A Mother’s Sacrifice
Page 7
‘Watch it, will you, love!’
‘Sorry.’
‘Nice baby you have there.’
I spin my head around, my lungs emptying of air as I take in the man’s facial features. Steely blue eyes pin me to the spot, a flash of orange hair poking out from underneath his hooded top. ‘What did you just say to me?’
He doesn’t reply.
I attempt to dodge past him but he sticks his filthy trainer out under the front pram wheel, blocking my path. ‘Are you all right? You don’t look very well.’ He laughs, his hand reaching into the pram, his spindly fingertips now inches away from Cory’s face. ‘Let me take the baby. You aren’t very well.’
I feel my legs buckle underneath me, his words too much for my mind to process. As my head connects with the cold, hard floor, I hear his parting words. ‘He’s mine, Louisa!’
CHAPTER TEN
Louisa
Then
‘Get off him, he’s mine!’
I snatch Timmy out of Paula’s hands and hold him tightly against my chest. His brown hair has something sticky in it like toffee and somebody has scribbled on his tummy in pink felt-tip.
‘Louisa, you know it’s not nice to snatch. I was only going to show you how to dress him properly.’ Paula smiles at me but there’s a bit of red lipstick on her top tooth which reminds me of blood. She’s still holding Timmy’s dungarees and I want to snatch them too because I’m worried he might be getting cold.
I don’t know why Bill and Bernie keep bringing me to see Paula. She looks like a clown and her room always smells of ginger biscuits, which is what Sam Butterworth says I am. The toys here are pretty cool though, especially Timmy. When I first became his mummy, Paula gave me a little bottle and asked if I’d like to feed him. I was really excited at first but then he started to cry which made me sad. I think the water was too hot for him, like the water which melted Esther. I stuffed the bottle into my coat pocket when Paula wasn’t looking and hid it under my bed at home. Well, it’s not my real home, not the one I lived in with Mummy. It’s another home with people called Bill and Bernie and their big fat cat, Arthur. Bill says he’s a greedy little blighter but he still gives him bits of chicken when Bernie isn’t looking. He winks at me when he does it and says it’s our little secret.
Sometimes, when Timmy is having a sleep, I play with the kitchen in the corner. The food isn’t real but I still like to pretend it is. My favourite is the beans, which all stick together, and the tomato sauce bottle. I don’t like the toaster or the white piece of bread which goes in it though. It makes me feel all sick inside my tummy so I hide it in the oven.
‘Hey, look what I have here.’ Paula puts her hands behind her back and widens her eyes. I wonder if there’s enough time to grab Timmy’s dungarees from in between her legs but just as I’m thinking it her hands reappear back in front of her. In each hand is a doll, one big and one small. The big doll has beautiful blonde hair and long legs the colour of a hotdog. The small one is ugly because she has ginger hair which is disgusting. ‘Do you think you’d like to play with them, Louisa?’ Paula holds them out towards me, her brightly coloured orange fingernails digging into their skin.
I shrug my shoulders and look down at the carpet. ‘Is the big one the mummy?’
‘If you’d like her to be.’
Happiness fizzes inside of me and I look back up to where Paula is still smiling. ‘You mean if I’d like her to be a mummy then she can be a mummy?’
Paula laughs, and for once I laugh too, not even minding her bloody tooth any more. ‘Okay then,’ I say, reaching my hands out towards the mummy doll. ‘I do really want her to be a mummy.’
I have a really fun game with the dolls. The beautiful mummy takes the ginger ugly girl to the park and they go swimming in the lake (which is really just Paula’s blue rug). Then they go home and the mummy doll makes plates of beans and sausages from the ginormous kitchen and the ginger doll eats it all up with a knife and fork instead of her fingers. I take a book from Paula’s bookcase and the mummy doll reads it to the girl doll, who stops feeling ugly because the mummy tells her red hair is like a beautiful rose.
‘Did you do all those things with your mummy?’ Paula asks after some time and I nod my head and smile.
Later, when Bernie collects me, she asks me about my time with Paula. ‘You look very happy today, Louisa,’ she says, her lovely blonde hair shining in the sunshine.
‘That’s because I’d like you to be my mummy,’ I tell her, remembering all the times Bernie has taken me to the park and cooked my dinner and read me bedtime stories. ‘And Paula says if you’d like someone to be your mummy then they can be your mummy.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Bernie bends down and takes hold of my hands. She has water in her eyes like Timmy Tears but I think they might be happy tears which she gets at the end of films sometimes. ‘I can’t be your mummy, darling,’ she says all of a sudden, the water now trickling down her cheeks. ‘But I can be like a mummy until we find your forever family.’
I don’t say very much after that. My mummy who isn’t really my mummy drives the car all the way back to the home which isn’t really my home. I look out of the window and try to find my forever family who are lost somewhere. Or perhaps they are hiding… like Timmy Tears’ bottle under my bed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Louisa
Now
Light seeps into the darkness, a gentle flutter like the flame of a tealight. I know I am seeing but only partially, my eyelids flickering, glints of blue and glimmers of gold dancing together as one. Somewhere in the distance sounds circulate, similar in style and yet differing in tone and volume, like a pianist striking several keys at once. I force my eyes open and the sounds sharpen into speech – or perhaps the other way around. I look up into a sea of faces; mouths moving but not necessarily in sync with the words which surround them. A sickly sweet aroma of ginger and cinnamon sails past me, carrying a spliced memory through its middle.
