would not be dwarfed by that flirt from the magazine.
‘Any nibbles from the site?’ Daniel asked, swinging
her bare feet on to his lap in preparation for a foot rub.
Sheridan admired his attempt at changing the sub-
ject. She didn’t mind; the hunt for a child was the most
exciting thing going on in her life right now. A lifetime
of photoshoots and interviews paled in comparison. She
opened her laptop, groaning in satisfaction as Daniel
gently kneaded the soles of her feet with his thumbs.
He had the magic touch, and she was only too happy to
succumb to it.
‘I was waiting for that journalist to leave before I
checked,’ she said, feeling the stress ebb away. ‘You can’t be too careful.’
They had already taken the utmost care with security.
They owned their own internet servers, and Daniel used
burner phones, changing them every month. There were
only a few people in his life he needed to contact – his
agent and immediate family – and they all had his email
address. Privacy was everything. The journalists granted
entry to their home visited designated areas only. All press and promo happened strictly under their own terms. Leo
featured only in the publicity shots that Sheridan took
herself. They were released at a premium, strengthening
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Caroline Mitchell
the brand she was working so hard to build. These days,
she monitored her social media profiles more than she read
scripts. Fifty-nine million Twitter followers. The arrival
of another child would easily bring that up to sixty. She
imagined the sponsorship deals, smiling as Daniel kissed
the tips of her manicured toes. She must have been a saint
in a former life, to deserve such a devoted husband. And
now one more child to seal their success. Was her wish
really going to come true?
‘Yes!’ She bounced on the sofa as the notification on
her computer came into view. ‘She’s replied.’
‘Cool,’ Daniel grinned. ‘What’s she said?’
‘Only to ask if we’d like to progress.’
‘You still want her?’
Sheridan curled up next to him, tingles of excitement
chasing her headache away. ‘More than anything.’ She
turned the laptop to face them both. ‘She’s perfect. I’ve
such a good feeling about this.’
‘Mother knows best,’ Daniel said, giving her a squeeze
before rising to his feet. ‘I’m going to get a bath. Keep
me in the loop.’
‘Your script’s in the drawer next to your side of the
bed,’ Sheridan replied, unable to tear her eyes from the
screen. Their bathroom was his sanctuary, and more like
a hotel spa. With a monsoon shower, ambient lighting
and Bluetooth speakers built into the ceiling, it was no
wonder Daniel spent over an hour in there most days.
Lying in the freestanding tub, he would use the time
alone to memorise his lines.
Sheridan checked her watch. Leo was on a play date.
She would have dropped him off herself, but she couldn’t
go very far without paparazzi cameras being thrust in
her face, along with the usual questions about where
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The Perfect Mother
her husband was. It was all about Daniel these days. She
touched her face, as if her wrinkles were scars. Botox could only hold them back for so long, and she couldn’t bear to
end up looking like a shop-window dummy, like some
of her friends. It was time for her to accept that her best days as an actress were behind her. Her heart throbbed
with longing to be needed. She had precious minutes to
compose a response to Rosalind. There would be lots
of prospective couples after her, given that 99 per cent
of the women who used the site were from the US. She
didn’t need to check with Daniel. He was happy for her
to reply on his behalf.
Dear Rosalind
Thank you for getting back to us both. We
are thrilled you would like to progress things
further. Apologies we have been unable to
reveal our identities just yet …
She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
But if you’d like to talk over the phone, I can
call at a time which is convenient to you.
have a little boy. He has started school and
would love a sibling. Unfortunately, I’m un-
able to have further children. My husband
and I are very happily married, and we can
provide a wonderful safe, secure home for
our new baby. We would like our donor to
come to New York to live with us until the
baby is born. Full costs would be met, as well
as a generous living income and the expenses
51
Caroline Mitchell
listed on the Miracle-Moms site. We will al-
ways be truly indebted for such a generous
gift and will do everything in our power to
make the birthing experience as pleasant as
possible, particularly for a first-time mom.
Our donor would be welcome to stay with
us after the birth for as long as she needs to.
I hope this all sounds acceptable to you
and I wait for your response.
Warmest regards.
She leaned back from the keyboard, rereading her words.
She could make this work. She had to. Yet a small, creeping voice whispered from a distant place. A place she could not escape. Rosalind sounded like a nice girl. Naive. Alone.
It was the reason she had chosen her. She was a vessel,
nothing more than an object that fitted a set of criteria
and had the right set of genes. On the plus side, she was
young, pretty, artistic. But how would she react when she
discovered the true nature of Sheridan’s plans? Her lips
thinned in a cold hard line. It would be too late by then.
