Where There's Smoke

Kate struggled against the growing tide of disillusionment. “It’s just that... well, I know the donor has to remain anonymous, but I thought I’d have more say in who it was. Or at least be told more about them. What sort of person they are. I didn’t realise I’d have to let someone else decide for me.”

“I’m afraid we can’t let people pick and choose to that extent,” the counsellor said. She sounded genuinely sympathetic. “It isn’t the same as a dating agency. There are strict guidelines we have to follow.”

Kate couldn’t bring herself to look at the other woman.

“It still seems like I’d have to take an awful lot on faith, that’s all.”

“We do vet the donors very carefully.”

“I know, it isn’t that.” She shrugged, embarrassed. “I just can’t imagine having a child by someone I know so little about.”

The admission made her feel stupid and naive, but she recognised the truth of it. She knew now that she could never accept having a child if she couldn’t choose the father herself. She felt her face beginning to burn. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve wasted your time.”

“Not at all. That’s what these sessions are for. It’s a big decision, and you need to be sure before you make it.”

“I suppose it’s the same at every clinic?” Kate asked, without much hope.

“More or less. You certainly wouldn’t be able to find out more information about the donors, wherever you went. Unless you go abroad, perhaps. The law might be different somewhere like America. I daresay you can even choose the donor’s IQ and shoe size over there.”

Kate forced a smile. Even assuming that that was true, she couldn’t afford either the time or the money to go to another country for treatment. She prepared to leave. But before she could, the counsellor, who had been watching her worriedly, seemed to reach a decision.

“Of course,” she said, carefully, “some women don’t bother with clinics at all.”

Her expression was guarded as she looked across at Kate. “It isn’t something I’d recommend, obviously. But you find that some lesbian couples, for instance, carry out DI on themselves because a lot of clinics refuse to treat them. They ask a male friend to be the donor.” She paused to let that sink in. “It really isn’t all that difficult when you think about it. All you need is a paper cup and a plastic syringe.”

Kate knew why the counsellor was telling her this, but she was too taken aback to say anything.

“I’m not suggesting anyone should try it, you understand,” the counsellor added quickly, seeing her expression. “It would mean using fresh sperm, so there wouldn’t be any of the legal or medical safeguards there’d be at a clinic. I just thought I’d mention it as a matter of interest.”

“Yes, but I don’t think...”

“No, no, of course. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.” She clearly wished she hadn’t. There was a silence. The counsellor sighed. “Well, perhaps you’d like to have another think about what you want to do,” she said.

Depression settled on Kate as she waited at the tube station. When the train arrived, she sat in a window seat and stared out into the blackness of the tunnel. Her reflection in the glass would wink out when the train came to the sudden brightness of a platform, only to return again when the platform was left behind. At one stop, a sullen-looking young woman got on with a fractious baby. Kate watched as she hissed a warning to the child, giving it a quick shake, which did nothing but make it cry harder. After that, the young woman ignored it, staring into space as if the squalling infant on her knee wasn’t there. Kate looked away.

She came out of King’s Cross into the weak afternoon sun and made her way to the agency. The burned-out warehouse was still standing, although the lower-floor windows had been boarded up. Its blackened roof timbers stood out against the blue sky like steepled fingers, and a faint scent of charred wood lingered around it. Kate had almost grown used to the blackened shell, but now she walked past quickly, like a child hurrying by a graveyard. She threw herself into her work as best she could for the rest of the day, succeeding in holding back the disappointment for a little while, at least. But it was still there waiting for her. With a sense of dread she heard the others preparing to go home, and knew it couldn’t be avoided for much longer. She was still trying to, even so, when Clive came up to her office.

“We’re going for a quick drink,” he said. “Do you fancy coming?”

“Oh... thanks, but I think I’ll skip it for tonight.”

Clive nodded, but didn’t go out. “Look, don’t mind me asking, but are you all right?”

“Fine. Why?”

“You just seem a bit preoccupied lately.”

The impulse to tell him almost won out. “It’s probably trying to guess what quibble Redwood’s going to come up with next,” she said, lightly. “Thanks for asking, but I’m fine, really.”

He looked at her for a second or two, then accepted it. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”