Something bad has happened.
Slowly, everything starts to align: words become meaningful, fitting perfectly into the shape of human mouths.
‘She’s waking up,’ says somebody close by. ‘Don’t try to move.’
‘What’s happened to me?’
‘You’re all right, you’ve just fainted that’s all.’ A woman, with greying eyebrows and a matching perm, touches my forehead, her hand so cold it almost burns. ‘What’s your name, love?’
‘Louisa.’
‘Don’t try to move, Louisa, you fell with quite a force and banged your head.’
‘Why did I fall?’ I say thickly, remembering only now that I’m in the middle of Chester town centre, seemingly on my back in the middle of the market.
‘I don’t know, sweetheart.’
I fight through the slush of my brain in order to remember what happened but it’s too hard. It almost seems as if the place where my memory belongs has been scratched down the middle. I think I went to meet Magda. That memory is there but hazy, her multicoloured hair almost dreamlike. Did we meet for coffee? I swallow, testing the question, and am quickly rewarded by the taste of ginger, which soaks into my taste buds. ‘I felt dizzy,’ I say to the woman who crouches over me. There are other people still milling around, stood straight, in clusters, offering me quick, pitying glances between conversations. ‘I came out of the coffee shop and then there were lots of people,’ I continue, more for my own benefit than for hers. ‘I tried to break free and then…’
The blood suddenly drains from my face. ‘Cory!’
I jump to my feet, ignoring the sharp pain which slices through my head. ‘Where’s my baby?’ With sudden clarity I remember everything: Magda, Annette, the psychic, the crowds, Cory, and finally him!
‘Calm down, Louisa, calm down.’ The woman jostles forward and grabs hold of me, her hands on my forearms, a cloud of breath in my face.
I try to fight her off, swivel my head from left to right, panic soaring from zero to a hun
dred in less than a breath. ‘Where is he? Where has he gone? He’s taken my son!’ The man’s image swims into focus: jagged back teeth, icy blue eyes, hair as red as fire!
The crowd of people circle me once again, their interest suddenly revived. A black tunnel of terror closes in as I realise the pram has disappeared.
‘Calm down, he’s here, he’s safe!’
A man’s voice pulls everything back together. I look over at him, follow his eyes down to a pram, Cory’s pram, positioned a metre or so away from me, by a stall which looks smoky and hot.
I am standing over the pram before I even realise I have moved, gazing down at a tiny white bonnet which pokes out from underneath the cover. ‘Oh God, thank God.’ My breathing levels out. ‘He’s safe, he’s okay.’
‘Sweetheart, you’ve obviously had a fright. You need to…’
‘I have to go.’ I grab hold of the pram’s handles, shrugging off the woman who may or may not be the same one who had hold of me a moment ago. I plough through the crowd, ignoring the multiple protests to wait for an ambulance, ignoring the searing heat in the back of my head. All I know is that I have to get home, I have to get home and make Cory safe.
‘Louisa!’
Her voice skims across the heads of the crowd. Spinning around, I see her several places back, her eyes wide and unblinking. ‘Are you all right?’ she mouths as she attempts to elbow her way through the throng of people separating us.
Annette! My insides burn for a reason which I don’t have time to analyse. There is no way I want to speak to her right now. Turning back around, I continue to fight my way through the remainder of the crowd, the pram acting as a ramrod.
Up ahead, the mouth of the market comes into view. I speed up, the finishing line rewarding me with a blast of cool air. I now know without any doubt that things have gone far enough. No matter what the consequences, I have to tell James.
I arrive home in less than twenty minutes. Rummaging around inside my bag, I pull out everything bar my house key. My head is pounding from where I fell and fresh exhaustion tugs at my eyelids. Tutting, I stuff my hand into the side compartment of the bag for the second time in as many minutes. My purse, leather and bulky, is easy to locate, but a quick swipe to the left and right confirms that my house keys are definitely missing. I rack my brain as I try to remember when and where I last had them. Just as I open the main compartment of the bag again, intent on emptying everything out onto the floor, the door flies open. ‘Bloody hell you scared me then.’
James stares down at me, silence resting in the space between us. He is dressed in a creased shirt and trousers, the laces on his shoes untied. ‘What on earth have you been doing? Why didn’t you answer your phone?’ His questions hit me head-on, making it hard for me to reply. I look down at my watch, the hour and minute hand stuck together on the five. ‘Is Cory all right?’ he asks, craning his neck to look over the pram’s hood.
I bristle. ‘He’s fine. And it’s only five so I really don’t know what you’re worrying about.’
He blows out air. ‘What’s been happening, Lou? I’ve been ringing you for well over an hour.’
My brow creases with confusion, wondering why he is so tense. James is normally the calm, laid-back one in our marriage. Unless he’s seen the card from this morning in the outside bin, read the Bible quote and connected the dots? Unease flutters through me. I notice how his hair is sticking up through the middle. I shrug, deciding that the best course of action is to play dumb, find out what he knows before committing to anything. ‘Nothing happened. I went for lunch with Mags and Annette.’
