was coming early, by the look of things. Five minutes later, we were settled back in bed, our tea topped up from the pot.
Dympna cooed as she took in the site. ‘It’s very swanky, isn’t it? Considering what it’s for, like.’
The site was built in a mixture of silver greys and pastel pinks. Miracle-Moms was emblazoned across its header, with the tagline Are you ready for your little miracle? beneath. I guessed that it was created to appeal to both parties – the header to ease the conscience of the ‘donor mom’ and the tagline to tempt the wannabe parents into parting with huge wads of cash. The prospect of giving my baby to strangers made me squirm, but I’d still found myself creating a profile on the site. After all, nobody was forcing my hand.
‘Here, will you look at this.’ Dympna clicked on to the surrogacy page. Low-cost surrogacy program: only $45,000 – includes three attempts with egg donor and baby birth.
Beneath it was another headline that made Dympna gasp. Guaranteed luxury surrogacy option: only $99,999 – unlimited IVF egg collection cycles and embryo transfers. Everything included. We don’t stop until your baby is delivered into your arms!
Shaking her head, Dympna stared in disbelief. ‘And here’s me on me knees every morning cleaning toilets for nine euros an hour.’
‘That’s the surrogacy page,’ I tutted, turning the laptop back. ‘My stuff is on the adoption page.’
But Dympna was not ready to give up just yet. ‘Look at the conditions.’ She squinted at the screen. Her glasses were in her bedroom, but she was too enthralled to get them now. ‘It says here you’ve not to have smoked, drunk, or used drugs since your pregnancy.’
‘Which is why I’ve given up drinking.’ I didn’t touch cigarettes or drugs. I sighed, knowing what her next question would be.
‘But what about before you knew you were pregnant? We were out on the lash just a couple of weeks ago.’
Heat rose to my cheeks. I felt guilty enough about our weekly nights out, but told myself they were history now.
‘Have you seen the expenses page?’ I asked, in an effort to change the subject, but Dympna’s head was tilted to one side as she worked it all out.
‘Ah, I get it now,’ she said. ‘That’s why you deleted your Facebook page – getting rid of the evidence.’
‘No flies on you,’ I smiled, leaning over to sip my tea, which was getting cold.
Dympna did the same before returning her attention to the screen. ‘Oh, my giddy aunt . . . you get $27,000 base compensation with a monthly allowance of three grand . . . ’ She leaned forward, scrolling down. ‘Clothing allowance . . . loss of wages . . . mental health support . . . $250 per counselling session . . . You even get paid to pump breast milk.’ A giggle escaped her lips at the prospect. ‘Can you imagine it? We could put you on one of those milking machines. Do you get paid per boob?’
‘I won’t be pumping anything,’ I replied, failing to see the humour. ‘I’m not a cow.’
‘Hmm, Louise Finnegan might disagree. The look on her face when she saw you flirting with her fella!’ She was talking about last night. As drunk as she’d been, Dympna’s mind was as sharp as a tack.
‘He was the one flirting with me,’ I replied, pulling an expression of mock outrage. The last thing I was interested in was another relationship.
‘I know.’ She smiled. ‘I told her you wouldn’t do that to a mate.’
I gave my best friend a watery smile. I was telling the truth about Louise’s boyfriend, but she was wrong to have such faith in me. Dympna must never find out who the baby’s father was. Which was another reason I had to give her away.
CHAPTER SIX
SHERIDAN
Sheridan’s gaze followed her son as he urged his pony to gee up. Leo sat straight in the saddle, his small fingers tightly gripping the reins as he was led around. A soft autumn breeze ruffled his steed’s black mane. His name was Rufus, and he was equipped with the imperturbable patience needed for such a role.
‘Keep going, honey. Now give me a big smile!’ Sheridan called as the pony was led around a second time.
‘I’ve cleared your schedule for today, but I’ve had to pencil in an appointment with Aaron Schreiber at two on Friday.’ The voice was that of Sheridan’s personal assistant, Samantha, who followed her everywhere she went. At