A Mother’s Sacrifice

by Gemma Metcalfe

  ‘Anyway, Ron, I’d best be off. Say hi to Annette for me.’ I stuff my bag under the pram and begin pushing it towards the door.

  ‘See you in two days’ time,’ he shouts after me, his excitement skimming over the top of the aisles. ‘We’ll be sure to get to you bright and early.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ I mutter under my breath, James nowhere in sight as I step back into Narnia. ‘I can’t bloody wait!’

  ‘For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the powers of this dark world.’ Ephesians 6: 12

  It satisfies me how wonderfully things are coming together, how single strokes of truth are providing the shading to a portrait otherwise based on lies. Key characters are now beginning to realise that dear Louisa is losing her mind, which is a crucial element in taking the mission forward. Of course she is making it relatively easy for me, her natural angst, peppered with her colourful past, providing the perfect backdrop.

  I am, however, concerned by her sudden spunkiness, her quiet belief that she’s still sane. It would seem that becoming a mother has done all kinds of weird and wonderful things to her.

  If I’m honest, I had thought the doctor would prescribe her something a little more potent than Fluoxetene, especially given her history. Still, didn’t I always say I planned ahead? The key to success is to plan for every eventuality, leaving nothing to chance.

  I round the corner of the pharmacy, every step I take leaving fresh, clean footprints in the snow. It’s so beautiful I almost want to lie down on the ground and make a snow angel.

  Taking my mobile phone out of my coat pocket, I quickly swipe across the screen until I locate the number I am looking for. As I place the phone to my ear, excitement licks at the lining of my soul. Of course I always knew there may come a time when I could no longer act alone. As our good Lord says, ‘Two are better than one, for if either of them falls down, one can help the other back up.’

  ‘There you are! What took you so long? Cory’s so cold the White Witch called asking if she could exhibit him in her ice palace beside Mr Tumnus.’

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ says James, shaking his head at me as he makes his way across the surgery’s car park, shoulders tensed and hair stuck up through the middle. ‘I found it, by the way, thanks for asking. Some snotty-nosed kid was pretending to ring Santa on it; remind me to disinfect it when we get home.’

  ‘If we ever get home, that is!’ I tilt the pram towards me in order to swivel it around. ‘Anyway, at least we don’t have to go out now for the foreseeable future. I think I’ve had quite enough snow already for one year.’

  We walk in the direction of home, me pushing the pram and James traipsing several paces behind, seemingly distracted, or perhaps still angry at me for one reason or another. I want to ask him what his problem is. After all, it’s me who’s being forced to take antidepressants, me who everybody believes is a basket case. I don’t say anything though, knowing that to do so wouldn’t improve the situation at all.

  The gritters are now out in full force on the main road that runs parallel to the pavement we are walking on, spewing up lorry loads of grit which produces a backdraught of acrid dust. ‘Can we turn off this road, please?’ I ask. ‘The fumes can’t be good for Cory’s chest.’

  ‘Lou.’ Behind me, James sighs. ‘ Do you ever give it a rest?’

  I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from replying. It’s obvious he wants a fight, but I’m determined not to give him one. It seems as if, ever since the discussion in the pharmacy, his mood has flipped back to arrogant arsehole. I only questioned the antidepressants, for God’s sake; it’s not as if I refused to take them. I sigh, not knowing what to do or say for the best. Of course I understand how difficult all of this is for James, not least because he’s witnessed my depression before. Not that I have depression now but I suppose he isn’t to know that.

  ‘It’s a little late to be gritting the road though, isn’t it?’ I say, trying to keep my tone light.

  ‘Perhaps the gritters didn’t get the memo,’ he replies, still several paces behind. ‘Either that or our wonderful government has cut the workers in two like everything else.’

  I sigh, not particularly wanting to discuss the government’s shortcomings at this time of the morning. Working for the NHS, James has witnessed the rapid decline in both funding and provision since the recession, something he’ll drone on about until Easter given half the chance.

  ‘Sorry about Ron and Annette,’ I say, changing the subject for what seems like the tenth time in as many minutes. ‘It completely slipped my mind, to be honest. We can cancel if you like.’

