Kate Hewitt - This Fragile Life

You love your best friend. You trust her with your life.

But could you give her the most precious gift of all?

Alex’s life is a mess. She’s barely holding down a job, only just affording her apartment, and can’t remember when she was last in a relationship. An unexpected pregnancy is the last thing she needs.

Martha’s life is on track. She’s got the high-flying career, the gorgeous home and the loving husband. But one big thing is missing. Five rounds of IVF and still no baby.

The solution seems simple.

Alex knows that Martha can give her child everything that she can’t provide.

But Martha’s world may not be as perfect as it seems, and letting go isn’t as easy as Alex expected it to be.

Now they face a decision that could shatter their friendship for ever.

Provocative. Emotional. Affecting.

Share This Fragile Life with your best friend.

This Fragile Life

Kate Hewitt

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013

Copyright © Kate Hewitt 2013

Kate Hewitt asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9781472017109

Version date: 2018-07-23

After spending three years as a diehard New Yorker, KATE HEWITTnow lives in the Lake District with her husband, five children, and Golden Retriever. She enjoys such novel things as long country walks and chatting with people in the street, and her children love the freedom of village life—although Kate often has to ring four or five people to figure out where they’ve gone off to!

She writes women’s fiction as well as contemporary romance for Mills & Boon Modern, and whatever the genre she enjoys delivering a compelling and intensely emotional story. Find out more about her books at www.kate-hewitt.com.

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Dedication

Extract

Endpages

Book Club Questions

About the Publisher

It’s not good news. It never has been, so at least I’m expecting it and it’s easier to take. Except maybe it isn’t, because after I disconnect the call I bow my head and press my fingers to my temples and then I do something I never do. I cry.

I can hear the snuffling sobs I’m still trying to suppress echoing through the empty bathroom stalls at work. They sound awful. I sound awful, like some completely pathetic nutcase instead of what I am, which is a highly successful advertising executive with everything I’ve ever wanted.

Except a baby.

“Come on, Martha,” I say aloud. “Pull yourself together.” And it almost works, my little self-scolding, except another sob tears at my chest and comes out of my mouth, an animal sound I absolutely hate. Plus I’ve got snot dripping down my chin; if anyone saw me they’d think I was falling apart. And I’m not. I am absolutely not.

“Pull yourself together, damn it,” I snap, and my voice is a sharp crack in the silence, a warning shot. I take another deep breath, tuck my hair behind my ears, and let myself out of the stall.

I stare starkly at my reflection because I’ve never been one to shy away from the harsh truths. Like the fact that I’m thirty-six and have gone through five rounds of IVF and none have worked. I’m essentially infertile, and I’m not going to have a baby of my own.

That’s too much to take right now, so I focus on the immediate damage. My reflection. My make-up is a mess, my supposedly waterproof mascara giving me raccoon eyes. My lipstick is gone, and there are marks on my lip where I’ve bitten it. I don’t remember when.

I set about repairing the worst of it. I take a travel-sized bottle of make-up remover and my make-up bag out of my purse. I even have cotton balls, because I am always prepared. Always organized, always with a to-do list and a bullet-point plan, and within a few minutes my make-up is repaired, and I fish through my purse for my eye drops since my eyes look pretty reddened and bloodshot. I’ve thought of everything.

Except this.

Despite everything pointing to it, I haven’t let myself think about failure.

Tonight I’m going to have to go back to our apartment and tell Rob it hasn’t worked again. It feels like it’s my fault, and it is, really, because it’s my body that is rejecting the fertilized eggs. And even though I know he’ll be easy and accepting about it because he always is about everything, I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the thought of admitting defeat, failure , even though I know that I must.

This is the end of the road. Five rounds of IVF. Over sixty thousand dollars. Not to mention all of the doctor’s appointments, the investigations, injections, invasions. All pointless, wasted.

We agreed a while ago that we wouldn’t try again.

And so we won’t.

I tuck all my equipment back in my bag, zip it up, give my reflection a firm no-nonsense smile. Yes. Good. I look good; I look pulled together and in control as usual, as always.

And I act as if I am for the rest of the day, going over ad copy and giving a PowerPoint presentation for our new account, an environmentally friendly laundry detergent. I hesitate for only a second, not even a second, when the screen in front of the dozen listening suits turns to an image of a mother tickling her newborn baby’s feet. I’d forgotten I’d put that one in there, but of course you’ve got to have the baby shot when it’s laundry detergent, right? It’s all about the perfect family. The perfect life.

Resolutely I stare at that image and drone on about how Earth Works will transform lives. As if laundry detergent actually makes a difference. I feel like Miss America simpering about world peace, but it’s okay because everyone is listening and nodding and I know this is working, I’m working, because I’m good at what I do. I’m amazing.