatever difficulties these couples were experiencing, it was obvious they loved and supported one another.

‘Unfortunately, people don’t realise that a woman’s fertility begins to tail off once they are thirty-five,’ Niall said quietly. He passed the couple a chart illustrating his point. ‘And once they get to forty, their fertility is dramatically reduced. It doesn’t really matter how fit and healthy they are, although for younger women, being a reasonable weight does help.’

‘What are you saying?’ Luke was frowning. ‘Are you telling us you can’t do anything for us, that you won’t treat us?’

‘Not at all,’ Niall said. ‘But I do have the results of your fertility tests here; the semen analysis from you, Luke, and the blood test we did on you, Patricia, at your first visit.’

Patricia grabbed Luke’s hand. It was clear to Robina that she was beginning to realise that she wasn’t going to like whatever it was that Niall had to tell her.

‘Go on,’ Patricia said quietly. Robina could hear the tremor in her voice.

‘Luke’s tests came back normal, but I’m afraid, Patricia, that your ovarian reserve is so low as to make the possibility of you falling pregnant, even with IVF, just about zero.’

Robina could tell he was choosing his words carefully, and that he knew he was giving the couple the worst possible news.

‘Just about zero?’ Patricia echoed, clearly shocked. ‘Are you sure?’ Her voice cracked. ‘No chance at all?’ Her eyes shimmered.

‘I’m sorry,’ Niall said. ‘There really is no point in going down the IVF route. It’s not just the number of eggs you have left, it’s the quality. In my opinion, even if we did manage to collect some eggs from you, and I think that is extremely unlikely, there is every chance that they won’t fertilise. And even if they do, the chance of you miscarrying is about sixty per cent. And lastly, even if a pregnancy were to continue, there is the much increased risk of foetal abnormality. I’m sorry if all this sounds harsh, but you need to know the truth.’

Patricia started crying in earnest, deep, racking sobs as if her heart was being shattered, which it very probably was, Robina thought sadly. Luke placed an arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘Is that it then?’ he said. ‘We have to give up? Never have a family?’

Robina ached for them. She felt a lump the size of a pebble form in her throat. She knew only too well how the couple would be feeling, especially Patricia. It was a devastating blow to their hopes and dreams. She gripped her hands together tightly, not wanting to let Niall see how much she was affected.

‘I think it’s only fair to be brutally honest with you, no matter how difficult it is for you to hear. But there are other options.’

Patricia looked up and Robina shied away from the naked hope in her eyes. ‘But I’m warning you—what I am about to suggest is not for everyone. You would need to think about it very carefully, and before we went ahead, you would have to talk it through with a counsellor.’

‘Please, tell us.’ Luke spoke for his wife.

‘The only way your wife could get pregnant is by using donor eggs. That’s where we use the healthy eggs of another woman, fertilise them with your sperm, Luke, and then place one of the embryos back in you, Patricia.’

Patricia glanced at her husband and then back at Niall. ‘But it wouldn’t be my baby.’

‘Not genetically, no. It would, of course, have half of Luke’s genes, but, no, none of yours. The positive thing about using donor eggs is that the chances of achieving and maintaining a pregnancy are the same as if you were the donor’s age. And since we don’t accept donors over thirty-five, there is a greater than fifty per cent chance of you falling pregnant on your first cycle.’

‘I don’t know,’ Patricia said slowly. ‘It’s all so much to take in. I never imagined for one moment that I wasn’t going to be able to have children of my own. I guess I knew it wouldn’t happen naturally, but I wasn’t prepared to find out that it wouldn’t happen at all except with another woman’s eggs.’

‘I don’t expect you to make a decision right away,’ Niall said. ‘In fact, I would actively encourage you to have a long hard think about it. As I said, it’s not for everyone. But if you think it is something you might consider, I suggest you put your name on our waiting list. I’m afraid it’s about a year’s wait at the moment.’

‘A year! As long as that?’ Patricia’s face fell. Then she looked curious. ‘Do these women sell their eggs? Is that how it works? Maybe if we paid someone more…’

Niall shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that’s illegal. There is no money involved. The women either donate their eggs because they have had their families and want to help someone else achieve their dream, or they are women who donate a proportion of their eggs in order to help fund their treatment. There are very strict regulations around all of this. No clinic in the country can try and get around them without running the risk of losing its licence. The regulations are there to prevent women, who are often pretty desperate, from exploiting or being exploited.’