‘Annette called so you can drop the act. Why did you faint? I’ve been out of my mind with worry.’
A wave of heat rolls up into my chest. In my haste to get home I forgot all about Annette. So she obviously witnessed me fainting and didn’t see fit to come and help me. ‘I just got dizzy, that’s all,’ I say, storming past James into the house, leaving Cory outside in his pram.
Once in the kitchen, I grab the warm bottles from the steriliser and begin lining them up on the work surface like skittles. Inside my nerves rattle. How dare Annette tittle-tattle to James. How dare she involve herself in my family.
James enters the kitchen and I feel his breath on the nape of my neck. My skin tingles under his stare, almost as if microscopic critters are burrowing into my flesh.
‘Louisa, talk to me.’
Turning around, I look him squarely in the eye, the backdrop fading away like an oil painting left out on a hot summer’s day. I know I need to come clean about everything. I have to be honest before it tears us apart.
‘What’s the matter, Lou?’
‘Give me a minute.’ I turn back around, tears pricking my eyeballs. As a distraction, I scoop soft, creamy-coloured powder into the empty bottles, methodically counting them out as I do in an attempt to level my breathing. Just as I flick on the kettle, Cory lets out a hungry cry, adding a thick layer of guilt to the situation.
‘Lou… I think you might be getting poorly.’ James’s cold fingertips caress the back of my neck. ‘Postnatal depression was expected. It’s okay. You only had to…’
‘I haven’t got postnatal depression! Don’t ever say that!’ I spin around and stare at him. ‘I love my son! I’m a good mother!’
‘I’m not saying you don’t love him, and you are a good mother, the best.’ He steps back, his arms out in front of him. ‘But all of that business this morning with the health visitor. And then fainting in the market, shouting crazy things about somebody coming to take Cory.’
‘Bloody Annette,’ I seethe. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘So she made it up?’
‘No, she didn’t but…’ I look down at the marbled worktop, my mind racing. ‘It’s true what she’s told you. But it’s hard to explain.’ I grab the measuring spoon and stuff it into the powder, now completely confused as to how many scoops are already in the bottles. I pause, look out of the kitchen window directly in front of me, the night sky already turning in on itself, transforming the glass into a shadowy mirror. Through the blurred reflection, I see James rocking Cory up and down behind me. He’s whispering platitudes into his ear in an attempt to placate him. The image of them together causes my stomach to sink. Everything’s about to come crashing down. ‘James, I…’ The kettle begins to rattle in its holder, emitting steam which clouds the window in front of me, slowly erasing our reflections until we are no longer visible. ‘I need to speak to you about something.’ Cory, as if realising the enormity of the situation, stops crying. I turn around once again. James now stands frozen in front of me, his shoulders tense and his chest puffed out. Does he already know about the card? Has he known all along? ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
‘Not now, eh, Lou?’ He speaks quickly, refuses to meet my eye. ‘I really have to go out. Whatever it is, I can’t do it now.’ He thrusts Cory into my arms, as if suddenly desperate to be rid of him. I realise his nappy is full to bursting, the sweet smell of urine sweeping up my nostrils.
‘Can’t you wait until I’ve prepared his bottle? Where are you even going?’ My questions fly out of my mouth and I realise I am both disappointed and relieved that we’re not going to have the conversation tonight.
‘Work called over an hour ago, not long after I got home. There’s been a serious accident on the motorway, loads of people in a critical condition, a couple dead.’
‘Oh my God, that’s awful. All those poor people.’
‘Yes, well…’ He takes a deep breath, as if readying himself for the night ahead. ‘They’re short-staffed as it is. I have to go back in and I might be gone all night.’ He pauses, as if waiting for me to interject. When I don’t, he continues. ‘That’s why I rang you before. I needed you to hurry home as your key was still in the front door so I knew you couldn’t get in without it. Fancy going out without your key, Lou. And of course then Magda called and…’
‘I thought you said it was Annette?’
I shake my head, confusion clouding my thoughts. Did I really leave the house without my door key? And why didn’t I hear my phone? Didn’t I take that either?
‘So we’ll talk in the morning, Lou, okay?’
My mouth turns dry. ‘We will.’
Five minutes later, James’s tyres crunch over the gravelled driveway as he leaves for work. I wander down the hallway into the front room, testing Cory’s milk on my wrist.
The television is showing the six o’clock local news, but despite scanning the bulletins, as well as watching the rundown of the main events, there is no mention of a motorway accident. ‘I’m so sorry your bottle is late, baby,’ I say, nestling Cory into the crook of my arm before placing the teat of the bottle to his lips. He quickly latches on to it and begins to guzzle it down, his eyes alight with happiness. I smile down at him, enjoying the brief moment of calm where the bond we share erases every bad thing which has ever happened to me. With Cory in my arms, my guilt about the past, and the pain I have harboured for so many years, simply melts away. As I look deep into his eyes, something flickers in my peripheral vision. Slowly, I turn around to look at what it is.