Inheritance: The perfect child is now possible, page 21
Ollie stared at Adelaide’s phone. ‘Can I think about it some more?’
‘Of course.’
*
‘Come on, JJ, tell us what you know about this EpsilonX.’ Darren folded his arms across his chest. His lavender shirt had a nightclub sheen. It was the first Monday morning back in the office after the exposure scare, and JJ’s staff had gathered around the conference table, fractious and scared.
‘I’ll get to that,’ JJ said. ‘First, I wanted to thank you all for your patience and discretion.’
‘It’s easy to be discreet when you aren’t given any information,’ said Darren. ‘What exactly is it we were supposed to have been exposed to? We want to know what’s coming.’
This set off a chorus of ‘Yeah’ and ‘Tell us what’s going on’.
‘How worried should we be?’ Claire asked.
JJ stood before her staff, and for the first time didn’t seem to have anything to say.
‘Is there another wave coming?’ Martin asked. ‘Is it a new variant?’
Every soul in the room leaned forward.
‘Maybe,’ JJ said finally. ‘The truth is, we don’t really know.’
Nobody made a noise as they contemplated the response they hadn’t wanted to hear.
‘I’m sorry not to have a happier answer,’ JJ continued. ‘But I thank you all for your dedication and your hard work. Everyone involved in Prague, can you stay for another ten minutes? Adelaide, you too please.’
Adelaide, who was already halfway out of her seat, lowered herself back down again. ‘For the Prague briefing?’
It had been agreed that since she wasn’t going to Europe, Martin would take over and Adelaide would focus on the medical tourism inquiry.
‘I think it’s best if you’re across things, so we feel fully prepared,’ JJ said, leaving the sentence ominously incomplete.
‘Prepared for what?’ Darren asked.
‘Just … prepared.’
*
Twelve hours later, Adelaide was still at her desk when JJ strode out of her office to the vending machine and contemplated its various vacuum-sealed meals.
‘Burning the 9 pm oil?’ she asked Adelaide.
‘I’m transfixed by the medical tourism inquiry.’ Adelaide held up a file. ‘This woman is spruiking travel packages to Vietnam. Five-star accommodation, buffet breakfast and breast implants. All included.’
‘Christ,’ said JJ. ‘That’s nearly as grim as the offerings in this vending machine.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Forget this. Let’s get a bite to eat. If you brief me about the inquiry, we can expense it.’
‘Sounds great.’ Adelaide grabbed her bag.
JJ led Adelaide to the Curtin building, where there was a sprawling hawker-style Thai restaurant on the first floor. The ceiling was covered with bright parasols, and it smelled of lemongrass and ginger. Despite everything, Adelaide found it cheering until JJ said, ‘Let’s sit outside.’
‘Because of what we know about Darwin?’
JJ smiled wryly. ‘Because it’s a lovely night to act with an abundance of caution.’
They found a table on one of the narrow Juliet balconies that jutted out over Spencer Street, not far from where Adelaide had first laid eyes on Ollie. She wished it was Ollie she was here with, and wondered wistfully when she would see him again. The worry must have shown on her face because JJ asked her if everything was all right.
‘Yes,’ Adelaide said, forcing a smile. ‘It’s been a big week.’
‘You’re not wrong.’
A waiter appeared and JJ ordered a whiskey, noodles with chilli jam and Thai basil and a plate of steamed greens for two.
‘Just soda water for me please,’ said Adelaide.
‘So, how are things with the medical inquiry?’ JJ asked. ‘Nothing too gruesome I hope.’
‘There have been some very sad stories.’
‘We can warn people against the dangers. But you can’t protect them from themselves.’
The stress of the past few weeks was wearing on JJ. Her navy-blue uniform was creased and, as she sat waiting for her drink, she twisted the single gold band on her ring finger around and around. She was wearing her New Balances. Adelaide felt admiration and affection for this practical woman of principals. She had read a submission earlier that had felt particularly close to home, and she was eager to hear JJ’s reaction to it.
