signature sounds, such as the seagulls outside our window and the pedestrian crossing which sounded like a game of Space Invaders each time it beeped into life. What did cities in America sound like? I allowed my thoughts to wander as I imagined my baby being brought up there.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Dympna handed me my laptop, jolting me out of my daydream. ‘Roll out the weirdos!’
‘Charming,’ I replied, budging up on the sofa.
Dympna wasn’t going to let it lie. I’d managed to fob her off earlier, but she was right: I was going to have to face the many responses from wannabe parents sooner or later. To think I was worried about competing with the glamorous-looking women on the site. Then it hit me. It was because of my background that they chose me, not in spite of it. I may have pushed the ‘good Catholic girl’ image, but I wanted to appear clean-living in order to attract similar parents for my baby. I could have gone to children’s social services, but I’d known adopted kids when I was growing up and they weren’t much better off than me.
With a sigh, I opened up the site again, grateful for Dympna’s company. ‘How am I going to sort through this lot?’ I said, clicking through each profile page.
Applicants were capped at a hundred at a time to save baby donors getting overwhelmed. I was meant to reject or accept potential parents to free up applications for more. The idea was to create a shortlist of four or five, talk online and decide who I wanted to meet. I never for a minute thought my list would fill up so quickly.
The minty smell of Dympna’s chewing gum invaded my senses as she leaned forward and took it all in. ‘Ooh, it’s like being Simon Cowell on The X Factor. I’ll help you wade through it. Anything you don’t want from the off?’
I shook my head. They’d already been checked for criminal records and drug use, or as far as they could be. I had already stipulated I wanted a non-smoking home, although vaping was fine as long as it wasn’t in the same room. Whatever was best for the baby’s health.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Dympna finally cast joking aside. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to approve them if you’re not.’
It was a fair question, and I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure. I’ve thought of nothing else since I found out.’
A knot formed between Dympna’s brows as she accepted I was serious about the whole thing. ‘What about the dad?’
‘He doesn’t need to know.’ The air chilled as I gave her my firm look: the look that told her to leave it at that. She had asked me several times since I dropped the bomb, and I’d finally had enough. The trundle of a lorry outside made our sofa vibrate. Even on Sundays, the city never slept.
Dympna leaned forward and touched my arm. ‘I’m just saying.’ Her voice was low, as if to say she meant no harm. ‘Once you start the ball rolling it’s hard to back out. These poor people . . .’ She glanced at the screen, demonstrating the empathy I knew and loved. ‘They’re desperate. It’s not right to encourage them unless you’re ready to give up your baby.’
Tears welled in my eyes as the reality of the situation hit home. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Picked a dried blob of ketchup from the arm of the sofa. I had to stay strong. ‘Most girls in my situation would have had an abortion by now. I only want to do what’s right.’
‘OK, then . . . If the dad’s out of the question then what about us? We could rear it between us . . .’
I shook my head. ‘No. Thank you, but no. When you have a baby, it will be with your fella in a nice big house with money to set you on your way. Not with me in squalor without a penny to our name.’
Dympna lowered her head, trying to catch my gaze. ‘We could move away. To the country, Tullamore or Athlone. Rent’s cheaper there, we could get jobs . . .’
I shook my head, my eyes blurry as I squeezed my tears away. ‘It would still be a struggle. I’m not ready to rear a child. Neither are you.’
‘So Ferbane is a no?’
Thoughts of my mother only made me more determined to keep on track.