Robina was conscious of leaning forward in her chair. Of course she knew that couples could use donated eggs or donated sperm, she had written about it in her book after all, but that had been before…before she had known that there was every possibility she had joined their ranks. Listening to Niall talk to the couple was almost as if he was talking to her.

‘There is one other option, and I am not necessarily recommending it either, but I think you have the right to know. There are other clinics, overseas, that have more donated eggs than we do in this country. Not all of these clinics are above board, but there is one which I’d be happy to refer you to, if you want. You need to think about it. Speak to the nursing staff who will be able to put you in touch with others who are going through the same thing. Most people find that it helps. Then, if you think you may want to go forward, make an appointment to chat things over with the counsellor. She’ll help you decide whether it’s the right thing for you.’

After answering several other questions from the shaken couple, Niall showed them out to where one of the nurses was waiting to talk to them.

By the time he returned, Robina had managed to get her trembling hands under control. How on earth was she going to manage another couple of months of this? When every patient’s story left her feeling like a wrung-out rag. But over the last couple of weeks Robina had known that something was shifting inside her. Seeing the way couples were able to deal with their grief and move on with their lives—together—was planting the tiniest seed of optimism inside her. Maybe, in time, she too could come to terms with her loss. And if she was too scared to risk another pregnancy, or if her tubes had been damaged by the infection, there were other options. None of which she’d even considered. But then, unlike her, all these women had loving, supportive marriages. And that made all the difference.

‘So you are saying that women are encouraged to donate a proportion of their eggs in order to fund their treatment?’ she said, signalling to John to keep filming.

Niall sat down in his chair and stretched his long legs in front of him before regarding her steadily over steepled fingers.

‘You’d prefer women not to have the opportunity?’ he said quietly. ‘Do you have any idea how short the supply of donor eggs is? There are so many women, like Patricia, whose only hope of having a child is through the generosity of those women who are prepared to donate their eggs.’

‘I can see the point when it comes to altruistic donors…’ Robina replied. ‘Those women who have nothing to gain except the satisfaction of helping someone else, but these other women, the egg sharers—aren’t they under impossible pressure to donate in order to fund their own treatment? Is that morally correct?’

Niall brought his brows together. ‘Don’t you think we’ve considered all that?’ Underlying his calm tone was a thread of steel. ‘Do you think for one moment that any of us here would force women, or even steer them, towards a decision that wasn’t right for them? And as I explained to Patricia, it’s not only the recipients who have to undergo counselling. The donors aren’t permitted to donate unless we are absolutely convinced that they know exactly what they are letting themselves in for.’

‘But,’ Robina persisted, ‘I can see how desperate these women are to have children. Surely you are taking advantage of that?’

Niall stood. He towered over her, his eyes glinting. He signalled to the cameraman to stop filming. ‘Could you leave us for a moment, John?’ He waited until John, after a nod from Robina, left the room.

‘Don’t make this about us, Robina,’ he said. When she opened her mouth to protest he held up his hand. ‘I told you that I thought this was too close to home for you, but you wouldn’t listen.’

‘It isn’t about us,’ Robina retorted. ‘There is no us. Oh, we may be married but we both know it’s in name only. We haven’t been married, not truly, since…’ She broke off, unable to bring herself to say the words. ‘Actually, I can’t even remember if I ever felt married.’ Furious with herself, she tried to blink away the tears before Niall could see, but it was too late.

He crouched down by her side and touched her arm. She looked into his diamond eyes. ‘Are you sure?’ he said quietly. ‘We were happy once. We can be happy again. If we are both prepared to try.’

Robina’s skin burnt at his touch and she desperately wanted to say, Yes, let’s start again, go back to where we were, before it all went so badly wrong. But she couldn’t. She was no longer the woman he’d married.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Niall. So much has happened. You know you want more children, but I don’t. I won’t risk it.’

‘We could adopt.’

‘We could. But do you think having children would sort what’s wrong with our marriage? Because I don’t.’

He dropped his arm and turned away, but not before she saw the flash of disappointment in his eyes. Despite herself she felt a flicker of hope. Was there a chance? Did he still care? Even after everything?

‘But maybe,’ she said tentatively, ‘maybe we can be friends. Not just pretend like we do around Ella but really try. Maybe make a start this weekend. Like we promised Ella. Do you know how long it’s been since we did something all together?’

Niall’s expression was hooded. ‘You know I’d do anything to make my child happy. And if having you and me spend time with her together makes her happy then naturally I’ll do whatever she wants. You know that.’

And just like that the flicker of hope was snuffed out. Whatever Niall said, the reason he wanted her in his life was to be a mother to his child. And she’d do well not to forget that, even for a moment.

