Inheritance: The perfect child is now possible, page 14
*
When the funeral was over, Rachel found Emily and said in a droll tone, ‘I see they haven’t figured out how to engineer good manners.’
‘She’s just a child,’ Emily replied.
‘Mm-hm.’ Rachel raised a skeptical eyebrow. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Empty.’ Emily sighed.
Rachel hooked her arm through Emily’s. ‘Come on. Let me buy you a drink or ten.’
For the wake, Emily had booked a room in an old bluestone pub. Cora and Leo were sitting at one of the long tables with a Reserved card on the end. Cora had a glass of Riesling in front of her and Leo was drinking whiskey neat.
There were many things Emily had been dreading about the funeral, and the conversation she needed to have with her parents-in-law was a big one. Twenty-four days had elapsed since she’d sworn she would decide whether or not to go ahead with the fertility treatment, and now her time was up.
As she approached Leo and Cora, she wasn’t sure what she was hoping for from the Monahans, but it felt akin to permission. Or perhaps, consensus. She put her glass of wine on the table and took a seat next to Leo and gentle, elegant Cora, who patted her hand and said, ‘That was a lovely tribute to our boy.’
‘He was a good lad,’ Leo said, and reminisced about Dougal’s childhood.
‘He would have made a good dad,’ Emily said, inching towards the topic she wanted to broach.
Cora put a tissue to her eye. ‘He would have been a marvellous father.’
‘We wanted to have a family,’ Emily continued. ‘We spoke with a doctor, to get some help. We’d even had some tests. The thing is, because we had already begun the process, I do have the capacity to … that is to say, Dougal gave me permission to continue even though he is no longer with us.’ She was rambling, but now she was in the middle of it, she had to ask the question. ‘I was wondering what you thought of the idea.’
‘What idea?’ Leo wasn’t grasping Emily’s meaning, but Cora was listening intently.
‘They can still do it,’ Cora explained. ‘The doctors can go ahead with the … procedure … even though Dougal is no longer with us.’
‘What procedure?’
‘IVF,’ Cora said. ‘That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?’ Her eyes were wide and wet and full of hope. But Leo recoiled, shocked.
‘You mean to tell me you’re going to use his remains to make a baby?’ His voice grew loud, shedding its funerary softness.
‘Not his remains, darling—’ Cora began. But her husband cut her off. He faced Emily.
‘We said goodbye to my son not an hour ago and you’re already planning a replacement?’
‘Leonard!’ Cora’s voice was sharp. ‘What’s got into you?’
He turned on her, red faced. ‘We just buried our son, that’s what’s got into me.’
‘Emily, Leo is sorry,’ Cora said. ‘He’s very emotional. You don’t need our permission. This was a decision between you and Dougal.’ Cora clamped a warning hand on her husband’s arm. He reached for her touch with trembling fingers. His eyes had filled with tears, and despite how rattled she was, Emily was sorry to have caused them.
‘Excuse me,’ she whispered, standing.
‘Don’t go, dear.’ Cora reached for her arm. ‘Leo didn’t mean to snap.’
‘I shouldn’t have brought it up today,’ Emily said, departing. ‘I’m sorry.’
Rachel found Emily a few minutes later in the bathroom, bracing herself against the tile wall, her head down and chest heaving as she tried to get air into her lungs. Rachel moved swiftly towards her friend and placed her open palm on her back.
‘I’m here. What do you need?’ she asked.
‘Panic attack,’ Emily explained between gasps. ‘Or grief attack.’
Rachel emptied her wine glass and filled it with water, then handed it to Emily, who took it with a ‘Thank you.’ She drank and said, ‘It’s okay. The worst has passed.’
‘Would you like me to drive you home?’
Emily nodded. ‘Yes please.’
‘I’ll get your things.’
Emily splashed some water on her face and was met at the door by Rachel, who had her bag and her jacket. They were walking out when Emily heard Leo call her name. She turned to meet his eyes, which were red with despair. His palms were open.
