A Mother’s Sacrifice

by Gemma Metcalfe

  God ensured she crossed my path. And that is why I chose her.

  The day Louisa and James bring their newborn son home from the hospital marks a new beginning for all of them. To hold their child in their arms makes all the stress and trauma of fertility treatment worth it. Little Cory is theirs and theirs alone. Or so they think…

  After her mother’s suicide when she was a child, Louisa’s life took an even darker turn. But meeting James changed everything. She can trust him to protect her, and to never leave her. Even if, deep down, she worries that she has never told him the full truth about her past, or the truth about their baby.

  But someone knows all her secrets – and that person is watching and waiting, playing a twisted game that will try to take everything Louisa holds dear.

  Also by Gemma Metcalfe

  Trust Me

  A Mother’s Sacrifice

  Gemma Metcalfe

  ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

  Copyright

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

  Copyright © Gemma Metcalfe 2018

  Gemma Metcalfe asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  E-book Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008241209

  Version: 2018-01-30

  GEMMA METCALFE is a Manchester-born author who now lives in sunny Tenerife with her husband, Danny, and two crazy rescue dogs, Dora and Diego. By day, Gemma can be found working as a primary school teacher, but as the sun sets, she ditches the glitter and glue and becomes a writer of psychological thrillers. An established drama queen, she admits to having a rather warped imagination, and loves writing original plots with shocking twists. The plot for her debut novel, Trust Me, is loosely based on her experiences as a call-centre operative, where she was never quite sure who would answer the phone!

  Dedication

  For Danny

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Booklist

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author Bio

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Acknowledgements

  Letter from the Author

  Excerpt

  Endpages

  PROLOGUE

  The woman’s nightdress blew against her bare legs as she made her way towards the bridge. The voices inside her head continued to taunt her; an acidic sewer of hate which, over the past four weeks, had eaten away at her sanity, grinding her down to nothing but flesh and bone.

  She laughed out loud into the black abyss of the night sky, knowing that soon, their mocking words would die on their cruel lips; like the final smirk of a guilty prisoner on death row.

  Outwardly, her body continued to play the game, her top and bottom teeth clamping together, the cold November night stiffening the muscles in her arms and legs. She blew out a knot of fear, watched in awe as it kissed the freezing air in front of her, physically morphing itself into something tangible, before slowly evaporating away to nothing.

  The child in her arms began to stir. She responded by gently pushing him into the softness of her chest; his shock of red hair tickling the underbelly of her chin. He began to suckle her neck, hunger morphing his nasally snuffle into a raspy moan.

  ‘Shhh baby,’ she cooed into his ear. ‘Everything will be all right.’

  As she stepped on to the bridge, the storm intensified, the force almost knocking her off her feet. Rain continued to hammer down on top of her, the wind cutting it through the sky at an odd angle. At 3 a.m., the bridge was deserted, the only sound coming from the angry outbursts of the swollen River Dee below, which threatened to burst its banks.

  Climbing over the railings was somewhat fiddly, especially while trying to keep hold of the baby. He squirmed beneath her, his podgy fist grasping hold of her soaked auburn hair, yanking it down and almost pulling it from its roots. She held tightly hold of the railing as she leaned over the river, her arm twisted behind her at an uncomfortable angle. Her free hand rested itself on the baby’s back, his warm body heating her palm.

  The voices inside her head began to intensify, a choir of heckles rising and falling in response to the conductor’s orders.

  ‘Death! Where is your sting?’ Lifting her head up to the night sky, she loosened her grip on the railing.

  In a matter of seconds, it would all be over…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Louisa

  2014–Now

  ‘Oh God no, please no!’

  I clamp my teeth together and squeeze my eyes shut as the all-too-familiar dull ache wraps itself around my abdomen and lower back, my uterus compressing under what can only be described as the steely jaws of a mechanical vice.

  ‘Come on, Louisa, you can do it!’ My husband, James, squeezes my hand at the exact same moment the ache gives way to a searing hot pain which slices my insides in half, bringing forth a scream which strips the skin from my throat. ‘No, really, I can’t, you’ll have to do it for me!’

  A nasally snort flies out of his nose.

  ‘I’m glad you’re finding this amusing.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, peeling back his grin. ‘You know I would if I could.’

  ‘As if! You still think man flu’s a thing!’ Grabbing hold of the plastic mouthpiece from the gas and air, I shove it into my mouth and suck. Why did I want a baby so much? Why oh why oh why!

  ‘Come on now, Louisa.’ The familiar brusque tone of the midwife severs my thoughts. ‘The head’s almost out, another big push now, right into your bottom. You can do it.’