‘Actually …’ Adelaide began. ‘There was something interesting.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Some couples are going overseas for IVF CRISPR edits to ensure their baby is healthy.’
‘Like a black-market GM clinic?’ JJ furrowed her brow. ‘That can’t be good.’
‘No, it’s the opposite. They’re clinics that are trying to correct the off-target changes, wind back the damage that was done. There had been reports of them operating in Europe and China, but until now we’d never heard of anyone local using them.’
‘Like genetic surgery?’
‘No, editing embryos. So that GM couples can have children as if they had never been edited in the first place. The submission came from a paediatrician. She didn’t disclose any identifying details of the couple, but she thought it was something the government should be aware of.’
JJ shook her head. ‘I don’t know how society got to the point where people turned their whole lives upside down in pursuit of parenthood.’
‘It’s natural to want to have children. If there are remedies people can access, who’s to say that’s wrong?’
‘Yes, but it’s become so all-consuming. You know I support GM rights. But for centuries some couples have simply been unable to have children. Especially same-sex couples, although I suppose that was the least of their worries for most of history. But that goes to my point. We don’t all get to have all our wishes fulfilled. We have to carve lives using the hand we were dealt.’
Adelaide felt, for the first time, at odds with her boss’s view. The waiter delivered JJ’s drink, and she took a sip from the glass. ‘I know, I know. Easy for me to say with two great kids at home. There are just so many problems with the world. It feels like … misdirected effort.’
‘But we have the technology to remedy infertility,’ Adelaide said. ‘Why is infertility sacred in a way other physiological problems aren’t? If someone had diabetes, you wouldn’t tell them not to take insulin because that’s the hand they were dealt.’
JJ grinned. ‘You’d make a good politician, Adelaide,’ she said. ‘The difference is that insulin doesn’t affect another human being’s life, and haven’t we learned some harsh lessons about interfering with creation these past years?’
‘It’s not impacting someone’s life, it’s creating someone’s life.’
‘Using technology we don’t fully understand.’
‘That’s the point. These operators are undoing the bad edits.’
JJ considered this. ‘What does it say about the way we view women? You must have a child or what? You’re less than. We need that surfeit of loving energy. It’s just as valuable if it’s directed at a niece or nephew, or members of your community, foster children, or unloved little GM babies.’
‘I thought that after Epsilon we needed more people to have children.’
‘We do, but not like this.’
*
On their last day in the Dandenongs, Ollie had told Adelaide he was not opposed to her idea, but he wanted to know more, and so she plied him with statistics and papers Dr Tsu had published. Then she sat on the big leather armchair in their cabin, chewing her thumbnail and watching him while he read.
‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ she said eventually.
‘They are good,’ he murmured.
‘We can give them my medical records so they know exactly what edits they need to undo. It’s not really all that different to what my mother did.’
‘You still haven’t forgiven your mother for what she did.’
‘Yes. But I’m doing the reverse. I’m undoing damage, not inflicting it.’
Ollie didn’t say anything. His eyes were trained on the paper.
‘And besides,’ Adelaide continued. ‘You said yourself that you think I’m pretty wonderful, that the outcome of what my mother did was damn near perfect.’
He grinned. ‘I did say that.’
‘When my mother went to the clinic, the technology was so new, the techniques still rudimentary and her doctor was after money. Prestige. Dr Tsu has thirty extra years of additional knowledge, and the Hayes Group provides subsidies so it will cost us far less than it did my mother.’
‘Okay. You’ve nearly convinced me, but I still have questions. Let’s call the clinic and see if they can answer them.’
19
Emily
Emily held Adelaide’s hand as the tour of the Calyx Academy proceeded into the science wing, where beakers filled with coloured water were set up to mimic an experiment. The school had only been open for seven years and everything was state of the art. The prime minister had done the ribbon-cutting himself and the principal was rumoured to have been poached from one of the Swiss Alps’ schools where royals and tycoons sent their offspring. Calyx’s entry requirements were exceptionally high, but there were scholarships available, and Emily believed Adelaide had as much chance as anyone of getting one.
