A Mother’s Sacrifice Page 14

  She frowns. ‘Don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Oh, right…’ I offer, wondering why the hell she is even here. Surely a woman who shuns Bettabuys wouldn’t be seen dead eating Mama’s delicacies?

  ‘Ah, look, Magda’s here too.’ She waves over at Magda but I fail to catch her response.

  ‘I’m just buying coffee. Do you want one?’ I ask Annette, out of common decency as opposed to actually wanting to spend any time with her.

  ‘If you insist.’ She pulls out her mobile phone and proceeds to tap away on the touchscreen, angling the phone away from me. ‘I’ll just let Ron know I’ll be another twenty minutes. He’s just called actually,’ she continues. ‘Said you were in the pharmacy earlier.’

  I feel my cheeks flush. ‘Yes, I, erm… Well, it’s difficult to explain.’

  ‘Well, actually he was acting very strangely. Talking about pickled eggs or something.’ She shakes her head. ‘You can carry three cups over, can’t you? My legs are dying for a rest.’ She takes off before I even have a chance to answer.

  ‘Here, three cups of steaming hot coffee, with Mama’s secret recipe.’ A few moments later, I arrive back at the table where Magda and Annette are now both sitting. I struggle to put the mugs down on the table, which I notice has dried egg yolk hardening on its surface.

  ‘Yeah, she’s a star is Mama,’ says Annette, taking one of the chipped mugs and wrapping both hands around it. ‘We went to school together actually, were best friends once upon a time.’

  I shake my head, confused as to the absurdity of the day. If I wasn’t mental when it began I’m sure as shit going to be by the time it ends.

  ‘Actually, Lou…’ Magda hesitates, flicking her eyes briefly over to Annette. ‘I think I best go. The girl from the pharmacy just rang while you two were waiting for the coffees. Apparently Helen’s been loitering around outside.’

  ‘Dawn rang you?’ asks Annette, her tone brusque. ‘She shouldn’t be calling you, especially not while working.’

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ says Magda quickly. ‘I know her, we attend yoga together.’

  ‘Well, even so. Having said that, I’m not surprised your sister’s hankering for those meds, Magda. Strong stuff she’s on, used only in extreme cases of depression but highly addictive.’

  Magda looks down into her coffee cup. ‘I know. But unfortunately her case is extreme.’ She wipes at her eyes as if tears may be forming. ‘Look, I think Ron might have asked Dawn to call me. She seemed a little vague about it all, just said I should maybe head home.’

  ‘Ron wouldn’t have told her to do that, he doesn’t even know your sister.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know then. But don’t say anything to him, Net. Dawn was only doing what she thought best. Helen’s been so poorly lately. I’m so worried about her, she just cries all the time.’

  ‘Well, Christmas Day’s going to be a barrel of laughs then, isn’t it?’ says Annette, causing Magda’s eyes to well up further. ‘Fine, I’ll not mention it,’ she continues after a moment’s pause. ‘But that Dawn’s one cat-cow stretch away from the job centre as it is. My poor Ron doesn’t know where to put his eyes half the time, the poor lamb.’

  I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.

  ‘Louisa, I really am painfully sorry.’ Magda places her hand over her heart. ‘But I’ll see you on Christmas Day and we’ll have a proper catch-up then.’

  ‘No problem. I hope Helen will be well enough to come. We’re really looking forward to meeting her.’ I glare at Annette in the hope she’ll realise her earlier sarcastic comment was uncalled for.

  ‘I think that one’s got a fella, you know,’ says Annette as Magda leaves the café.

  ‘How come?’

  She taps the side of her head. ‘Just sense it. Always rushing off, wearing lots of perfume. Unless it’s another woman she’s got. Always thought she could be a vagina diner, if you get my drift.’

  I blanch, appalled by her turn of phrase. Especially since she’s supposed to be a God-fearing Christian. ‘I, erm… are you sorted for Christmas?’ I ask, changing the subject.

  ‘Yes, are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  An awkward silence hangs between us, neither Annette nor I comfortable in each other’s presence without Magda.