  James laughs, the sound breaking through some of the animosity between us. ‘If you do I reckon you’ll have to share them pills in your bag with Ron – poor sod will be suicidal.’ He catches up with me and drapes his arm around my shoulder, kissing me lightly on the top of my head, which is unexpected, but I realise just how grateful I am for it. ‘Sorry, Lou, for being an arse. I’m just a bit stressed in all honesty.’

  I lean my head into his chest. ‘It’s all right, I understand.’

  ‘So you’ll give the tablets a try? For me?’ He asks so sincerely I find it hard to say no.

  ‘I suppose I will. Like Ron said, they’re pretty mild. Can’t do any harm, I guess.’

  ‘Exactly… and let’s make a pact to put all talk of killer sperm donors out of our minds and enjoy our first Christmas as a trio.’ He pulls me closer into his chest, his hand heating my arm through the fabric of my jacket.

  I want to point out to him that I never once suggested the donor was going to kill anyone. But I don’t… because we’re getting on well again and surely that’s all that matters.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Louisa

  Now

  ‘Louisa! Twice in one day? I must have been a saint in a past life.’

  I look over to where Magda stands at the open door of a greasy spoon café, her hair swept up into a fluorescent pink bobble hat.

  ‘What are you even doing in there?’ I ask, grimacing as I read the misspelled writing on a standup chalkboard out front, advertising two of ‘Mama’s specals’ for a fiver.

  Mama’s cafeteria has been operating for as long as I’ve lived in Chester. It’s situated on a main road a few hundred metres from where we live. I can’t say it’s a place I’ve ever fancied visiting, the infamous ‘Mama’ known around Chester for her doorstop sausage butties and tattooed knuckles. I’m surprised to see Magda here, if I’m honest, not only because of the café’s reputation but because she lives a mile or so in the opposite direction.

  ‘Oh, just fancied a cuppa before heading home,’ she says, offering up a smile.

  ‘Here?’ I roll my eyes over the exterior of the café, the sign above the doorway both faded and chipped.

  ‘Well, actually…’ She pauses to take a breath. ‘Truth be told, I’m not relishing the thought of going home to Helen. She’s really not good at the moment and I’m finding it all a bit much. I suppose when I bumped into you at the doctor’s I came here in the hope you’d walk past.’ She pulls a face, sort of apologetic but it’s difficult to tell.

  ‘I see. Sorry to hear about Helen.’ Awkwardness rests in the air between us. I feel torn, a part of me wanting to stay with Magda, especially given her plight, but an even bigger part of me desperate to get home. ‘Do you want to come back to ours?’ I ask eventually.

  She shakes her head, perhaps picking up on my reluctance. ‘No, I don’t want to burden you, Louisa, especially not with your cold. I was selfish to expect.’

  James nudges me in the side. ‘Why don’t you stay here and have a coffee with Mags? I’ll get the little man home.’

  I turn to face James, trying and failing to keep my tone light. ‘I’d love to, but you’re on call, remember? You might have to rush out.’ Please don’t make me go into Mama’s, James. I’ll get E. coli. I’ll die. Really I will.

  He smiles, either completely oblivious to my att
empts at telepathy or choosing to ignore them. ‘It’s five minutes’ walk away. If I do get called in I’ll ring you to come back. Go on, have a natter with your friend. It might be just what the doctor ordered.’

  My heart sinks. If only that’s what the doctor had ordered.

  ‘There’s a cup of coffee and a mince pie with your name on it if you do,’ says Magda, her voice small.

  ‘I, erm…’

  ‘Please?’ She sticks out her bottom lip. ‘For me?’

  I sigh. ‘All right, just a quick one though.’ I turn to James, my voice harder than a moment ago. ‘You go on ahead. I’ll keep Cory with me. Might as well allow him to stay in the pram while he’s sleeping.’

  ‘Right you are.’ James plants a kiss on top of my head before practically running down the road, no doubt to a fresh Nespresso and a hot shower, the lucky bastard!

