Маля. Однажды в Гагаузии. Юлия Юрьевна Журавлева

CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       EPILOGUE

       Endpages

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘YOU MIGHT ALREADY be a father!’

      Shock held Max Winthrop rooted to his chair, staring at his friend and fellow doctor in total disbelief.

      Less than thirty minutes ago he’d stood outside the IVF clinic, trying to work out how he felt.

      Uncertain?

      Angsty?

      Heaven help him, was there even such a word?

      Get on with it, he’d told himself. You’ve made the decision, now walk in there and see Pete.

      But there he’d stood, his mind flashing back seven years …

      Seven years ago, filled with determination to beat a recently diagnosed cancer, he’d left something of himself here—a deposit for the future.

      Back then it had been Step One of his ‘positive action’ programme, coming right before Step Two—Begin Aggressive Treatment.

      Step Three had been Finish Treatment, followed closely by Step Four, Climb Mount Everest.

      It hadn’t been a bad plan for a bloke in his mid-twenties who’d suddenly discovered he had an aggressive form of non-Hodgkin lymphoma, and although his then fiancée had muttered a few doubts about Step Four on the plan, she’d agreed that he needed something special in the way of a goal.

      He suspected Get Married had been her choice for ‘something special,’ although it had never been put into words.

      Now, two fiancées and some serious life changes later, he’d decided the time had come to have his frozen sperm destroyed.

      ‘Why now?’ his friend Pete had asked when Max had finally made it in through the door.

      Seven years ago Max had decided to use this particular facility because his friend Pete was working in the clinic.

      Pete was now one of the co-owners, and a good part of the reason the clinic had become extremely successful in the competitive world of assisted pregnancies.

      ‘Why now?’ Pete asked again.

      ‘You should know that,’ Max finally answered. ‘You’re the one who told me it loses its motility the longer it’s kept frozen.’

      ‘So you’ve had a test and your little swimmers are okay?’ Pete probed.

      ‘Not exactly,’ he replied, ‘but if I do happen to find a woman who’ll have me, then I’ll tell her the risks and we’ll take our chances.’

      ‘Get tested first. I can do it here and now. Or get it done.’

      ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ Max said firmly. It made no difference now. Regardless, he wouldn’t be taking changes with long-frozen sperm. Besides, he’d spent the last few months debating this in his head, weighing up the pros and cons of future marriage, accepting, finally, that the women in his life were probably right. He wasn’t good marriage material.

      Or family material.

      Father material …

      This last bit of the argument was the strongest, coming as it did from his own memories—the memory of the child he’d been when his adored father had left the family. It had been the final weight added to the ‘con’ side—the catalyst for this final decision. At times he still felt the pain of that time—and to inflict that on another child?

      His child?

      Maybe he wasn’t sure. Maybe that was why he’d rushed into preserving sperm before treatment all those years ago, but the years had made him even less certain he could cope with fatherhood. This final act was simply admitting it.

      ‘I’ve made the decision, Pete,’ Max added. ‘I want it destroyed.’

      Pete shrugged, woken the laptop on his desk from its sleep and begun typing, sending a message to a printer somewhere in the bowels of the building.

      He then used his phone to summon a lackey—a very attractive female lackey.

      ‘Jess, would you make sure someone in the cryo room gets the details on that printout I just sent through; then rustle up some coffee? Preferences, Max?’

      Max gave his coffee order, then watched the delectable Jess leave the room.

      ‘Eyes off, old man,’ Pete said to him. ‘She’s engaged to one of our new staff members—a genius who’s going to make this company famous worldwide. Although …’

      He paused, studying Max as if he were a newly inseminated egg.

      ‘Again, I have to ask, are you sure about this decision?’

      Max had to laugh.

      ‘Just because I’ve decided marriage and children aren’t for me, it doesn’t mean I’ve become a monk. You’re a happily married man so you’ve no idea how many intelligent, attractive women there are out there who feel just as I do. They’ve decided, carefully and rationally, that marriage isn’t for them, but they’re happy to have no-strings relationships with men who feel the same.’

      Pete nodded.

      ‘Not surprised at all,’ he said. ‘We’ve a couple of them working here. Women who love their work, enjoy their leisure time in all manner of ways and just don’t see marriage or kids as an imperative in their lives.’

      Jess returned with the two coffees and a plate of wafer-thin almond biscotti. She put the tray on table by the window, assured Pete someone was working on his request and departed once again.

      Max picked up his coffee, while Pete studied a message that had obviously come through on his mobile.

      ‘Drink your coffee, I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said, as he headed out the door.

      Watching him go, Max knew he’d made the right career decision. Not for him this office life, running a successful company but always being called in to solve this or check that. Working in a hospital was much the same, noisy pagers summoning him from one place to another. Private practice might be okay, but it had changed—less personal in so many ways.

      So the lecturing he did, combined with research on the spread of infection in developing countries, plus hands-on work in the same area, was his career choice. It also gave him freedom to head off and climb the odd mountain when he needed to clear his head. He had no strings attached and it worked for him.

      Another confirmation this was also the right decision.

      Until Pete strode back into the room, obviously flustered, clutching a small metal container not unlike a miniature silver flask and a sheaf of paperwork.

      And delivered the blow that had Max stuck in his chair.

      ‘Max … mate, I don’t know how to tell you this. This is unbelievable. Unbelievable that it’s happened, and that it’s happened to you. Max … I just need to say it. You might already be a father.’

      Aware that he was probably doing a very good impression of a stunned mullet, Max could only stare at his friend.

      Finally he got it out. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

      ‘There’s a mistake with the cross-match,’ Pete croaked.

      ‘You want to explain?’