Tania Carver - The Surrogate

Erin. He crossed the car park to the front of the hotel. Erin. He couldn’t believe his luck. When she’d started in his company he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. None of the men had. And probably a few of the ladies if they were honest, thought Graeme with a lascivious smile. She was young, brunette and well curved. And she liked everyone to know it. He didn’t know what she actually did, something in accounts, perhaps, but he knew the effect she had on him. He had watched her move around the office, her hips rolling, her breasts held high, a smile for everyone. That was it, he thought. She just looked so happy to be there, so happy to be herself. Her smile saying she would be up for anything as long as it was fun.

Not like Caroline at home. She had changed, and really quickly. Big and fat and complaining all the time of aches and pains. And her hand constantly out. Money for the hairdressers. For new clothes. A new fucking car, for Christ’s sake. He had bought them all, just to keep her quiet. He thought the arrival of a new child was supposed to be a joyous affair, but this was nothing like that. He was glad to get away from her. And what a relief to be with someone who was totally the opposite of that.

He couldn’t believe how easy the whole thing had been. How it had come together. Erin had been in his office one day, bringing in something for him to sign, bending over the desk so he got a good shot right down her cleavage, and before he could stop himself he had blurted out: ‘God, I bet you’re good in bed.’

Before he even had time to turn red she had replied: ‘I am. Want to find out how good?’

And that had been that. Not an office romance, because romance had very little to do with it. Just lust. Sex. Pounding, thrusting, hard sex. Anywhere and everywhere they could. At any opportunity. It was brilliant. And so much cheaper than paying for it. But Graeme wasn’t stupid. He knew that there was a chance she might not be doing this if he wasn’t her boss. She had already mentioned promotion a few times. Graeme didn’t mind. Anything he could do to help. Anything that would keep her there longer.

He entered the foyer, went up to reception. ‘Room booked for Mr and Mrs Eades,’ he said to the young girl behind the counter. She checked her screen.

As she did so, Graeme caught sight of himself in the mirrored surface in front of him. He had lost a little weight since Erin. Started dressing better too, even getting his hair cut more fashionably. He looked again at the image. But he still couldn’t hide the fact that he was, essentially, a man tottering on the brink of middle age, doing what he could to turn back time. Oh well, he thought, chasing the image away and getting ready for some fun, at least he hadn’t bought a red sports car.

The receptionist came back from the screen with the details, asked him to fill in a card. Told him what time breakfast was, ran through the list of amenities the hotel provided. Graeme wanted to scream: I don’t care about your fucking breakfast! I’ll only be here this afternoon to fuck the brains out of one of my employees! After that I’m gone! But he didn’t. Instead he listened patiently and smiled when she had finished. Took his key card and went to the room, where he laid all his purchases out on the bed and let his fevered imagination start to run riot.

As he took objects from their packaging and inserted batteries, checked they were working, a thought crossed his mind. He was supposed to have gone home this afternoon. Caroline knew he was leaving early. He had promised to do the supermarket run, as she was too heavy to move. Or too fucking lazy. Still had time to meet her friends for lunch. That he paid for.

Ah well, he thought. She’ll just have to wait.

He turned the pink jellied vibrator on, felt it buzzing in his hand and smiled. Perfect, he thought, checking his watch, and adjusting his trousers to accommodate the pleasantly uncomfortable bulge that was growing there.

Come on, Erin , he thought, I’m waiting for you …

Caroline Eades was beyond tired.

She couldn’t even be bothered to get dressed today; just sat on the sofa, staring at the TV. She usually had something planned for the day: yoga or lunch with her young friends, or shopping for the family. Today it was a hairdressing appointment. But she had phoned up and cancelled. Just couldn’t face making the effort to get dressed.

It had hit her when she woke up. Like a huge mattress had smashed into her and knocked her back on to the bed. She had forced herself to get up, help her children off to school, but flopped back down afterwards. And from then on she couldn’t move. It was even worse than she had felt in the first three months of pregnancy. Not surprising, lugging all that extra weight around. And the heartburn… like she had been eating curries for a week.

So that was it for today. On the sofa with a cup of tea and daytime TV for company. LooseWomen , or Hormonal Harpies , as she called it, was on. All of them shouting over one another, vying for attention. Making risqué remarks to John Barrowman while he responded in kind. It wore her out just watching it. She turned over. Diagnosis Murder . That was more like it. She started to watch it but found even that simple plot was too much for her to follow. She couldn’t be bothered to try any more channels so she flicked the TV off with the remote.

She took a mouthful of tea. It tasted awful. She had been able to manage coffee, but her taste for tea came and went. She hadn’t realised just how much sharper her sense of smell had become. Everything heightened, accentuated. Things she used to like, or at least not notice, now repulsed her. Like the smell inside the fridge or Graeme’s aftershave. Even the smell of the tea made her gag.

She leaned back, closed her eyes. Tried to relax. But she couldn’t. No matter how she positioned herself, which way she shifted, she just couldn’t get comfortable. She looked around. Her usually spotless house was becoming messy. Graeme wouldn’t pay for a cleaner, said it was a waste of money when she was doing nothing all day. But she didn’t even have the energy to get up, never mind clean up.

Dinner needed making, she knew that too, and she had no one to help her with it. And no food in the house again. At least Graeme had said he would go to Sainsburys on the way home. He hadn’t seemed happy about it but then he didn’t seem happy about anything these days.

She checked her watch. He should have been back by now. He’d said he was taking the afternoon off. He had been getting increasingly distant lately. Spending more time at work, snapping at her when he was at home. And he had started dressing better, too. Got a decent haircut. Lost a bit of weight. Those thoughts about an affair went through her mind again, but she didn’t have the energy, or the courage, to face them fully.

She took another sip of tea, grimaced. Awful.

She replaced the mug on the coffee table, sat back, checked her watch again. He was late. But just at that moment, when she was allowing all sorts of ridiculous fantasies about his whereabouts to run through her mind, she heard the front doorbell. She sighed. He must have forgotten his house key. Or had too much shopping and wanted her to carry it in. Idiot. In her state. But it was the kind of thing he would do.

Prising herself up from the sofa, she managed to waddle slowly from the living room into the hall. The bell rang again.

‘Yeah, all right, I’m coming…’

She reached the door, turned the knob to open it. And thought: Graeme wouldn’t have forgotten his house keys; they’re with his car keys.

She opened the door fully, looked up. It wasn’t Graeme.