  ‘Thanks, Louisa,’ says Magda, already making her way back inside. ‘You’re an angel.’

  The café looks even worse on the inside than it does on the outside. Tacky Christmas decorations hang down from the ceiling, all shiny gold and bright red, which would be much better suited to an Eighties sitcom. It’s relatively busy though; a mismatch of people all huddled around wonky-looking tables, varying sized mugs of coffee and tea clasped between their frostbitten hands. The distinct waft of burnt bacon tickles my nostrils, a serving hatch behind the counter seeming to be its source.

  Magda gestures for me to sit down, her half-drunk coffee coated in a thick layer of skin. ‘It’s not the best but at least it’s warm,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘And old Mama’s cabbage soup will definitely put hairs on your chest. You want a bowl?’

  I cover my mouth with my hand, tasting what can only be described as puke in the back of my throat, which I’m sure is still preferable to Mama’s cabbage soup. ‘No thanks, Mags, just a coffee will do, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll just go and order it then. Won’t be a tick.’

  I watch her as she makes her way over to the counter, a spring in her step despite her tricky home situation. Mags has always been the same; chirpy in the face of heartbreak, always putting others before herself. Things must be tough for her too, I think. After all, Helen’s son was her nephew, and with no children of her own…

  My mind drifts off to the first time we met, fourteen or fifteen months ago now.

  James and I were sitting in SureLife’s cafeteria, which was as plush as the rest of the establishment, from the Italian-inspired delicacies, neatly exhibited in a gleaming glass display counter, to the granite worktop and exposed brick walls. A far cry from Mama’s café, I can tell you. I placed the toasted panini back on the plate and pushed it away, the herb-encrusted bread sticking to the roof of my mouth. Everything was about to change and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about it all.

  ‘Not hungry?’ James eyed me up over the rim of his cappuccino, a newspaper folded out on its centre page in front of him. He wasn’t reading it, that much was obvious.

  A rich aroma of roasted coffee beans filled the air, accompanied by hushed chatter of expectancy and hope. ‘I just feel a bit queasy,’ I replied, the pulp from my ‘fertility boost’ smoothie congealing on my tongue.

  James placed his cappuccino back in its saucer and looked at me. ‘Is something on your mind?’

  I raked my hand through my hair, the feel of it dry and brittle between my fingers. ‘Just nervous.’

  ‘It’s not too late to change your mind.’

  It wasn’t lost on me how he said ‘your’ instead of ‘our’, thus detaching himself from the situation. Since Doctor Hughes had mentioned the notion of a sperm donor, James had swiftly altered his position from an anxious, albeit keen, participant, to a detached spectator. It upset me, of course, but what was I to do? The sperm donor was the only thing on the table and I was determined to grab it with both hands.

  Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, which hung over an original chesterfield in the corner of the room, I was startled. My once sleek red hair hung lifelessly down my back, my cheekbones protruding out of my gaunt face. The last three years had taken their toll on me, from the endless cycles of hope and heartbreak, to the darkest depths of shattered dreams and unanswered prayers. As I sat in the cafeteria, surrounded by the clattering of cutlery and the whispered promises of broken-hearted couples, I felt my womb stir with anticipation. Soon, I would be a mother. The donor, a two-dimensional stranger with no name, was about to offer me the missing jigsaw piece to my puzzle. He was about to make me whole. I shook my head at James. ‘I won’t be changing my mind.’

  ‘Well, this sperm guy better not be ugly.’ He tried out a laugh. ‘Or a weirdo.’

  We knew little about the donor, the hospital keeping his identity strictly confidential. All we knew was that he was a young man in his late twenties, a university graduate with auburn hair. I thought it was best we choose somebody with similar physical features to myself so we knew what ‘we were getting’ so to speak. At least that’s what I kept on telling myself.

  ‘Excuse me? I hope you don’t mind me butting in.’ I was vaguely aware that somebody had nestled themselves between our stools, a psychedelic mass of colour hovering in my peripheral vision. I turned my head, trailing my eyes upwards until they rested on the face of a lady, her eyes kind and her hair the colour of a Palma Violet. ‘I’m Magda.’ She smiled, her straight teeth a shade off white. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She held out a dainty hand, her manicured nails painted a luminous orange.