  I look around at my surroundings by way of distraction, Mama now back behind her serving hatch, seemingly beating the living shit out of a slab of meat with her bare hands. In the far corner, a young mother tries and fails to shove a spoonful of beans into her toddler’s mouth, all the while attempting to wind a baby draped over her knees like a serviette.

  ‘Ron told me. About the antidepressants.’

  Feeling my insides tighten, I open my mouth to protest. He has no right discussing my business and she knows it. ‘He shouldn’t…’

  She holds up her hand, silencing me before my reproach is even properly formed. ‘I would have seen the prescription anyway when I cashed up so you can save your dramatics.’

  I sink down into my chair, not wanting to discuss anything with Annette but feeling like I have no choice. ‘The doctor thinks I’m suffering with postnatal depression,’ I mutter. ‘But I’m not.’

  She tilts her head to the side. ‘Continue.’

  ‘Well, it’s difficult to explain.’ I rummage around inside my head for the right words. Do I tell Annette about Cory’s donor or not? James certainly wouldn’t be happy if Ron found out. In the end I decide I have to, knowing only that there have been enough secrets and lies to last a lifetime. ‘James isn’t Cory’s dad,’ I whisper. ‘We used a sperm donor.’

  Annette raises her eyebrows but doesn’t look altogether surprised.

  ‘You already knew?’ I ask her, annoyed.

  She pauses. ‘No, I didn’t. But it doesn’t come as a surprise; after all, James and Cory look nothing alike and I always doubted you’d use SureLife for routine IUI.’ She takes a sip of coffee, grimaces as it slides down her throat. ‘But what I don’t understand is the connection to postnatal depression?’

  I explain everything to her, right down to the matching cards and James’s insistence that I must have hallucinated the message inside the second card. ‘So you can understand why the doctor might think I’m crazy but I’m telling you somebody is playing mind games. Perhaps the donor or somebody else, I don’t know.’

  Annette purses her lips but doesn’t speak, her eyes resting on mine for what seems like for ever.

  ‘Annette, do you think I’m crazy?’ I don’t know why I ask, but all of a sudden I’m unsure of myself.

  She shrugs. ‘What I think doesn’t really matter. I’ll tell you what though, Louisa – either young Cory has soiled himself or Mama is frying one of her legendary beef steaks. What’s saying you go and change him while I buy us a mince pie? Then we can decide the best course of action.’

  I sniff up, not really smelling anything apart from damp bodies and fried onions. ‘He could just have a touch of wind but best I change him anyway.’ I reach down into the underbelly of the pram, ready to grab the matching shoulder bag which contains all of his changing gear.

  ‘If I were you I’d just take the nappy and wipes out. The toilets here are tiny and I wouldn’t fancy putting that beautiful cream bag down on Mama’s toilet floor. She might be a good friend but she was never partial to cleaning, bless her heart.’

  ‘No, you have a point,’ I say, still somewhat astounded that Annette and Mama are friends. I guess we’re all full of surprises.

  Taking Annette’s advice, I stuff my hand into the bag, rummaging around for a clean nappy and the pack of baby wipes. My fingers skim the paper bag containing the antidepressants, the feel of them causing a fresh wave of anxiety to flutter through me. ‘Right, I won’t be a moment.’ I position the nappy and wipes under my arm before picking up Cory. ‘I’m so sorry, baby,’ I whisper to him when he stirs in my arms. ‘We’ll be home soon, I promise.’

  I change Cory the best I can, Annette’s
description of Mama’s toilet spot on. He’d only weed, which is a relief, although it certainly says something about Mama’s cooking that Annette mistook it for faecal matter.

  Finally, after what seems like an age, I push open the toilet door and make my way back into the café, the place now deserted bar an elderly man who scoops sloppy porridge into his mouth, some of it missing and landing in his beard.

  I look over at the pram, still positioned where I left it. Three mugs of coffee litter the table beside it, neither of them drunk beyond a sip. All three chairs are now empty.

  Annette has gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Louisa

  Now

  ‘And what has Father Christmas got for Mummy then?’

  James appears at the living-room door, Cory in his arms wearing a Santa Babygro several sizes too large.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done to our baby?’ I can’t help but laugh, the red and white felt hat balancing on Cory’s ears causing them to stick out. ‘He’s not wearing that all day; he looks like nobody owns him.’