52
CHAPTER TEN
Roz
There were times when the realisation of my pregnancy
hit me with the force of a steam train. I didn’t want
kids – at least, not yet. Yet there I was, a cliché. The result of a drunken night with the worst possible person. I
tried to pinpoint what had stopped me from getting the
morning-after pill. Was it my moral compass? Fear of
God’s judgement and the fires of hell? Or was it a spark
of love for the bunch of cells growing inside me? It was
all of the above and more. Love is a dangerous emotion.
It can lead to bad judgements and a lifetime of regret.
I couldn’t spend my life resenting this baby – like my
mother had resented me.
I researched why some couples choose a pregnant do-
nor rather than go down the surrogacy route. There were
blogs by infertile women whose lives were dominated by
chemicals: hormone injections, followed by egg harvests
and transfers, granted them short periods of hope. But
each month, they were plunged into depression as their
attempts at pregnancy failed. Many could not bear the
thought of another woman carrying their husband’s child.
&n
bsp; Adoption seemed their only hope. It was hard not to feel
some sympathy for these parents, so desperate for a child.
Could I kid myself into believing that I was doing some
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Caroline Mitchell
good? Or would the guilt of handing over my baby haunt
me for the rest of my days? Not that I was complacent.
I was only a couple of months gone. There was nothing
to say this pregnancy would even go to full term. But I
wanted it to. Despite my conflicting emotions, I wanted
my little bean to live.
I sat back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my hands
resting over the waistband of my jeans. It felt good to mull over the thoughts and emotions swirling around in my
head. Things were moving quickly, and I still couldn’t
believe a diamond couple were interested in me. Well,
interested in my baby; but we came as a package for now.
I turned to my computer and brought back up their
message, my nerves tingling with anticipation. She wanted
a phone call already. Normally, donors shortlisted a few
couples, spoke to them online, got a feel for what they
wanted and then made contact by phone. I hadn’t mes-
saged anyone else, but instinctively I knew that talking
to this woman was the right thing to do. It wasn’t just
her wealth that attracted me. It was the way her words
hung tantalisingly in the air. Safe, secure and stable. Plus, a happy marriage and a big brother to look out for her.
What more could I want?
The television chattered in the living room as some
reality TV show played. Dympna was curled up on the
sofa with Seamus. They were going to visit her parents
soon for an early supper. Her brother was home from the
army and they were having a party afterwards to celebrate.
As for me, reheated fish fingers would do; they’d invited
me along, but there was no way I could go now. I fan-
tasised about standing on their lavish dining room table.
Their shocked faces as I announced I was pregnant and
that someone in the room was the father of my child. It
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The Perfect Mother
would be like something out of Fair City, Dympna’s favourite TV soap. Of course, it would never happen. But
I had a vivid imagination and could not help playing the
scene in my mind. These thoughts made me all the more
certain that I was making the right decision in allowing
my baby to live elsewhere. I typed in my response on the
Miracle-Moms site.
Hi Julie,
It would be lovely to chat. I’m available now
if you are?
And please, call me Roz :-)
I couldn’t stay up too late, I had to be out the door by
seven in the morning. The hotel had asked me to work
out my month’s notice, which would keep me going fi-
nancially for a couple more weeks, at least. I nibbled on
my bottom lip before deleting the last line and inputting
my full name. Nobody called me Rosalind, but perhaps
it was too early for informalities. It felt unnerving, not
knowing who I was talking to. It could be anyone. But it
was doubtful I’d recognise her by her voice. I was about
to get up when another message flashed up on the screen.
I was surprised, because my profile had been hidden from
potential new candidates. I clicked on my inbox. It was
Julie. Had she been sitting by her computer, waiting for
me to respond? What time was it over there?
Hi Rosalind,
Yes, I can call now if you like. I’m not work-
ing today so I’m flexible.
Speak soon
Julie
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Caroline Mitchell
Springing from my bed, I paced the room, feeling pan-
icky. She wanted to call me, and I looked a right state in
my faded jeans. I wasn’t even wearing any make-up! I
picked up a hair bobble from the carpeted floor. Winding
my hair into a bun, it was only when I looked in the
mirror that I asked myself what on earth I was doing. It
was a phone call, not Skype or Facetime. She wouldn’t
actually see me in my grotty little flat. It was just as well.