‘One point of difference that we’re most proud of is our student-to-teacher ratio,’ the principal, Miss Skye, said. ‘We have no more than twelve students in each class with one teacher, meaning every little Calyxian gets close personal attention. Because of this, our selection process is incredibly competitive, with 11.3 students vying for each available spot.’
Emily had been assessing the other attendees in her tour group, who all straightened their postures as Miss Skye described the academy’s exclusivity.
Five-year-olds clung to the hand of the mother or father who had brought them. Their clothes were drycleaner-crisp. The parents exuded health and affluence. The children were obedient and attentive. Almost eerily so. One little boy with curls and glasses was taking notes on a pocket-sized tablet.
‘Shall we continue?’ Miss Skye glided ahead, her long peach silk shirt hanging open over a white silk tunic. She had thick curls, gold hoop earrings and peach on her cheeks and lips, like a doll hand-painted by a master craftsman.
They passed through the art hall, which displayed student oil paintings in gilt frames. Emily admired a pet Labrador, lovingly rendered, in yellows and white. His nose had the authentic glisten of something wet.
‘Was this series part of a unit on post-impressionism?’ the boy with the tablet asked.
‘Very good,’ Miss Skye said. ‘We had a guest lecturer from the Tate for that unit.’
The boy nodded knowingly. ‘The heavy brushwork gives it away.’
They crossed the forecourt into the state-of-the-art gym, where the mezzanine gave them a view of the exercise space. Giant fans spun overhead. Long ropes hanging over crash mats reached up to the ceiling, which must have been three storeys high.
‘Mum, is that for climbing?’ Adelaide asked, her eyes wide in wonderment.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Emily replied, though it seemed impossible for a primary-school-aged child to climb such a high rope. Adelaide squeezed Emily’s hand, not afraid but excited.
Miss Skye put her hands together. ‘Some of our students have prepared a special display for us.’ She touched her watch and the lights dimmed. A spotlight fell on the far corner of the gymnasium. Five small children in Calyx uniforms entered and took their places on chairs that had been arranged. They were carrying violin cases, which they snapped open, then lifted their bows and, in perfect unison, began to play ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’.
Another spotlight illuminated double doors at the other end of the gymnasium. About a dozen students burst through them dressed in the Calyx Academy colours: navy, white and gold. The spotlight followed two small girls, who went to parallel balance beams. Each girl vaulted onto one of the apparatuses and, to the frenetic strains of the violins, they began to perform a routine. Split jumps. Layouts. Twirls on a pointed foot. Spinning, flipping. Faster and faster on a surface that was only four inches wide, like migratory birds shooting through the air. Another leap, and then another. Front tuck. Aerial walkover. All the while the violin bows shot up and down. The buzzing, humming arrangement was scissored with a hint of menace. Emily clutched her hands to her chest. Switch leap. Split jump. Their gestures were perfectly timed, as if they were of one mind. Propelling themselves forward, they dismounted with a double pike. Emily realised she had been holding her breath. The group applauded.
The spotlight then travelled to five boys aged nine or ten, lifting weights far heavier than they should have been able to manage. Up, down, up, down, they moved the barbells in time. The spotlight moved again. Three small boys passed a basketball back and forth. They dribbled, jumped, shot and swished, seamless as a dance. All the while, the musicians played faster and the gymnasium lights came up. The music was reaching a crescendo now. On cue, the athletes ran for the ropes that hung from the roof. They grabbed one each and began to climb.
‘Look, Mum, they’re doing it,’ Adelaide said.
‘They’ll never make it,’ a father said.
But the Calyx kids rose higher and higher until they were eye level with the group, who watched, agape, from the mezzanine.
‘They’re so fast,’ a little boy with red hair said. The boy with the tablet’s mouth hung open. Another was filming with his phone.
