Excerpt from SAFEKEEPING by KAREN ZELAS, Quentin Wilson Publishing, RRP $37.50, shared with permission.

Sylvie’s determined, open face is older than Rebecca has expected; the creases in the angles
of her eyes laughter lines rather than tension. A flowing, belted dress skims the top of tan
ankle boots, making her movements graceful.

‘Shall we?’

Sylvie follows Rebecca into her office and sits in the bay window. ‘I won’t take much
of your time. It’s good of you to see me in your lunch hour.’

‘Where would you like to begin?’

‘I don’t know, really. It was Pete’s idea. I don’t see any problem.’

‘But you didn’t want him to come with you.’

‘No, because it’s not his business. It’s nothing to do with him.’

‘He seemed concerned for you when he rang me.’

‘There’s no need. I can take care of myself. I don’t need him to protect me – I hardly
know him. Nor him me.’

‘He’s not your … partner? I thought he might be.’

‘See what I mean? He’d like to be, but he’s not. And I won’t have him running my life,
saying what I should and shouldn’t do. I told him I don’t need a lawyer.’ Sylvie smooths her
skirt over her knees, and her breathing slows. The midday light through the bay window
behind spins her hair to gold. ‘But then I thought about it calmly and it seemed a good idea,
perhaps, to talk with someone independent – and knowledgeable. Just in case. Before I make
a commitment.’

‘Okay. Very sensible. How old are you?’

‘Thirty-one.’

‘And what do you do for a living?’ Rebecca pauses, pen poised over a yellow lined pad.

‘I’m a student. At present. Maybe not much longer. Māori Studies. I trained as a teacher
and taught for a while, but then I wanted to learn Te Reo. It’s turned my life around – Te Reo
Māori. And I’ve found my place. It’s the future for our country.’

‘You’re Māori?’

‘No, I’m not. It’s more a matter of Te Ao Māori – a Māori worldview, a belief system,
a way of looking at life and being with others. And I am at peace within it. I’ve never felt so
right in myself. It gives me the energy to look outwards.’

‘I see,’ says Rebecca, although she doesn’t, not quite. A string of questions presses.

And there is less than half an hour left. ‘Will you go back to teaching?’

‘I could stay in the department at uni for ever – it’s like one great whānau.’ Sylvie
laughs, draws up one knee and hugs herself. ‘I’d dearly love to do a Master’s. But I don’t want to be burdened with a huge student debt I can’t pay back. It’s all very well for Hōne and
Nigel. They’re salaried. Hōne is an associate professor.’

‘Hōne and Nigel. Are they …?’

‘Yeah.’

‘They’re the couple who want a baby?’

‘Yes. They’re a really cool couple. Talking about getting married. They probably will if
they get a baby.’

‘And you would like to help them.’

‘They’re whānau. And children belong to whānau.’

‘Even though you’re not Māori?’

‘Nor is Nigel.’ A touch of defensiveness in her tone. ‘Not genetically. But spiritually.’

‘Have you discussed this with them? Growing a child to give them?’

‘It started as teasing, a joke, and then I thought, yeah, this is a gift I can give them. A
taonga. I don’t want children for myself. The world is such a mess, and I won’t create a child
for selfish reasons. But helping others achieve something physically impossible without me,
well, that’s a different story. There’s nothing to stop me, legally, is there?’

‘No. Surrogacy is not against the law in this country. But neither are there – well, not as
yet – any legal provisions that adequately protect everyone involved. Especially in the kind of
informal or “traditional” surrogacy you’re thinking about, where the woman gets pregnant
using her own egg and the intending father’s sperm, with no clinic involvement.
‘At the birth, you’d automatically be the child’s legal parent. To become the joint legal
parents, Hōne and Nigel would have to apply to the Family Court to adopt the child, with
your legal consent. It would be easier if they were married.’

‘I thought there was something going through Parliament last year about it.’

‘Yes, there was. A private member’s bill, leaning on recommendations from the Law
Commission. But the bill failed, so nothing has changed, unfortunately.’ Rebecca feels like
the bad fairy at the christening, slashing Sylvie’s generosity and hope to shreds. ‘As things
stand, Hōne and Nigel would have to go before a judge of the Family Court to adopt the child and be awarded custody.’

‘Why does something so perfect and simple have to be made so difficult?’

‘Well, pregnancy, birth and parenting aren’t simple at all. I’d like the three of you to
get together and draw up your own agreement as to what you plan to do, including how you’d deal with problems that might arise. Even though the law doesn’t require a written
agreement.’

Seeing a flicker of uncertainty cross Sylvie’s face, Rebecca hurries to add, ‘Informal
arrangements amounting to surrogacy have always occurred, most often within family groups – you’d know that, of course – like the traditional giving and sharing of children within Māori whānau.’

‘Yes, whāngai. I’ve been reading as much as I can find about whāngai.’

‘But any such arrangement is inevitably complex, even when it’s within whānau. That’s
why counselling should be provided for all types of surrogacy, not just the clinic-assisted
ones.’

‘We don’t need counselling. Hōne’s the one who’ll give his sperm. He wants to be the
genetic father.’

‘And Nigel?’

‘He’s fine with that.’

Deciding to change tack, Rebecca asks, ‘Do you have children?’

‘No. Do you?’ Sylvie’s voice is terse, defensive.

‘No.’ Rebecca hears the slight edge in her own voice. ‘And you’d be conceiving in
order to give the baby away.’

‘So?’ says Sylvie.