Where There's Smoke

What am I doing? The question jumped out at her with sudden clarity. She looked around, guiltily. But no one was watching. The street was still empty. The doors creaked as Kate pushed them open and went inside. They swung shut behind her with a squeal. She stood in a small foyer. The floor was died with yellow vinyl squares, scuffed and pock-marked but clean. The place had the bottled-up smell of any public building. A sign saying “Reception” pointed down a corridor. Kate hesitated a moment before following it. The door to the reception office was slightly ajar. She knocked lightly on it and pushed it open. The two women in the room turned to look at her. One was middle-aged and sat behind a desk. The other was younger, and stood holding a folder.

“I’m... I have an appointment,” Kate said. The younger woman smiled. “Kate Powell, is it?” Without waiting for a reply she strode forward, her hand outstretched. Kate took it. “I’m Maureen Turner. We spoke on the phone.”

Her manner was relaxed and friendly and, with a sudden inversion, the building no longer seemed quite so dingy and alien. Kate smiled back, relieved. The woman spoke to the older one. “We’ll be in the end interview room, Peggy. Can you arrange for two teas to be sent in?” She turned to Kate again. “Is tea all right? The coffee maker’s on the blink, I’m afraid.”

“Tea’s fine,” Kate answered, realising as she said it that she didn’t really want anything. But the other woman was already walking out.

“It’s just down here.”

Kate fell in step beside her. Their footsteps clicked on the died floor, slightly out of synchronisation. The woman opened a door at the far end, holding it open for Kate to precede her. Inside, it was hot and airless. Several low plastic armchairs were set around a wooden coffee table. It looked like a teachers’ staff room, Kate thought.

The woman went to the big window and began wrestling to open it. “I think we’ll let some fresh air in before we start,” she said, straining against the window catch. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable.”

Feeling anything but, Kate chose the nearest chair. Air leaked out of the plastic cushion in a slow hiss as she settled into it. The window came open with a jerk, and the woman brushed her hands as she turned away from it. “There. That’s better.”

She sat down herself and gave Kate another smile. “You found us without too much difficulty, then?”

“Yes, fine. I got a taxi from the tube station.”

“Probably wise. I’m not the best when it comes to directions.”

Kate smiled politely. She knew the small-talk was intended to put her at ease, but it was having the opposite effect. She felt her edginess returning. The woman set her file on the low table between them.

“Are we the first clinic you’ve approached?”

“Yes, I got your number from my GP.” Kate hoped her nerves didn’t show.

“So you haven’t had any counselling on donor insemination before?”

“Uh, no, no I haven’t.”

“Fine, that’s no problem. Now—”

There was a rap on the door. It opened immediately and the older woman Kate had seen earlier came in, carrying a tray. There was a pause while she set it down and left. Kate fought the urge to fidget, answering yes to milk, no to sugar as the tea was poured and stirred. A cup and saucer was passed across. Kate took it and sipped, tasting nothing but heat and a faint sourness of milk. She put it down again. The woman took a sip from her own cup before placing it on the table.

“To start with, as you know, I’m a counsellor, not a doctor, and this is just an introductory session. All that’s going to happen today is that I’ll tell you a little about donor insemination itself, and the legal aspects that are involved. Then, if you’re still keen, we’ll take a couple of blood samples for routine tests. But I’ll come to that later. If you have any questions, or if there’s anything you feel unsure about, feel free to stop me and ask.”

Kate nodded, not trusting her voice. She reached for her cup again, to give her hands something to do.

“Right, now, I gather you’re unpartnered?” the counsellor continued.

“Is that a problem?” Kate set down the teacup without drinking.

“No, not at all. I know not all clinics will treat unpartnered women, but we try not to discriminate. However...” Kate stiffened as her expression became more sober “... we are required by the HFEA — that’s the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority, the regulatory body — to take into account the welfare of the child. So later I’d like to talk about how you see yourself dealing with issues like combining work with raising a child, and the pros and cons of telling your child how it was conceived. Is that all right?”

Kate said it was. The words “your child” rang in her head, so that she had to concentrate on responding.