  ‘No, I ca
n’t, why does everybody keep saying that?’ I bring the mouthpiece out of my mouth just long enough to try and make the midwife understand that I really am dying. It’s only now I realise she isn’t the same one who gave me the gas and air a few hours ago, nor is she the one who induced me yesterday morning. This one is short and stocky and, judging by her gravelly voice, smokes around sixty fags a day. ‘You need to make this stop!’ Fat tears roll down my cheeks as I ready myself for the next contraction. ‘I’m actually going to die, please don’t let me die!’

  ‘Not much longer now, sweetheart, you’re doing amazingly well!’ James sidles onto the bed next to me and wraps his arm around me. He smells of coffee and cigarettes which is somewhat comforting even though it makes me gag. ‘Just calm down and practise your breathing exercises.’ He reaches over and pushes my sopping wet fringe back off my forehead.

  ‘You have absolutely no idea, it’s like shitting out a…’ My words fall away as another, much more powerful contraction rips through me without warning, plunging me down into a world without sight or sound. I writhe around on the bed, bare legs and feet twisting themselves into impossible positions, the starchy-white bedsheet underneath me feeling like freshly laid stinging nettles.

  ‘Push, Louisa, push and hold, push and hold.’ The midwife’s orders somehow cut through the pain, coinciding with an almighty urge to empty out the contents of my insides. I’m vaguely aware of a low, almost primal, grunting noise as a ring of fire ignites between my legs, and just as I feel I can’t possibly take it any more, James’s voice explodes into my eardrum.

  ‘Oh my God, the head’s out. Lou, we’re having a baby!’

  The grip on my abdomen loosens and my vision slowly returns, a fizz of excitement rippling through me. ‘And here’s me thinking it was a dodgy curry.’ I manage to laugh through my tears, the gas and air making me slightly delirious. Looking up for the briefest of seconds, my eyes connect with James’s, his own red-rimmed and swollen. I notice for the first time how his jet-black hair is stuck up through the middle where he’s no doubt shoved his hand continuously through it over the past few hours, a sure sign that beneath his carefully placed humour he is as terrified as I am.

  ‘Right, Louisa, when you next get an urge, you need to push like you’ve never pushed before.’ The midwife’s head pops up from between my legs, reminding me of the arcade game ‘splat a rat’.

  ‘Easy for you to say.’ I lie rigid, terrified to move a muscle in case I accidentally suck my offspring back up my vagina! ‘Is he still there, James? Is he okay, is he normal?’

  ‘Lou, it’s fascinating. It’s a bloody miracle. I can see his head.’ James whips out his iPhone, the flash cutting across my line of vision.

  ‘You dare!’

  ‘Not even a little selfie?’

  ‘Louisa!’ The midwife’s voice rises in volume. ‘It’s vital you push now, come on, baby needs you!’

  I flick my eyes over to James whose smile appears to have fallen from his face. ‘Is she panicking? Why’s she panicking? What’s happening?’

  ‘No, she’s not, don’t worry.’ He glances over at the midwife, his lips slightly parted. ‘Just do as she says, Lou,’ he says after a half beat. ‘Push, push now!’

  ‘I can’t, I’m too scared. I’m going to hurt him!’ I shake my head at the midwife, certain I can’t go on any longer, certain that I’m somehow going to suffocate my baby boy. Visions of his scan picture swirl in front of my eyes, his ski-slope nose so like my own, his tiny hand balled up into a fist. ‘It’s a boy,’ the sonographer had said, zooming in to show us the evidence. It had seemed surreal, like looking at somebody else’s baby, both fascinating and terrifying seeing my name positioned at the top of the scan. ‘I’ll always protect you,’ I whispered to the grainy image, my finger tracing the shape of his mouth.

  Now, four months later, here I am, having to make good on my promise and failing at the first hurdle. ‘Is he all right, is he breathing?’

  The midwife breaks eye contact with me, looks over at the heart monitor, unease flitting across her face.

  ‘What the hell is happening? Just tell me!’ My eyes flick from the midwife to James, another contraction starting somewhere in my lower back.

  James swallows hard before grabbing tightly hold of my hand. ‘The baby…’ He looks down between my legs. ‘The cord, it seems to…’

  ‘Your baby’s in distress, Louisa.’ The midwife jumps up and pushes my left leg back so it’s virtually wrapped around my neck like I’m some kind of fucking contortionist.

  ‘Oh my God, just pull him out, please!’

  ‘Enough!’ Her tone is enough to silence me. ‘The cord is wrapped around your baby’s neck and it’s vital you push right now so I can try and loosen it!’