‘I was out of line.’ His tone was penitent. ‘We all want Dougal back. But this is a big decision, and you’ve been through something very traumatic. Give it some time, huh? Give yourself time.’ Before Emily could answer, he pulled her towards him and crushed her against his chest with a hug. ‘You’re still our daughter,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘You’ve lost Dougal, but you haven’t lost everything.’
Emily nodded, her throat tight.
‘Come see us for dinner next week,’ he said. ‘We love you, Emily.’
‘Okay,’ Emily said. She squeezed her father-in-law’s shoulder, then followed Rachel to her car.
They’d driven a few blocks in silence when Rachel said, ‘Do you want to talk about what happened?’
‘No. I’m okay now. I was just overwhelmed.’
‘Okay.’ A few minutes passed before Rachel asked, ‘Do you think there’s something strange about Trixie?’
‘Strange how?’
‘I don’t know. She’s just a bit … odd.’
‘Do you think maybe you’re seeing things that aren’t there because you know she’s GM?’ Emily asked.
‘Perhaps,’ Rachel said. She was silent a moment. The topic hung between them, threatening, like a raincloud, before Rachel said, ‘I see the appeal. I do. I just don’t like the way the doctors market it like it’s this easy, simple thing. Like it’s harmless.’
‘Well, it was developed to help people,’ Emily said evenly.
‘A genetic program that screens for errors and discards defective embryos would never have allowed me to be born,’ Rachel said. ‘They would have taken one look at my sickle cell gene and discarded me for a more “perfect” embryo. Under their philosophy, I’m not a worthwhile human. Should I be bred out just because I have different abilities to you, or Simon, or Trixie?’
‘Of course not,’ Emily said. ‘But what if before you were born your parents had been able to correct your sickle cell?’
Rachel’s face hardened. ‘Why do I need “correcting”?’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘I’d be a different person if I didn’t have sickle cell,’ she snapped.
‘I just meant …’ Emily faltered. ‘I wouldn’t want to change you in any way, but I also know how painful and fatiguing and time-consuming it has been for you. If you could erase it from your life, wouldn’t you do it? The program is designed to make our kids healthier and more resilient to viruses. Who wouldn’t want that?’
‘Emily, that is eugenics,’ Rachel said. ‘Stamping out so-called deficiencies.’
‘I’m not talking about exterminating people,’ Emily replied, annoyed now. ‘You can’t shut down an argument you don’t like by branding it Nazi propaganda. The world has changed. There are deadly viruses circling the globe. Giving my child a better chance at beating the virus by making some genetic tweaks does not make me a Nazi.’
‘I wasn’t calling you a Nazi.’ Rachel raised her voice. ‘I was just pointing out the dangers of the ideas behind places like the Well-Born clinic and Dr Osmond. What do you really know about this doctor? About his motivations? Don’t you think it’s dangerous to try to manipulate nature?’
‘What’s so great about nature? Look at Dougal. Was his death just nature taking its course?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’
‘What are you saying?’ Emily demanded. ‘You’re the most strident atheist I know but you talk about leaving things up to nature like it’s some sort of benevolent force that will take care of us, as if we live in a Disney movie and the trees are going to bend their branches to shelter us from the rain while the birds help us gather food.’
They had reached Emily’s flat. Rachel stopped the car and took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice calm now. ‘I didn’t mean to pick a fight on today of all days. I just see it differently to you. It’s like Simon says: the best edits will only be available to the most privileged members of our society. Supporting it is supporting a world where humans live for one hundred years and never have to face pain or poverty, but only if they’re already advantaged.’
