Composite Creatures by Caroline Hardaker (novel books to read .txt) 📕

direction of the entrance, but all we met were closed doors, and white signs plugged into the grass: “Ovum Organi Recovery Unit 1.2”, then “Ovum Organi Rehabilitation 1.1”, then “Stem Cell Regeneration Centre”. Where was everyone? At least from the flow of buildings, we could tell that we were finally heading in the right direction. I became aware of how tightly I’d clasped Art’s hand and I loosened my grip to match his own.

When we eventually found the right outpatient reception, we signed in at the desk and were shortly invited into one of the consultation rooms in “Area F”. It was the first time we’d been to this part of Easton Grove and I have to say, it was pretty underwhelming. I’d expected it to be an upgrade from the previous clinics, after all – we’d upgraded too. You pull out all the stops for family visiting, surely?

Area F lacked the light from the other clinics’ open-plan architecture; the bright windows, the bouquets in glass bowls, the bright and grinning staff members. Area F had the feeling of being underground, with dull grey walls and navy-blue plastic seating oddly spaced with huge gaps between chairs. There were flowers on the tables but they weren’t the glorious summertime bundles we were used to. Those had been replaced with crooked spider plants, their spindly leaves drooping in the fluorescent light. The overall effect was of tiredness and still air, no dynamism at all.

We were called into the consultation room by a young man I hadn’t seen before. Underneath the long white coat he was excessively lean, and held out his elbows at odd angles as if he’d only just realised he had joints there and wasn’t sure what to do with them. His mouth quivered a little as he called our names, and his neck flushed at the sound of his own voice. As I passed him in the doorway he gave me a wide, toothy smile.

Sitting in the room already was a face I’d expected to see, Fia, the consultant from my early days of assessments who’d given me the smile and the handkerchief. She’d signed on to continue as our joint mentor, and oddly she looked younger than I’d remembered, or maybe I just felt older. She definitely had fewer greys, and the self-conscious curve of her shoulders that I’d related to before had flexed back elegantly, her spine as straight as a catwalk model’s.

Fia would be our main contact to coordinate between our lifestyle mentor, physicality mentor, psychological assessor and ovum organi advisor. She’d seen both Art and I through phases three and four, and I was relieved that we wouldn’t have to tread any old ground.

She offered us tea from a pot newly brewed, and when Art asked for a black coffee instead, the young man (who had stood by the door the whole time) dashed out of the room to make it. While we waited, Fia acted as if we weren’t there and started typing, even pulling up the leg of her tights where it had gone wrinkly at the ankle. The silence was almost physical, and I had to fight the urge to break it out of sheer awkwardness. I took a sip of the tea, and the sweet milky tonic made it better.

The moment the young man returned with Art’s coffee, Fia perked up and addressed us both, still typing with one hand.

“I hope it’s OK for Nathan to sit in with us. He’s on a placement and is keen to see how joint-members transition through the phases. Is it alright for him to listen and take notes? It’s all confidential.”

We agreed that it was fine. “Nathan will also have some access to your early induction notes as part of his project,” Fia continued. “He might use some of it as a case study but he’ll anonymise it completely. He’s been given the highest level of clearance access to our records, but we still have to get permission from you if he uses anything… personal. I trust that’s also fine? If so, we’ll proceed.”

We nodded, but the idea of some unknown man trawling through my backstory gave me a queasy feeling. He didn’t know me, he wouldn’t understand the decisions I’ve had to make every day. Inevitably he’d make judgements based on black and white, but what right did he have to decide whether my shade of grey leaned into the light or the darkness?

Fia stopped typing and swivelled on her chair to face us. “So, this is just a routine check-in as we see it. We want to know how you both are getting on. So, how’ve you been since moving in together? All’s well in the bird’s nest?”

Fia clapped her hands together and leaned forwards as if eager to be let into a secret.

“All better than you might have guessed.” Art reached for me and thrust my left hand towards Fia. There was nothing I could do. As soon as she saw the gleaming opal she looked up at Art with the oddest expression. The only way I could understand it was that she was looking at him conspiratorially, as if he’d done something slightly cheeky but would get away with it. “You didn’t wait long, we thought that might take years.” She laughed, peering in at the ring for a closer inspection. “Why didn’t you tell us first?”

Art squeezed my shoulder. “Why wait? You have to seize the day, right?”

Fia nodded sagely, her eyes closed. “You do. My, we’ve taught you well. Norah, you must be thrilled.”

I smiled, a trickle of laughter making it out before I was interrupted by Art. “We’re keeping it between us for now. No parties or shindigs or gloating. We’re sitting on it like a warm egg.”

Fia looked thoughtful and released my hand. I pulled my sleeves down over my knuckles.

“Very wise. You often see couples get so wrapped up in the celebrations that they don’t think about what they’re actually doing. And when it’s all