The Sisterhood by Emily Barr Read Free Book Online Page B

right now, on my own.'
    'And that is?'
    'Not to have it.'
    As I left the surgery, I placed my hands experimentally, protectively over my abdomen. It would be a challenge, I told myself. And I was not going to run away from a challenge. I made an effort to pull myself together. I was mortified at the way I'd behaved on the night I met Rosa. That pathetic, self-loathing creature was not me. Life was giving me a chance to prove that I was better than that.
    For a second, as I stamped through the cold drizzle, towards the Tube, I was exhilarated. I was on my own. This might be Steve's, and it might be Rosa's. I hoped it was Steve's, but either way, nobody but me had any claim on this implausible embryo. The course of my life had changed. I was going to be a mother. I barely had a concept of what that meant.
    A baby would love me. It would be mine, for ever. I tried to tell myself that the fact that I had no mother myself did not necessarily mean that I was incapable of being one. I was not my own mother. History would not repeat itself. I would be there for this baby. I was there for it already. I was its entire world. I encircled it. I enclosed it. Everything was filtered for it, by me. It wasn't a baby yet. It was just a cluster of miraculous cells.
    I hadn't decided to have it. I could shrug it off, forget this had ever happened, and carry on with my life in peace.
     
    I found a site that I liked the look of. It was called Babytalk, and it didn't contain any patronising articles by health professionals, or any government advice. It was made up of apparently endless discussion forums. I looked down their names. Pregnancy, Baby, Toddlers, Over-threes, Teens and tweens, Relationships, Gossip, Stress, and many more. I clicked on Pregnancy, amazed to find myself doing such a thing. A bubble popped up telling me I had to register, so I filled in a form and registered as LizGreene. I had never seen the appeal of the kooky username: Liz Greene was who I was. Then I typed a message on the pregnancy forum.
    'Hi,' I wrote. 'May I join you? My name is Liz. I'm 37 and I seem to be headed for single motherhood in August. Are there any other single mothers out there? This pregnancy was not planned and I'm overwhelmed and still trying to come to terms with it. Hoping to hear from somebody — anybody. Thanks, Liz.'
    I went to bed, feeling strangely tranquil. In the morning, to my amazement, I had five replies. Four were friendly and welcoming. One was from someone called 'Fluffball' who was also expecting a baby on her own. Three said I should talk to Fluffball. The fifth took me to task for 'your extreme insensitivity in parading your good fortune when there are so many of us on here who've been TTC2L and would give anything to be in your shoes'. I had no idea what TTC2L might mean, but I thought I got her drift.
    I paused for my morning vomit, then sipped at weak lemon and ginger tea and got to work, determined to reply to everyone before I had to go to school.

 
     
chapter six
Helen
     
    Bordeaux, 30 November
    I put my head in my hands. I had been sitting at the computer for weeks, and I had got nowhere. There were millions of Elizabeth Greenes in the world, and none of them fitted. The ages were wrong, the ethnicity was wrong. Every time I thought I might have found her, it turned out to be an eight-year-old, or someone on a family tree an American child had assembled for a school project. The same Elizabeth Greenes came up again and again. There was an American astrologer, an actress who had made one horror film, a classics lecturer and a metalsmithing instructor. None of them could have been her. I had checked and checked. I had even emailed two of them, just in case.
    My computer was set up on a rickety table downstairs. It was raining outside, though the sun was trying to poke through. I had to find her. I knew that this woman would be my ticket out of here. I didn't want to get a boring job like everyone else. I needed a