I took a breath in an effort to slow my heart rate, which
was beating like a Congo drum. Opening my drawer,
I plucked out the ‘do not disturb’ sign I’d stolen from
Jurys hotel. It was a signal to Dympna not to burst in
at full volume, as she usually did. One advantage of her
recent weight gain was that she was no longer able to fit
into any of my clothes, so there would be no wardrobe
emergencies before she slipped away to her parents for
the evening. After putting the sign on the door handle,
I closed the door. Hands trembling, my fingers clacked
on my crumb-speckled keyboard as I replied to Julie that
now was fine. I took another soothing breath and told
myself to calm down. It was just a phone call. Nothing
was set in stone.
Yet I could not avoid the feeling that something monu-
mental was underway. I had always wanted to broaden
my horizons. Excitement bubbled inside. As well as doing
something wonderful for my baby, this could change my
life for the better, too.
I jumped as my mobile phone rang. That was quick!
Closing down my computer, I pulled my duvet up to my
waist, keeping the chill at bay.
‘Hello?’ I said, trying not to sound too countrified
down the phone.
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The Perfect Mother
‘Oh, hi, is that Rosalind? It’s … Julie. From the
Miracle-Moms site.’
I pursed my lips. She sounded so American! So New
York! My cheeks flushed as I held the phone tightly in
my hand. It was as if I was scared the opportunity would
slip away.
‘Hi, yes it is. Please call me Roz,’ I replied, forgetting
my earlier decision to keep things formal.
‘Nice to speak to you, Roz. I hope I haven’t disturbed
you.’ I could hear the smile in her voice, and it made me
smile too.
‘No, not at all. It’s great to hear from you, too.’ I
chewed my inner lip, unsure what to say. ‘I’m sorry…’ I
exhaled the breath I was holding. ‘This is all new to me
and I’m a bit nervous.’
‘Me, too,’ she chuckled. ‘But it’s better to chat in per-
son than by email, don’t you think? I’m sorry I’ve not
given you my real name just yet. I hope you understand.’
‘Sure, no worries. And I won’t breathe a word. Not
that I have anyone to tell.’ I coloured at the lie as I heard the front door of our flat slam; Dympna and Seamus had
just left. But as far as Julie was concerned, I was estranged from my family and living on my own. She was not the
only one with a lot to lose if this got out. The line fell
quiet and I sensed she was gearing up to something.
‘It’s just that … ’ She paused, her accent strong but
crisp down the line. ‘Well … we hope to raise the baby
as our own. Would that be a problem for you?’
My mouth dropped open at her directness and I felt
a pang of gratitude that we weren’t on Skype. She wasn’t
just talking about adoption. They wanted to pass the baby
off as their own. That’s why there was so much onus on
57
Caroline Mitchell
secrecy, why nobody else could know. Would she wear
a pretend bump? Keep me hidden from the world?
‘Of course, we’d keep a medical record of the do-
nor’s background in case of future health issues. We
would tell the child when the time was right, but
nobody else would know, and it’s unlikely they would
seek you out.’
‘That suits me fine,’ I replied. ‘I’d rather not have
future contact. I don’t want him or her getting confused.’
‘I’m so pleased to hear it.’ Her relief was audible. We
were on the same page. ‘If things work out, we would
need you to live with us before you show. We have a
basement luxury apartment so you would have complete
privacy. We have a full medical team, and it would be a
home birth.’
‘Home birth?’ I echoed, my eyes widening as I imag-
ined myself lying on a beanbag in some New York flat.
‘Don’t sound so scared,’ she laughed. ‘You’d have
access to all the drugs you need, as well as one of New
York’s best OBGYNs. If there were any complications,
you’d be whisked away for a hospital birth.’ She paused.
‘I’m just getting the deal-breakers out of the way before
we progress.’
I nodded into the phone, my mouth dry. I was gag-
ging for a cup of tea, but didn’t want to move in case
Dympna hadn’t really left.
‘That all sounds OK,’ I said.
‘What about you? Any must-haves?’
I smiled as I imagined relaying the conditions of six
months’ supply of Häagen-Dazs and a subscription to
Netflix.
‘I’d like to go to church at some point,’ I said, which
was a great fat lie. But I had told them I was a practising 58
The Perfect Mother
Catholic and I needed to follow it through. ‘But mostly …
a secure and happy home for the baby.’
‘Of course. And financially, we’re as secure as you can
get. Our child would have a private education, the best
health care money can buy and entry into one of the top
universities in America.’
‘I thought that was down to results.’ I switched the
phone and rubbed my right earlobe, which was red and