Sisteria by Sue Margolis

about the actual getting pregnant bit?’
    â€˜Oh, right. Well, for a start there’s no actual sex involved. You’d have to be -I mean, if you agreed, that is - artificially inseminated. Tom - he’s my chap - and I agreed we shouldn’t involve fertility clinics just in case somebody blabbed to the press. But according to all the books and articles I’ve read, do-it-yourself artificial insemination is dead easy. Apparently when lesbians want to get pregnant, they put the bloke who’s agreed to father the child in another room with a few dirty mags and get him to come into a jar. His sperm is then transferred into a turkey baster which is a bit like a huge eye dropper. The woman then sticks this up inside her and simply squeezes the rubber top to release the sperm. It’s easy.’
    â€˜Easy,’ Beverley repeated. She took a glug of her kir. ‘Easy bloomin’ peasy.’
    â€˜I know I could make a good mother,’ Naomi said, almost pleadingly. ‘I’d try to be the exact opposite of ours. I just want a chance to prove it.’
    She paused and stared into Beverley’s eyes.
    â€˜Please, Bev,’ she pleaded, ‘I know I’m asking for the moon, but please be the one to give me that chance.’
    Beverley took another sip of her drink. For a moment Naomi looked like the needy, vulnerable little girl she used to collect every afternoon from Gearies School.
    â€˜Look, Nay, I have a pretty good idea what it must feel like to be told you can’t have children, but you said it - what you’re asking of me is absolutely huge. I mean, to carry a child - and using my egg, it would technically be my child - to give birth to it and then give it up... I’m just not sure I could...’
    â€˜But will you at least think about it?’
    â€˜Yes, I will. Promise.’
    Beverley decided to change the subject in order to give herself time to think.
    â€˜So, tell me about this Tom, then,’ she said, ‘who is he? Someone famous?’
    Naomi dabbed her under-eyes with her napkin and gave a half-smile.
    â€˜Fairly. He’s Tom Jago, the drama director. You know, did that amazing production of Blue Remembered Hills for the BBC last summer - won all those awards.’
    Beverley nodded, but was none the wiser.
    â€˜We’ve been together just over a year. I tell you, Bev - not only is he amazingly talented, but he’s also a bit of a dish.’
    â€˜They’ve all been good-looking, Nay - and rich. The bit you always seem to find difficult is hanging on to them for more than three months.’
    â€˜I know. It’s the job. I’m always working. How can you make a relationship work when one of you is constantly putting in fourteen-hour days?’
    Beverley knew full well it was her sister’s personality which put men off rather than the hours she worked, but she decided to let it go.
    â€˜Funny,’ she said instead, ‘I suppose I always imagined you settling down eventually, but it never occurred to me for one minute that you might want children. You’ve never shown the remotest interest in them. For God’s sake, Nay, you bought Natalie a Prada handbag for her first birthday.’
    â€˜Oh God, didn’t she like it?’
    â€˜Well, she didn’t say she didn’t, but then again she couldn’t speak yet. She did love playing with it, though. She kept her Duplo men and bits of soggy old biscuit in it.’
    â€˜I suppose she was a bit on the young side. I’m no Maria Von Trapp, am I?’ Naomi said. ‘But what do you expect? I don’t know how you did the mothering thing, Bev - I mean, what sort of maternal role model did we have? I’ve always been so scared that I’d repeat our mother’s mistakes. Then, a year or so ago, things began to change. Whenever I went out, I found myself gazing into prams and getting all soppy and tearful. Did you know, Beverley, new-born