‘They’re still going,’ Emily said as the students shimmied ever faster. The ropes were waving wildly as they pulled themselves skyward. They’d climbed five metres. Now ten.
‘What if they fall?’ asked a mother.
‘There are crash mats,’ said a father.
‘They won’t help from this height,’ the woman said. ‘They’re so little. I can’t watch.’ She covered her eyes.
The students reached the ceiling as the violins came to a triumphant climax.
‘They made it!’ said the red-haired boy.
‘Thank God!’ A mother began to clap, and the children followed suit, until they were all applauding.
‘Bravo!’
‘Amazing!’
The Calyx kids each waved a hand, then slowly began to slide down the ropes. The music still played, but slower now.
‘Aren’t they good?’ Miss Skye said, as if the daring exhibition was nothing out of the ordinary. ‘Not all Calyx students can do what you just saw, of course. Our aim is to help your child find what it is that makes them unique and, dare I say it, elite, and to nurture them so they reach their full potential.’
‘I could do that,’ a blond spiky-haired boy said, unimpressed.
His father laid a tanned hand on the boy’s shoulder and addressed Miss Skye. ‘How are the students selected exactly? Because I sometimes golf with the mayor. I’m sure he’d look favourably upon—’
Miss Skye stopped him with a raised palm. ‘The child’s aptitude alone earns them a spot.’
The man nodded, a grin breaking smugly across his face. ‘Of course,’ he said, then winked at his son.
Emily desperately wanted to give Adelaide the opportunities a place like Calyx would provide.
The group followed Miss Skye as she sailed towards a set of double doors that slid open on her approach. ‘Our aquatic centre has an Olympic-sized swimming pool, a dive pool and a wave pool.’
The warm, wet air and smell of chlorine filled Emily with sadness. The number of child drownings had been steadily increasing for the past few years and nobody could say why. This summer had been the highest numbers in decades.
The children’s deaths had been playing on Emily’s mind. Getting out of bed each day, in a post-Dougal world, demanded a certain amount of detachment, so she could continue to go to work and raise Addy. The drowning stories, however, broke through Emily’s calloused heart and each new headline, with the tally at the bottom, filled her with a foreboding melancholy.
Across the rippling blue rectangles of the Calyx aquatic centre, a young boy jumped off a three-metre diving board and somersaulted twice, before disappearing into the pool with barely a splash. A few of the parents among the tour group clapped politely. The little blond boy scoffed, ‘Easy,’ and smirked at his father.
‘This is where our tour ends,’ Miss Skye said. ‘If you’d like to exit to the right, our students are serving refreshments in the courtyard.’
After the pushier parents had jostled for the principal’s attention, Emily sought out Miss Skye. ‘I understand you offer scholarships?’ she said.
‘Yes, there are three available to exceptional children. Adelaide will have to complete a few tests to be considered. I’ll forward you the details.’
‘Are all students GM?’ asked the father of the little red-haired boy.
‘Calyx is a meritocracy,’ Miss Skye said. ‘Genetic status doesn’t come into it.’
The parents nodded knowingly. The Calyx Academy wasn’t legally allowed to exclude natural children, but it was understood that a normal child would struggle among such elevated peers.
Emily looked over at Adelaide, who was making a study of the cupcake selection. She had only just turned five, and Emily had intended to at least start talking to her about her differences by now. But whenever she sat her down to broach the subject, her heart began to beat faster, and she remembered those yellow notes that had turned up in their mailbox. The rabid protestors. The slashed tyres appeared before her eyes and the horror of that final, unthinkable evening rushed over her. She didn’t know how to convey to Adelaide the dire importance of keeping her status a secret without scaring her half to death.
*
That night, Emily opened her budget on her laptop. Calyx offered scholarships for athletically and intellectually gifted children. Adelaide was a good runner, but having seen those students shoot up the ropes like possums on steroids, Emily wasn’t sure she’d win the race for an athletic bursary.
