Free Sacrifice by Sharon Bolton Page B

is a very high level of cadmium.’ I paused. ‘That’s a toxin present in tobacco smoke. You smoke about twenty cigarettes a day. And you drink alcohol most days. You too, Sarah.’
    ‘My father smoked forty a day and drank whisky just about every day of his adult life,’ said Robert. ‘He had five kids before he was thirty.’
    I was losing this couple; but I wasn’t about to compromise everything I believed in just to give them some false hope today. On the other hand, they might just get pregnant on their first IVF attempt. Itwas a huge lottery and I could be doing them a great disservice by persuading them to wait.
    ‘What I’d like to suggest is that you forget all about getting pregnant for the next six months and concentrate on becoming as healthy as you possibly can.’ I could see Robert about to interrupt. ‘Healthy people have the best chance of conceiving, Robert. I’d like to see you give up smoking and both of you to cut out alcohol completely.’
    Robert shook his head, as though despairing of my idiocy.
    ‘I know it will be hard,’ I went on, ‘but if you want a baby, you’ll try. Even cutting down will help. Also, I’m going to prescribe a course of supplements to eliminate the various deficiencies you have and I want you both to be tested for a number of infections.’
    They weren’t going to buy it. They’d come here for sophisticated medical intervention and I was offering them vitamin C.
    ‘Do you really think just that will make much difference?’ asked Sarah.
    I nodded. ‘Yes, I do. I’ve written everything down.’ I handed over a typed sheet to Sarah. ‘If you follow this plan, at the end of six months, you’ll be much healthier than you are now and the chances of IVF being successful will have substantially increased.’ I tried to smile. ‘Who knows, you may not even need IVF.’
    They stood up, sullenly, like children denied a treat. I wondered if they’d try the plan or just travel to a clinic on the Scottish mainland, where they’dalmost certainly be guaranteed a more sympathetic response. Not everyone shared my conviction about the importance of health and nutrition when trying to conceive.
    Sarah turned at the door. ‘I know you mean well,’ she said, ‘but we just want a baby so much.’
    The sound of their footsteps along the corridor faded away. I opened my top drawer and took out an orange file. The first sheet was the result of a sperm test taken in London twelve months earlier.
Total number of spermatozoa present: 60 million per ml – normal
Percentage of sperm alive at one hour: 65% – normal
Morphology level: 55% – normal
Antibody levels: 22% – normal
    And so on, down to the bottom of the page. Everything normal. The name on the top was Duncan Guthrie, my totally normal husband. It was the third test he’d had. The results of the previous two were practically identical. Whatever our problem, it didn’t lie with him.
    My own notes were underneath. FSH, LH, oestrogen and progesterone levels were all well within the normal ranges. My hormones were OK and, as far as I could tell via a slightly awkward self-examination, everything appeared to be in place.
    The Tullys had been my last appointment but I had a ward round in twenty minutes. Immediatelyafterwards I had to drive north and catch a ferry to the island of Yell for my monthly visit. I’d meet with the island’s midwife and hold a clinic for the eight women currently pregnant there.
    Getting up, I wandered back over to my office window. The car park was immediately below. Without really thinking I found myself searching for Gifford’s silver BMW. Let it go now, he’d said, let the police do their job. He was right, of course. But I still had eighteen minutes to kill.
    Back at my desk I accessed the hospital’s intranet site. I clicked on a few icons, thought a bit, then clicked on a couple more. For a hospital website it was surprisingly easy to navigate. It wasn’t long before I had the file