  ‘Louisa, nice to meet you.’ I felt grubby as I held out my own hand, my nails bitten down to the skin. ‘And this is James.’ I felt strangely awkward introducing James, in the whole situation to be truthful. It wasn’t normal, not least in my world, for random strangers to strike up conversations, especially not in fertility clinic cafeterias.

  ‘I’ve seen you both around,’ she continued, fixing her gaze on James. ‘Who’s your doctor?’

  ‘Doctor Hughes,’ I answered. ‘The owner.’

  ‘Mine too,’ she gushed, reaching out to take my hand in hers. ‘How long have you been with him? Isn’t he wonderful? Well, I hope you don’t mind me saying,’ she continued, not giving me a chance to answer either of her questions, ‘but I overheard you mention a sperm donor.’ She mouthed the words, as if revealing something top secret. ‘Me too.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed James stiffen. I pulled my hand away, not comfortable with her overfamiliarity. ‘Oh, well, we’re just contemplating it at the moment. Nothing is set in stone.’

  ‘Well, anyway…’ she continued with a flick of her hand. ‘I have no choice but to use one. Not interested in men very much. Not that I bat for the other team, mind,’ she laughed, nudging James in the ribs. ‘Has Doctor Hughes mentioned the support group to you? Only I haven’t seen you there.’

  I picked up my smoothie off the table, despite its being empty, and began to fiddle around with the straw. ‘He has mentioned it but I don’t think…’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said, interrupting me. ‘You should come. You both need support at a time like this.’

  ‘Well, I don’t…’

  ‘We’d love to,’ said James, which shocked me to say the least. ‘Let us know when it’s on and we’ll be there.’

  Suddenly, a shriek pierced the air followed by heavy footsteps on the narrow corridor that joined the cafeteria to the consolation rooms. I swivelled round and looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows which lined the front of the cafeteria, seeing a woman fly past, tears streaming down her face. A man, who I assumed to be her husband, gave chase, his suit several sizes too large for him and his face crumpling in on itself as he pleaded for her to come back.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Magda. ‘That’s Annette and Ron. Been trying for a baby for over ten years, they have. Five failed IVF attempts under their belt but she was finally successful on the sixth a few months ago.’ She looked directly at me, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘Do you think she’s had a miscarriage?’


  ‘Lou, I’m awfully sorry.’ Magda appears back by my side, her voice pulling me away from my thoughts. ‘I thought I had another few quid on me but I don’t. You’ll have to go and pay.’ She looks down at her feet, her cheeks reddening. ‘I can’t believe I pestered you to come for a coffee and now I’m making you pay.’

  I shrug, already reaching under the pram to retrieve my purse. ‘It’s fine, don’t fret.’ I stand up, catching a glimpse of Magda’s coffee, the skin now peeling back and reminding me of a mud mask. ‘I’ll get you another while I’m at it, shall I?’

  She nods. ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all. You watch Cory. I won’t be a tick.’

  I make my way over to the counter where a burly woman with hairy arms and a nose ring guards my unpaid-for cup of coffee, her tattooed knuckles positioned through the handle. I swallow loudly, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this is the notorious ‘Mama’.

  ‘Can I get another one of those?’ I ask, holding up my purse like I’m about to participate in some sort of dodgy drug deal. ‘I have money.’

  ‘No sweat,’ she replies, her voice so deep I wonder if she ought to change her name.

  ‘Oh, Louisa, fancy seeing you here?’ I blanch at the distinct sound of Annette’s voice, which comes from behind me. Can today actually get any worse?

  I turn around. ‘Hey, Annette, how are you?’

  `Fine. Just nipped in for a few mince pies and a custard slice for Ron. Bettabuys have run out.’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘Bettabuys? I thought you always said Bettabuys was for poor people.’

  She stiffens. ‘Yes, well, Ant and Dec did the advert for them this year and I quite like them.’

  I laugh. ‘You must have a fetish for small people.’