‘Come on, Daddy,’ Ella demanded. ‘Robina’s programme is about to start.’

Niall switched on the TV and sank into the leather sofa. Richard Christchurch had phoned Robina the Monday after the charity dinner, explaining that a scheduled guest had been unable to appear on the show later that week due to a family crisis. The presenter had wheedled and begged a resisting Robina to step in at the last minute. When her agent had added her entreaties, Robina had eventually agreed.

Ella cuddled in beside Niall, popping her thumb into her mouth. He resisted the temptation to pull it out again. She’d get over the habit in her own good time.

They were just in time to watch Robina’s entrance into the studio. She paused and smiled as the camera focussed in on her. She looks every bit the TV star, Niall thought proudly. She looked elegant in a floor-length gown that clung to her curves, a simple gold necklace highlighting the length of her neck, her height putting her at least a couple of inches above her host. For the programme she had chosen to dress in traditional African style and Niall thought she looked stunning.

As she settled into the chair the host Richard Christchurch held out for her, she appeared cool and at ease. They shared a couple of words off camera as they waited until the applause died down.

‘Robina. May I call you Robina?’ Richard asked. When she nodded he continued. ‘For those few viewers who don’t know you, could you tell us a little bit about your work?’

‘I present a weekly show called Life In Focus,’ Robina answered. ‘It’s a programme that covers a different medical topic every week.’

‘Could you tell us how you came to present the show?’

‘I am a qualified GP,’ Robina answered. ‘About a year ago, I had a book published—an-easy-to-read guide on infertility. When it came out, it was very well received and I was asked onto the show to talk about it. Shortly afterwards, the producer offered me the opportunity to present Life In Focus.’

‘Aren’t you a bit young to be offering medical advice on a range of topics?’

Robina smiled, her perfect teeth a flash of white against her deep copper skin. Niall felt something shift low in his belly. God, he loved her smile. It was one of the first things he had noticed about her. It lit up the room.

‘I have a team of experts who work with me. They provide most of the answers because you’re quite right—there is no way I could be an expert on all the different conditions we cover. All I do is translate the medical jargon into simple language the patients and viewers can understand. All of us have been in situations where we didn’t grasp everything the doctor was telling us, partly because we didn’t know the right questions to ask.’

‘I have a clip from one of your programmes to show the audience.’

The snide smile on Richard’s face made Niall uneasy, and he wondered if his wife knew what she could be letting herself in for. A couple of minutes of a show Robina had presented on autism came up on the screen. She was sharing a sofa with parents who had children with the illness. Opposite them on a separate sofa were the experts who were there to answer questions. It was evident as the couples spoke that Robina’s empathy was genuine. As the screen faded Richard turned to her again.

‘Before we talk about your future projects and your books, tell us a little about yourself. What about the woman behind the medical degree?’

‘I was born in South Africa,’ Robina answered with a smile. ‘My mother is a journalist, and my father was Xhosa. He used to be a lawyer and a political activist. He died just over five years ago.’

‘Isn’t that how you started? As a journalist? What made you decide to take up medicine?’

‘I was sent to Sudan to cover a refugee camp there,’ she said. Niall saw something shift in his wife’s eyes. ‘The conditions were awful, completely unbearable. There was so little anyone could do. But there was a team of doctors and nurses and other outreach workers who were there, doing a tremendous job. I watched them work for three weeks and realised that medicine was the career for me. I wanted to do something—not just report it.’

‘But yet here you are, working as a high-profile TV personality. Not exactly front line medicine, is it?’

Ouch, Niall thought. He’d suspected all along that Richard hadn’t brought Robina onto the show for a cosy chat. He felt his fingers curl into fists.

‘No.’

Niall sighed with relief when Robina refused to let the presenter rattle her.

‘But one thing I did realise, after working as a doctor in a similar scenario when I finished my training, was that what really makes a difference is education and information. Doctors do what they can in these situations, but really it’s just like sticking plaster on a wound. Without going to the source of the problem, we will never reach a long-lasting solution.’

‘So tell me how all this relates to your work here in the UK.’

Richard’s smile made him look like a shark. Niall would have given anything to wipe the supercilious grin off his face.

‘It doesn’t,’ Robina admitted. ‘But what I do is provide information to as many people as I can. Take my book on infertility, for example. If it helps even one person understand what the process involves, or points them in the right direction to find help, it can only be good. And as for the clip we have just seen, autistic spectrum disorder affects far more of the general population than most people realise. There was so much incorrect information given out about the MMR vaccine and its association with ASD that people stopped immunising their children, with a resultant increase in measles. The clip you have just seen is an attempt to share the challenges of living with an autistic child as well as debunking some of the myths that have sprung up around this condition.’

