had her bossy-boots voice on and it almost made him smile. He gave a hard nod. ‘Right.’
‘Right.’ Her hands twisted together and she dragged in a deep breath. Her knuckles turned white. Ben’s heart thumped harder.
‘Ben, you’re my dearest friend. I trust you with my life. So it somehow only seems right to trust you with another life—a life that will be so important to me.’
He closed his eyes and hauled in more air.
‘You’re healthy, fit and intelligent—everything I want for my child.’
He opened his eyes again.
She grinned. ‘And, while you will never, ever get me to admit this in front of another living soul, there isn’t another man whose genes I admire more.’
Behind the grin he sensed her sincerity. And, just like every other time he visited, Meg managed to melt the hardness that had grown in him while he’d been away jetting around the world.
‘I want a baby so badly I ache with it.’ Her smile faded. ‘But having a baby like this—through IVF—there really isn’t anyone else to share the journey with me. And an anonymous donor…’ She glanced down at her hands. ‘I don’t know—it just seems a bit cold-blooded, that’s all. But if that donor were you, knowing you were a part of it…’
She met his gaze. He read in her face how much this meant to her.
‘Well, that wouldn’t be so bad, you know? I mean, when my child eventually asks about its father I’ll at least be able to answer his or her questions.’
Yeah, but he’d be that father. He ran a finger around the collar of his tee shirt ‘What kind of questions?’
‘Hair colour, eye colour. If you were fun, if you were kind.’ She pulled in a breath. ‘Look, let me make it clear that I know you have absolutely no desire to settle down, and I know you’ve never wanted kids. That’s not what I’m asking of you. I’m not asking you for any kind of commitment. I see your role as favourite uncle and nothing more.’
She stared at him for a moment. ‘I know you, Ben. I promise your name won’t appear on the birth certificate unless you want to. I promise the child will never know your identity. Also,’ she added, ‘I would absolutely die if you were to offer me any kind of financial assistance.’
That made him smile. Meg was darn independent—he’d give her that. Independent and bossy. He suspected she probably thought she made more money than him too.
The fact was neither one of them was crying poor.
‘I know that whether you agree to my proposition or not you’ll love and support any child of mine the way you love and support me.’
That was true.
She stared at him in a way that suddenly made him want to fidget.
She curled her legs beneath her. ‘I can see there’s something you want to say. Please, I know this is a big ask so don’t hold back.’
Her words didn’t surprise him. There’d never been any games between him and Meg. Ben didn’t rate family—not his mother, not his father and not his grandmother. Oh, he understood he owed his grandmother. Meg lectured him about it every time he was home, and she was right. Elsie had fed, clothed and housed him, had made sure he’d gone to school and visited the doctor when he was sick, but she’d done it all without any visible signs of pleasure. His visits now didn’t seem to give her any pleasure either. They were merely a duty on both sides.
He’d make sure she never wanted for anything in her old age, but as far as he was concerned that was where his responsibility to her ended. He only visited her to make Meg happy.
He mightn’t rate family, but he rated friendship—and Meg was the best friend he had. Megan Parrish had saved him. She’d taken one look at his ten-year-old self, newly abandoned on Elsie’s doorstep, and had announced that from that day forth they were to be best friends for ever. She’d given his starved heart all the companionship, loyalty and love it had needed. She’d nurtured them both with fairytales about families who loved one another; and with the things they’d do, the adventures they’d have, when they grew up.
She’d jogged beside him when nothing else would ease the burn in his soul. He’d swum beside her when nothing else would do for her but to immerse herself in an underwater world—where she would swim for as long as she could before coming up for air.
And he’d watched more than once as she’d suffered the crippling agony of endometriosis. Nothing in all his life had ever made him feel so helpless as to witness her pain and be unable to ease it. His hands clenched. He hadn’t realised she still suffered from it.
‘Ben?’
‘I’m concerned about your health.’ Wouldn’t her getting pregnant be an unnecessary risk at this point? ‘That’s what I want to talk about.’
He shifted on the sofa to survey her more fully. She held her glass out and he topped it up from the bottle of Chardonnay they’d opened during dinner. Her hand shook and something inside him clenched. He slammed the bottle to the coffee table. ‘Are you okay?’ he barked without preamble.
She eyed him over the glass as she took a sip. ‘Yes.’
His tension eased. She wouldn’t lie to him. ‘But?’
‘But it’s a monthly problem.’ She shrugged. ‘You know that.’
But he’d thought she’d grown out of it!
Because that’s what you wanted to think.
His hands fisted. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
Her face softened in the dim light and he wanted to reach across and pull her into his arms and just hold her…breathe her in, press all of his good health and vitality into her body so she would never be sick again. ‘No doubt Elsie’s told you that I’ve had a couple of severe bouts of endometriosis over the last few months?’
His stomach rolled and roiled. He nodded. When he’d roared into town on his bike earlier in the day Meg had immediately sent him next door to duty-visit his grandmother, even though they all knew he only returned to Fingal Bay to visit Meg. Elsie’s two topics of conversation had been Meg’s health and Meg’s father’s health. The news had been chafing at him ever since.
‘Is the endometriosis the reason you’re in danger of becoming infertile?’
‘Yes.’ She sat back, but her knuckles had turned white again. ‘Which is why I’m lusting after your genes and…’
‘And?’ His voice came out hoarse. How could fate do this to his best friend?
‘I don’t know what to call it. Maybe there isn’t actually a term for it, but it seems somehow wrong to create a child with an anonymous person. So, I want your in-their-prime genes and your lack of anonymity.’
Holding her gaze, he rested his elbows on his knees. ‘No fathering responsibilities at all?’
‘God, no! If I thought for one moment you felt pressured in that