  ‘What do you think then, Father Cory? Has Mummy been a good girl?’ James grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘She certainly was last night.’

  ‘Stop talking vulgar, he’s very intuitive you know.’ I look over to where a small, neatly wrapped present is propped up on Cory’s belly, hiding what looks like the markings of a black and gold belt. ‘Is that present for me, baby boy?’ My voice holds a certain sing-song quality which always seems to be present when talking to him, even though it’s never intentional. ‘I can’t wait to open it.’

  ‘So you like the outfit?’ James sits down on the sofa beside me, repositioning Cory into the crook of his arm.

  ‘I love it. It’s good quality too. Where did you buy it?’

  ‘EBay… but before you start panicking, it was new with tags.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to panic,’ I say, a grin lying in wait. ‘Even if it was secondhand I wouldn’t have minded.’

  ‘Lou?’ James raises his eyebrows.

  ‘Well, okay, maybe I would have minded a little bit. Well, actually, a lot. Please tell me it was definitely new with tags?’

  ‘Scout’s honour. Merry Christmas, sweetheart, and happy birthday.’ James leans in and kisses me on the cheek. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

  I shrug, still not completely happy with being forced to take antidepressants, especially since I’ve not stopped itching for the past few days, not to mention the headaches which could shatter glass. ‘I think Ron was lying about them meds though,’ I admit to James, feeling myself getting teary even though I was fine just a second ago. ‘Fluoxetine’s strong stuff. Two days I’ve been taking them and I’m constantly burning up. My emotions are all over the place too. Yesterday I cried at a charity advert about homeless donkeys, ended up sending them money so they could have a Christmas dinner.’ I rub at my temples in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure. ‘I could really do without cooking Christmas dinner for six people today. Especially since Annette pissed off the other day without a word.’

  ‘So, all in all, good then?’ replies James, quickly rearranging his face when he realises his humour hasn’t been well received. ‘Did Annette ever message you back by the way? I can’t believe she just left you.’

  I shake my head, the memory of being abandoned in Mama’s two days ago still fresh in my mind. ‘I mean, how rude can you get? Honestly, I’ve got a good mind to message her and tell her not to bother coming.’

  ‘But you won’t.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ I say through a sigh. ‘Because I’m too nice and I’m starting to think that’s my downfall.’

  ‘Louisa… I love you just the way you are.’ James reaches over and squeezes my thigh.

  ‘Yeah, now I’m doped up to the eyeballs.’ I intend it as a joke but all it achieves is an awkward silence which seems to drag on for an eternity. I know James feels guilty for insisting I take the antidepressants, and so he bloody well should do. But with no other cards materialising in the last week, I’m stuck in limbo, having no way to prove my sanity. I suppose, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not even sure whether or not I did hallucinate the message inside the card last week. Given my history, it’s certainly not beyond the realms of possibility. Now, after having a chance to calm down, it does seem somewhat ridiculous that an anonymous sperm donor would stalk me in order to steal back the seed of his loins. And it’s even more ridiculous to consider that somebody else might have been behind it. I mean, for what possible reason? And yet, while all of this remains absurd, there’s still the very real fact that a man did approach me in the market last week. He quite clearly said my name. Or did he? Again, it’s difficult to be sure, especially as I wasn’t in a rational state of mind, having just scarpered from the coffee shop after hearing Magda’s psychic spirit guide’s warning!

  Either way, I have no choice but to hold things together now, for Cory more than anybody else. When the mental health team show up in the New Year I have to convince them I’m sane. The alternative doesn’t even bear thinking about. No, the cards have stopped, which is ultimately a good thing. It’s Christmas Day, my thirtieth birthday, and I’m determined to see it through with a smile. ‘So, come on then, Saint Nic,’ I say at last, forcing the niggling doubts to the back of my mind. ‘Let me have that present.’

  ‘Saint Nic hasn’t mastered his fine motor skills yet so his trusty elf will deliver the gift on his behalf.’ James passes me the present, his hand shaking ever so slightly.