‘Apart from making you a substantial amount of money,’ Richard said snidely.

‘Most of which I put into programmes that provide immunisations and clean water to the people in war-torn countries such as Sudan,’ Robina replied without missing a beat.

Niall was taken aback. She had never told him that. It was hardly surprising since they barely spoke let alone discussed their individual bank accounts. He was beginning to realise that there was a lot more to his wife than he had suspected.

Her answer obviously took Richard by surprise too. For a moment the smile faltered, but then it was back. ‘That’s not public knowledge,’ Richard said.

‘No reason it should be.’ Robina smiled sweetly, but Niall could see a hint of iron in her eyes. ‘What I choose to do with my money is private.’

Niall was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Way to go, Robina!’ he called out, only to find Ella looking at him with bafflement.

‘Way to go, Mummy,’ she chimed in anyway, making Niall laugh. God, he loved his daughter.

‘Let’s discuss your latest project,’ Richard continued. ‘I understand you are doing a documentary following women undergoing IVF treatment?’

‘That’s right. It will be airing in the autumn.’

‘Don’t you think it’s a little invasive? After all, these women are going through a particularly difficult time in their lives.’

‘I couldn’t agree more. That’s why only those women who wish to take part are filmed. We make it clear they can withdraw their consent at any time. But most of them want others to know what it’s like to undergo treatment. A book can’t really show the reality. It can be a terribly difficult and unpleasant experience for women and as my documentary will show, women are only prepared to put themselves through it because their need for a child is so overwhelming.’

‘Do you think IVF is good use of scarce resources?’ Once again the shark-like glint was back in Richard’s eyes. ‘After all, as you have so eloquently pointed out, there are so many other places where funding is needed.’

‘Do you have children of your own, Richard?’ There was a dangerous sparkle in Robina’s eyes.

He nodded.

‘When you watch my documentary, one of the things that will become clear is how much these women want children. If they can be helped, why deny them?’

‘Especially when it helps make your husband richer. I understand he works in the private sector as well as the NHS. I’m sure the publicity of your film will do his business no harm. Quite the contrary, it’s bound to generate quite a bit of income for him, wouldn’t you say?’ This time there was no mistaking the look in Richard’s eyes—he had pinned his prey, now he was going to finish her off. Niall groaned aloud. He’d had a bad feeling about this appearance all along. He should have listened to his gut and tried to talk her out of it.

But it seemed once more he had underestimated his wife. She smiled. ‘Yes, I can see why you might think there is a conflict of interests. But I can assure you, my husband makes no personal profit from his private work. He uses any income from fee-paying patients to subsidise those who can’t afford it and who aren’t eligible for treatment on the NHS. Any funding left over goes to research. I’m sure you know that he is a world leader in this area? His research has involved looking at taking ovarian tissue from teenage girls with cancer prior to treatment. This may be the only way these young women will be able to have children. Before, it was an impossibility, now there is hope. His research also involves polycystic ovary syndrome, one of the main causes of infertility but also a factor in significantly increasing morbidity in this group of women.’

Niall sat bolt upright. How did she know all this? Not about his reputation, that was why she had sought him out back when they had met, but about him not taking any profit from the business? Just as she hadn’t shared her finances with him, neither had he felt the need to share his with her. She must have winkled the information out of Lucinda, he guessed. Part of her journalistic training. That would teach him to underestimate his wife.

‘I should also tell you that my husband takes none of the profit from any new treatments his research generates. He believes that new discoveries in science shouldn’t belong to an individual but to society as a whole.’

Could he be hearing right? Niall thought, growing more surprised by the minute. But was that pride he heard in her voice?

Applause broke out from the audience. Robina had clearly disconcerted Richard. Her response not what the presenter had expected.

‘Oh? But you live an affluent lifestyle, don’t you? A large house in one of the more expensive parts of Edinburgh, a couple of flash cars, holidays abroad.’

‘I have explained my finances as far as I’m prepared to,’ Robina replied coolly. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to ask you publicly about yours.’ She arched an eyebrow at Richard. Once more Niall felt like cheering. Obviously she knew something about Richard that wasn’t in the public domain. Once again, it seemed that she had put her investigative skills to good use.

