way.’
‘Honey, you’re not in the way. We want you here,’ Sheridan said. ‘It’s Daniel’s fault for not answering his phone when I called to let him know.’
‘Sorry,’ he replied. I wasn’t sure who he was talking to as he looked at us both. ‘I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You’re hardly getting in the way downstairs, now, are you? Can I get you anything? A coffee?’
‘Caffeine is bad for the baby.’ Sheridan’s reply was instant. ‘Anna will get you some kale juice.’
As Sheridan reached for her laptop, Daniel gave me a conspiratorial grin. ‘Got you on the kale juice already? I’m surprised you’re not running for the hills.’
‘Nonsense. You like it, don’t you,’ Sheridan said. It was not a question.
‘I’ll get used to it,’ I said, barely able to hide my disdain for the stuff.
‘Good,’ Sheridan replied, pointing to her laptop screen. ‘Because I’ve got the contract from the Miracle-Moms site.’
‘Exciting,’ I said, well aware that this was the final step. I was already familiar with the agreement, as it was drawn up by the website’s attorneys. At least this time I’d been able to read it thoroughly before I signed. It was drawn up and verified by independent attorneys and, unlike the confidentiality agreement, I understood what it meant. I would have no claim over the baby once it was born. It felt strange that such a binding document could be signed digitally, and I tried not to hesitate as Sheridan handed me her iPad and digital pen. With Anna acting as our witness, I wondered if it was even legal. Surely they needed someone independent to verify things? But then these were unusual circumstances, and I had little time to dwell on it; Sheridan monitored my every move. Taking a deep breath, I signed away the rights to my unborn child. It was a sombre moment, broken by the shrill sound of Sheridan’s voice.
‘Excellent!’
She whisked the iPad away from me before calling a dark-haired young woman into the room. She was of slight build, with long sleek hair tied up in a ponytail. She couldn’t have been much older than me.
‘This is Juanita,’ Sheridan said, and I watched the woman flinch as Sheridan laid her palm on the flat of her back. ‘She’s your personal maid. She’ll be looking after you for the next few months.’
Sheridan uttered a few words in Spanish and, bowing her head, Juanita forced a smile.
I felt like a lemon, wondering if I should shake her hand. ‘Um . . . nice to meet you.’
‘She doesn’t speak English.’ Sheridan paused to dismiss her. ‘She’ll be cleaning your room, doing your washing, bringing you your meals. You won’t need to lift a finger while you’re here.’
I watched over Sheridan’s shoulder as Juanita walked away. But as she opened the door to leave, she gave me an imploring look, her lips thinned as she delivered a sharp shake of the head. Her eyes were dark and full of knowing. As Sheridan turned to follow my gaze, Juanita quickly slid through the door.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes . . . It’s just that . . .’ I paused as I tried to come up with a response. ‘I feel a bit funny about having staff. I’m happy to clean up after myself.’
A flutter of laughter left Sheridan’s lips. ‘Honey, they’re not slaves. They’re very well paid. Here.’ Sheridan produced a schedule and waved it under my nose. ‘Read it in your spare time.’
My face fell as I flicked through the paperwork. The next few months were planned with regimental precision from early in the morning until late at night. I was to be awoken at seven in the morning, six days a week. My meals were planned without my input, nutritionally sound, to meet the baby’s needs. I skim-read the programme, realising that I was supposed to spend most of my time in my room. A room that was beautiful, but windowless and closed off from the world. I was a free spirit, a creative soul; I would go stir-crazy if I had to spend the next six months inside.
‘I was wondering . . .’ I said, not wanting to sound ungrateful. ‘Can I do some sightseeing? I don’t mind going on my own.’ Six months seemed like such a long time to be hidden away. I wondered if I could get some time off to return to Ireland in between. ‘And, um . . . how long am I here for? I mean, you mentioned me being here