Emily was calmer now too. ‘Please try to see this from my perspective. This pandemic has been raging for seven years and it’s getting wilder and more unpredictable. We’ve just been at a funeral for my thirty-four-year-old husband. Before he got sick, he was an energetic, athletic man in his prime. There was nobody in the world who had more gusto, or a greater appetite for life than Dougal. Who knows what we’ll face down the line? Maybe we need the next generation to be fitter, faster and stronger.’ She paused. ‘The thing is, Dougal had already donated his sperm before he died. I’m still in talks with the clinic to go through with the process and, after everything, I’m seriously thinking about it. All that’s really stopping me is the question of whether or not I can manage to support a child alone.’
‘I didn’t realise,’ Rachel said quietly. She nodded at the apartment. ‘Do you want company? We could talk some more.’
Emily shook her head. ‘I’m worn out from all the socialising.’ She smiled thinly. ‘After a month in isolation, I’m not match fit. Thanks though.’ She began to get out of the car.
‘Em,’ Rachel called. ‘It’s not personal when I make these comments. It’s an intellectual exercise. If you decided you wanted to have a baby, and you wanted him or her to have extra … protection against the virus, I’d understand. When I rail against genetic editing, it’s an ideological question, and a theoretical fear. If you had a little baby, I’d love them to bits, just like I love you.’
Emily smiled. ‘It’s all theoretical anyway.’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t raise a daughter on my own.’
‘Of course you could. You’d be brilliant.’
Emily turned on the torch on her mobile phone to light the way up the stairs to her front door. ‘How? I can’t even afford electricity off the grid,’ she said.
Rachel shrugged. ‘So, you edit the kid to see in the dark.’
Emily laughed, waved, and began climbing the stairs, shaking her head, but smiling. She was only halfway up when she felt the loneliness close around her again.
When she reached her flat, she found a covered plate on the welcome mat and a letter. She took the present inside and unfolded the slip of paper. Condolences on this difficult day. The note was illustrated with four smiling faces: a man and three little girls. Emily lifted up the covering to reveal chocolate slice covered in hundreds and thousands. She sadly traced the clumsy lines drawn by the littlest Taylor with her index finger then put the card on the mantle. She turned off her phone and climbed into bed, wishing she could turn off her mind too. Rachel had made some good points. So had Leo, amid his rage.
Emily took her tablet out of her bedside table drawer and opened the spreadsheet she’d created to calculate how far her modest tech salary would go for two people, as well as how much maternity leave she could take and how much annual leave she had accrued. It wasn’t enough. Still, she thought, if she underwent IVF but didn’t opt for the gene editing, she could save some of the money she and Dougal had put aside. She wondered, did she owe it to him to see it through?
*
The Monday after the funeral, Emily returned to work, the baby question still unresolved. She was happy to see her co-workers, and glad to be in an environment that kept her stimulated and busy. But when she came home, there was nobody to talk to about her day, and no one’s day to hear about. She poured herself a glass of wine and shuffled aimlessly from room to room, looking for something to do, restless and beset by a prickling impatience. But impatience for what? There was nothing to look forward to anymore.
When she returned home on Tuesday night, and drew her key out of her bag, she felt apprehensive about once again facing the emptiness of her home. After dinner, she began sorting through some of Dougal’s clothes, and asked herself, did she really want to have a baby alone or was she just trying to fill the hole in her life?
On Wednesday night, Emily was on her knees, taking to the grout on their bathroom floor with a toothbrush, and exorcising her anger on the blackened crease between two tiles, when there was a knock at the door.
On the stoop was a short gentleman in a business shirt and tie, horn-rimmed glasses and a mask.
‘Mrs Monahan?’
There was a cardboard box at his feet, and he was carrying a bouquet of roses. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
‘Yes?’ She tugged the rubber gloves from her hands.
‘I’m Benjamin Georgoulis. I worked with Dougal. We met on Saturday.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Her mood darkened.
‘We all miss him so much around the office.’ He handed her the flowers.
‘Thank you.’
‘May I come in? I won’t take up much of your time. There’s something I think you ought to know.’ Emily hesitated. He pressed her. ‘Please. It’s important. I, ah—’ He pulled out his wallet and produced a business card, proving he did in fact work with Dougal. ‘I’m on the level.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She stood aside so that he could enter, which he did after he’d bent to pick up his box.