‘Returning to your documentary for a moment,’ Richard continued. Although the famous smile was still fixed to his face, the strain was beginning to show. ‘Do you really think that you can empathise with the women appearing in your documentary? What would you know about the pain they are going through?’

Niall caught his breath. This was different, much more dangerous. Ella who, since his outburst, had been watching quietly, eyes fixed to the screen, looked up at her father.

‘What is it, Daddy? What did that man say to make you angry?’

Niall put his finger to her lips. ‘Not now, darling.’ He could hardly bear to watch as he saw the emotions flit across his wife’s face. He saw shock, pain and confusion. It seemed, like Niall, she had realised that Richard knew about the miscarriage. The presenter was too clever to ask her outright, knowing that she would wonder how he had found out. Apart from the hospital staff involved in her care, only Robina, her mother and he knew. But clearly there had been a breach of confidentiality somewhere.

For a long moment Robina sat in silence and Niall wanted to put his hand through the TV screen and strangle Richard Christchurch. But then she sat up straight and slowly crossed one leg over another, only the tell-tale nibbling of her lower lip indicating to Niall how anxious she was.

‘I can empathise,’ she said slowly, ‘because following a miscarriage a few months ago, which resulted in an infection, the likelihood is that I too am infertile.’ Her eyes shimmered and she blinked furiously.

Niall could only guess at the strength it had taken her to say the words live on TV. Especially when she had been unable to even talk to him about it. Hadn’t talked to anyone as far as he knew, except perhaps for her mother, but he didn’t even know that for certain.

Richard’s jaw dropped, her response apparently not what he was expecting, or hoping for.

‘I am sorry,’ he said insincerely. ‘I had no idea.’

‘It’s not really something that has come up,’ Robina said quietly. ‘Obviously it is not a secret, but neither is it something I have spoken about in public before. But I think you would agree that I am well placed to be doing the documentary.’

She turned and looked directly into the camera, raising her chin. ‘When my show returns, we will be covering miscarriage. I ask anyone who has gone through this and wishes to share their experiences on TV to get in touch with the producers of my show. But for you out there, for whom it is all still too raw, you are in my thoughts and my prayers.’ She blinked rapidly once or twice. Niall knew that anyone else would have let the tears fall, letting their public know that they too were human. But not his Robina. She could never pretend in public what she could barely allow herself to feel in private, and he admired her for it. But at the same time he wondered what keeping it all inside was costing her.

After Ella was in bed, Niall poured himself a whisky, stoked the fire and waited for his wife to come home.

He looked around the small sitting room she had made her own and felt a wave of sadness wash over him.

The cosy room was still exactly how it had been when Mairead had been alive except for one item; a small, intricately carved African stool Robina had brought with her.

It hit him like a sledgehammer. He’d never really thought about it before, but what had it been like for her to live here surrounded by his first wife’s belongings and her taste in furnishings? Although he liked the little room with its plain white sofas, elegant furnishings and pale walls, it wasn’t Robina’s taste. He knew enough about his wife to know she preferred richer, more vibrant colours, abstract paintings instead of landscapes. In fact, her taste couldn’t be further from his first wife’s.

Picking up his whisky, he started pacing. What a blind, stubborn fool he had been. Why hadn’t he realised what it must have been like for Robina? To come to a strange country, to live in the house he had once shared with his wife, to look after her child? He had been only too glad to know that Ella had someone who loved her, but if he were honest with himself he had been resentful of the way Robina’s career had got in the way of the life he had thought they had mapped out. He had treated her as if she were some kind of replacement for his first wife. Not a woman in her own right with her own needs and desires. Stupidly he had thought that their love for one another was enough. Seeing her on TV just now had removed the last vestige of self-delusion from his eyes. She was lonely and lost and he had failed her when she had needed him the most. He had refused to see how much living Mairead’s life had eaten away at her confidence. They had married without really knowing each other, and again that had been his fault. Having fallen deeply in love with her, he hadn’t been able to bear her living several thousands of miles away, and had persuaded her to marry him, although they had barely known each other. And she had unquestioningly uprooted herself from everything she had known and loved to live with him and his daughter in Scotland.

And she had mentioned the miscarriage. Publicly. What strength that must have taken when she couldn’t even talk to him about it. Did that mean she was beginning to come to terms with it at last?

He drained his whisky. Somehow he needed to win his wife back, make her believe he loved her and only her. Make her understand that he could no more live without her than cut off his right arm. It was probably too late, he thought miserably, but he was going to try. Damn it! He was going to do more than try. Suddenly inspiration hit him. He had a plan. All it would take would be patience.