  ‘Aww, are you nervous? That’s sweet.’ I hold the cubed present to my ear and give it a shake. ‘I wonder what it could be?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ says James, smiling down at Cory. ‘It isn’t off me. It’s off this little guy.’

  I savour the moment, knowing that the present is another first, one I’ll cherish for years to come. Placing it on my knee, I look out of the lounge window and drink in the world, which for once I feel very much a part of. At 8 a.m. the sky is blotted an inky blue, the heavy snowfall turning to grey mucky slush as fat droplets of rain drum a frantic beat off the glass. I guess I was crazy to believe the north of England would deliver a white Christmas: It’s always pissing raining on Christmas Day, I distinctly remember my mother saying one year. Perhaps that’s why she chose Christmas Day to kill herself; most probably not but you never know. The weather doesn’t matter though. My dreams of Christmas never did include snow; just a forever family, containing the very people who are now beside me.

  ‘Go on then,’ says James, shuffling around on his bottom, the anticipation clearly getting the better of him. ‘Don’t leave us hanging.’

  I pick up the gift and loosen the red ribbon, the feel of it silky and soft between my fingers. ‘It’s wrapped beautifully. When did you learn to wrap like this?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Lou, enough with the questions. The wait is killing me.’

  I glance over at him and smile, his excitement infectious. He’s still dressed in his pyjama bottoms, his chest covered in dark hair, his shoulder muscles well defined. He’s gorgeous, my very own Prince Charming.

  ‘Lou, the present, please.’

  I roll my eyes in mock irritation. ‘Okay, I’m opening it. It best be good after all this build-up.’ I push my fingernails down into the loose paper fold and begin to carefully pull it open. A velvet, dark-blue box slowly starts to reveal itself. Unable to contain my excitement for a moment longer, I rip off the rest of the wrapping paper and ping open the lid. ‘Oh my God, it’s beautiful!’ Tears rush into my eyes as I gaze down at the white-gold love heart locket which dangles down inside. The front is engraved with Cory’s date of birth: 05.12.2014. ‘This is amazing. Thank you so much!’ I pull my eyes away from the necklace in order to look at James, his face breaking out into a grin.

  ‘You really like it, Lou?’

  ‘Of course. It’s perfect.’ I open up the locket, my fingers fiddly. Inside, the heart is split into
two segments. On the left, a photograph of Cory, the first photo ever taken of him. He is squinting up at the camera, his lips pursed, his expression quizzical, like he can’t quite understand where he is. On the right, a photograph of James and me on our wedding day. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ I realise I’m shaking. ‘I’ll cherish it for ever.’

  James kisses me on the mouth, his lips the flavour of hot coffee. ‘Now, wherever you go… you’ll carry us both close to your heart.’

  Taking the necklace out of the box, I clutch it tightly in my fist, now more certain than ever that the bad times are behind us. ‘I’m going nowhere,’ I say, so happy I could burst. ‘I’m staying right here, with you and Cory.’ I undo the clasp and place it around my neck, fiddling around as I try my best to fasten it. It’s heavier than I expected, and shines and shimmers against the twinkly lights which frame the bay window. ‘It’s perfect,’ I say again. ‘I can see this being the best Christmas ever.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Louisa

  Then

  It’s Christmas Day and for once it isn’t shit!

  It’s now six weeks since Billy shoved his fork into Carl’s eye. Sandy pissed off on maternity leave two weeks ago, leaving us with smelly Susan, who I’m pretty sure enjoys seeing how long she can go without a shower. The new guy, Aiden, has been here for about a month and I have to admit he’s pretty mint for a care worker. If it wasn’t for him, this Christmas would be just as awful as all the rest, but with Aiden it isn’t. He’s made Christmas so special, bringing board games in like Twister and Scene It, which we all managed to play without too many arguments. He’s twenty-three and listens to cool music like Nirvana and Eminem. He caught me and Stacey having a cig in my room last night but said he’d let us off because it was Christmas. Billy, for obvious reasons, wasn’t allowed to stay here and has been shipped off to some naughty kids’ facility. I really miss Billy and hope one day I’ll see him again. Carl has been left blind in his right eye and has to wear a patch. He now looks like a scally version of One-Eyed Willie.