‘I’m sorry for trying to corner you at the funeral. I realise now how insensitive that must have seemed. It’s just that I’d hoped to impart a little news that might lighten your burden.’ He stood awkwardly in front of the sunken red couch, holding his cardboard carton.
‘Please, sit,’ Emily said, even as she bristled at the suggestion anything could lighten her burden.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘The box contains some personal things from Dougal’s desk I thought you might want.’ He passed it to her.
‘I appreciate it.’
‘But that’s not the reason I’m here.’ Mr Georgoulis cleared his throat. ‘I’ll get down to it. The company offers a basic life insurance policy, which can be salary sacrificed. Dougal has that policy. In fact, he paid extra to get the very top level of protection. Dougal made sure you’d be taken care of if anything should happen.’
‘I didn’t realise he’d done that.’
‘It’s all detailed in this letter.’ Ben handed her a thick envelope. She could feel pages and pages of folded paper concealed within. He looked at her expectantly, as if he’d anticipated she’d be glad or even grateful. ‘The company will honour his policy in full. It all goes to you, of course.’
‘Oh,’ was all she could say. She put the envelope on the table. ‘Thank you for bringing it by.’
‘Right.’ Mr Georgoulis got to his feet. ‘I’d better leave you to it. I am really, very sorry.’
Emily shut the door behind him, then went back into the lounge room and looked at the box and the envelope. She ran her fingers across the creamy paper. It saddened her to think of Dougal paying premiums on the policy with no inkling that calamity was lurking just around the corner. She wondered, with a shiver, if some chilling premonition had alerted him that something was going to happen.
She put the envelope in the top drawer of her desk and went to bed. Lying flat on her back, with her hands curling around the edge of her blankets, Emily tried to come to grips with what the rest of her life would look like.
She asked herself, if she could choose her future, what would it look like? It was impossible to picture it without Dougal.
Restless, she threw off the blankets, padded across the floor to the lounge room and knelt by the cardboard box Mr Georgoulis had left. It had a fitted lid and a hieroglyph of symbols to advise movers what was inside. Fragile. This way up. Heavy.
Emily gripped the lid’s edges and pulled. It resisted a moment before popping off with a satisfying thwop! Inside were notebooks and company reports. Emily picked up the top book and flipped through it. It was filled with Dougal’s handwriting. Figures and names relating to his accounting job. None of it meant anything to her. She flipped through a few more until something caught her eye. On the back inside cover was a list:
Matilda
Cecily
Henrietta
Tilly Jean Monahan?
A lump swelled in Emily’s throat. She dropped the book and went to the desk by the window. She opened the drawer and pulled out the envelope. She touched the seal, imagining Dougal pressing firmly as he slid his finger across the glue track to ensure it was closed fast. She tore it open and pulled out the document, unfolding it and flipping through the many clauses and terms until she found something that made sense. An amount. Her mouth fell open. Dougal’s final gift to her was a life insurance policy valued at one million dollars.
12
Adelaide
Adelaide perched on the edge of her bath in her underwear, her red hair pulled into a bun, her skin caked in a lotion that gave off the earthy scent of oatmeal and clay and made her look like a swamp creature. She leaned forward, contorting herself into a position that would allow her to reach the middle of her spine so that she could slather the soothing ointment on the rash that had flared up. Her phone sat on the basin, with the speaker turned on.
‘And I’m not allowed to tell anyone?’ Ollie said.
‘Get as many people out as you can, just don’t tell them why. JJ was clear that even I’m not supposed to know about the potential new variant.’
‘Why aren’t they making this public?’
‘I assume it’s to stop the spread of misinformation. I don’t think even JJ really knows what we’re dealing with. Ah, Goddamn,’ she said the last bit under her breath.
Ollie was silent a moment. ‘Are you in pain?’
‘A little.’ Adelaide arched her back.
