Grace. ‘And I know it’s more difficult to have a baby when you’re older. But you never know, you could meet someone else – and there’s always IVF.’
‘I look at men,’ Deira said. ‘I look at them and I think, are you the one? Are you the man who could father a child for me? Are your little swimmers strong enough to find my diminished crop of eggs? Could you make a baby for me? It’s another reason I came on this trip. I thought that away from Ireland I might meet someone and sleep with him and get pregnant and I’d have a baby.’
‘Oh.’ Grace was taken aback.
‘I know it’s crazy,’ said Deira. ‘Even as I ask those questions I know it’s insane. Besides, being a mum, single or otherwise, is what I want, not what the baby deserves. How would I cope as a lone parent? Is it even right to want to? So I’m torn between wanting to shag every man I see and telling myself that I’m a selfish cow who’s terrorised by her stupid biological clock. And IVF is practically useless for a woman my age. You wouldn’t think that, would you, the way they talk about it so cheerily, but instead of all these pictures of older mothers with their cute babies, they might as well tell you to stop fantasising and get a dog or a cat. Or even a bloody hamster.’
Grace didn’t know what to say. Her heart went out to Deira, who was in such distress, but she knew she didn’t have any solution to the physical and moral dilemma that the younger woman was in. When she was younger, Grace had had rigid opinions about what constituted a family and how children should be raised. But over time her perspective had shifted and her views had mellowed.
‘The worst of it is that when older men father kids, they’re regarded as some kind of stud,’ added Deira. ‘Gavin is fifty-seven. But if a woman of fifty-seven was lucky enough to get pregnant thanks to IVF, she’d be looked at in horror and disgust.’
Grace nodded. Deira was definitely right about that. ‘You’re a long way from fifty-seven yet,’ she pointed out.
‘I’ve still wasted the best years of my life on him.’
‘Oh no.’ Grace shook her head. ‘You can’t say that. You’ve spent a small proportion of your life with him, and certainly not your best years. They’re still to come.’
Deira gave her a watery smile. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think so. I’m washed up, Grace.’
‘I don’t want to say you’re being ridiculous, but you are,’ said Grace. ‘You’re thirty-nine, not ninety-nine. You’ve loads of good years ahead of you. And you know what, maybe you will meet someone lovely on this trip and it’ll be great and—’
‘Honestly, I don’t need it to be great. I’m not interested in men. The sex is the only thing I care about,’ Deira told her. ‘But right now, I have a more pressing issue than getting pregnant.’
‘What?’
‘Gavin and Afton are away for a week,’ Deira replied. ‘A family wedding in Glasgow. I don’t know how it happens that weddings take a week now, but there you go. Anyhow, they flew there on Friday evening. And I . . .’
Grace looked at her expectantly.
‘I took the car.’
It took a moment for Grace to realise what she was saying.
‘The Audi? The convertible? That’s his car, not yours?’
‘It was our car. But when he moved out, he took it. His view was that I was in the house so he’d have the car. He said his solicitor would eventually get in touch with me about everything. I don’t think he deserves jack shit, to be honest. When I heard he was going away with Afton at the same time as we’d booked to come here, I thought – why not take it? The whole reason for planning this trip was to drive through France with the roof down. He said he wanted to do it before he was so old that people laughed at him. Driving sports cars is probably the only thing older men get laughed at for! I told him not to be silly, that he was still young . . .’ She swallowed hard, unable to continue.
‘Maybe he won’t mind about the car,’ said Grace. ‘How are things between you now?’
Deira laughed mirthlessly. ‘Pretty rubbish,’ she answered. ‘Though that’s mostly my fault. I cracked up, you see, when he told me about Afton. I kept going