  I push with every last ounce of strength, not allowing myself to think or feel anything apart from the sickening realisation that my baby’s in danger. I push and grunt and pant for what seems like hours, all the while picturing the face of my half-born child, the baby who’s haunted my dreams and nightmares for the past thirteen years.

  ‘Stop!’ The midwife’s voice cuts through the pain. ‘Stop pushing. He’s stuck. Hold the push, hold it now!’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, please help me!’ The contractions continue to ripple through me, so quickly now that I’m no longer sure where one ends and another begins. I bite down on my bottom lip so hard I draw blood, feel a rib crack under the pressure.

  ‘Louisa, stop pushing!’ James’s fear is almost palpable.

  I grab hold of his hand and feel his bones crunch underneath my grasp as another contraction tears me apart. ‘I can’t stop, I can’t!’

  Then, without any kind of warning, everything around me speeds up, like I am watching an old VCR on fast forward. The midwife dives up and over to the far wall, pressing a button which causes a siren to blare, the sound puncturing my eardrum right at the same moment the double doors fly open, spewing out masses of people who swarm around me like flies.

  ‘We need to carry out an episiotomy,’ I hear her say to somebody in a white coat who floats just out of reach. ‘The cord’s double-looped and baby’s heart rate has dipped dangerously low.’

  Everything slowly starts to fade away, sights and sounds spliced through their middle. I stare out at my surroundings through smudged lenses, doctors and nurses melting into the background until only streaks of colour skim across my vision. I try to fight my way out, to bring myself back to the present in order to save my baby, but I am trapped, trapped in a silent world where nothing is how it should be.

  ‘Louisa, I’m Doctor Dhingra. The midwife is going to make a small cut in order to get your baby out.’ I look over to the source of the sound, my brain unable to process what is being said. I nod, dumbfounded, and am only vaguely aware of the burning pain between my legs, followed closely by the tugging sensation which seems to last for an eternity.

  James’s voice washes over me. I know he is shouting but I can’t quite make out what he is saying, only that it is bad. I blink over at him. He is now on the other side of the room, bent double, a metal trolley to the side of him, surrounded by several strangers who all poke and prod a lifeless scrap of purple flesh in the centre. Inside I scream. Inside I thrash around and pray to God to help the doctors save the little scrap of flesh on the trolley because he might not look like anything to them but to me he is everything.

  Eerie silence falls down all around me, my own ragged breaths the only sound in the room. ‘Why isn’t he crying?’ My voice is barely a whisper. ‘What’s happened to my baby?’

  James looks over at me, his head shaking ever so slightly from side to side. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouths, tears streaming from his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  As his words resonate within me, I am suddenly pulled back into the past, once again looking out through five-year-old eyes, the smell of burnt toast in my nostrils, my world collapsing like dominoes all around me. I don’t move, can’t move, a scream o
f terror trapped inside my throat.

  At first I don’t understand what’s happening. Why is a baby crying somewhere in my mother’s house? I don’t have a brother. I always wanted one but I never got one. And then, slowly and somehow all at once, the shrill cry grabs me by the scruff of the neck and hauls me back into the present, shrinking everything back into focus, the doctors and nurses once again speaking a succession of words I don’t understand. The crying continues, rising in volume and pitch. I daren’t look, daren’t believe, and then before I can think another thought, my baby is on me, causing shock waves to pulsate through me, restarting my broken heart.

  I look down at him and he stares up at me, our hearts beating as one, his skin melting into mine. ‘Hello, Cory,’ I whisper, his name on my lips the most beautiful sound I’ve ever spoken. ‘I’m your mummy.’ I look over at James, his face collapsing in on itself as he makes his way over towards us. ‘And this is your daddy. And you have no idea how long we’ve waited to meet you.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Louisa

  Now

  ‘You’re a mum, Louisa. An actual mum.’ I whisper the words to my own reflection, causing a smile to spread the entire width of my face.

  There’s nothing quite like the mirror in a hospital toilet to make you look even worse than you already do. My skin is paper-thin under the harsh glare of the overhead strip light and my coppery-red hair looks like a ransacked bird’s nest. And yet none of that stuff seems to matter any more. Because I am a mum.

  I love the word ‘mum’, love how softly it sits on my lips as I speak it out loud. It’s an insignificant sound really, one syllable, three measly letters, and yet it means so much to so many. I’m sure it means more to me than most, although I suppose any new mother would say the same. But not every mother has sacrificed what I have to hold the title. Some would probably say I sacrificed too much to have a baby, but, after holding Cory in my arms, I’d have to disagree. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.