A Mother’s Sacrifice

by Gemma Metcalfe

  I close my eyes, the memory of our first meeting still vivid in my mind.

  ‘Annette, Ron, over here.’

  Magda, who in truth hung around me like a bad smell, beckoned Ron and I over to where she was sitting in the middle of a semi-circle, two empty plastic seats positioned to her right. The room was plain and dull in comparison to the rest of the clinic, with stark white walls and a downtrodden blue carpet. A single projector screen hung off the far wall, and flat-pack tables were pushed into the corner of the room. It obviously doubled up as some kind of conference room and it grated on me that the clinic didn’t regard patient wellbeing very highly. ‘Here, I saved you some seats. Glad you could make it.’ Magda, at that moment in time, had silvery grey hair, stopping just short of her shoulders. Gone was the bright, iridescent attire, which I had become almost accustomed to, and in its place were a dusky pink poncho and stripy, candy-cane tights. Ridiculous, really, for a woman in her early forties.

  I looked around the room, noticing that there were only women present. A handful, like us, were already seated, their chatter hushed and their smiles not quite reaching their eyes. A cluster of women were huddled around the tea trolley and I noticed one of them was crying, the other four comforting her.

  ‘That’s Carly,’ whispered Magda in my ear. ‘She’s in for repeated miscarriage… four this year alone!’ Magda spoke as if the clinic were a prison, and we were inmates. Which in a way I guess we were. Nobody was there by choice, and each and every one of us was praying for a release date. ‘I’m sorry to hear what happened to you,’ she continued, referring to our earlier miscarriage.

  ‘These things happen. There’s no point dwelling on it.’ I sucked on my teeth, determined not to show her any sign of weakness. Ron was busy looking at Carly, the miscarriage girl, seemingly upset for what she’d been through. Always the same, my Ron, a beautiful, caring soul.

  ‘Oh look, here’s Louisa and James. Met them last week in the cafeteria. They’re using a sperm donor but obviously keep that to yourself.’ Magda whispered your secret to me. Her breath was hot and left condensation in my inner ear, which was unhygienic to say the least.

  I glanced over at you, Louisa, with your hands placed protectively over your abdomen. I knew then that you were waiting to find out if you were pregnant. I prayed you weren’t, which may seem callous, but so is life.

  ‘James, Louisa, meet Annette and Ron.’ Magda looked as if she was performing some kind of puppet show with her hands.

  You smiled at me, displaying white teeth and sparkling green eyes. You were slim, naturally beautiful, a young woman in her prime. You had everything I didn’t, Louisa, and even though I knew I probably shouldn’t, I couldn’t help but dislike you. So I did what I always do. I looked deep inside of you, picked you apart like a slow-cooked rack of lamb. The closer I looked the more I saw: low self-esteem, a muddied past, a deer in the headlights, I suppose. Not my type of person at all.

  ‘What are you in for?’ I asked you, flicking my eyes over to your husband, who turned a deep shade of scarlet.

  ‘Just IUI,’ you said quickly, looking down at your shoe. IUI is a less invasive form of IVF, used for minor infertility issues, or in your case with donor sperm. The fact you didn’t need IVF told me the problem wasn’t with you, which grated on me further.

  ‘Child’s play then,’ I quipped, wanting to make you feel small, like you didn’t belong. ‘When did you have it?’

  ‘Last week. We find out if it’s worked in another week.’ You looked so hopeful, but also vulnerable, almost as if you didn’t dare to believe. I perhaps should have offered you some support, wished you the best, but I was terrified in case my good wishes accidentally came true.

  You weren’t pregnant that time, and I smiled a week later when you phoned me and confessed how heartbroken you were. Join the club, I wanted to say, but of course I didn’t.

  Then three months later you sent me a WhatsApp picture message of a positive pregnancy test accompanied by three smiley emojis.

  Can you even imagine how that made me feel, Louisa? You had everything, and I had nothing.

  Now the roles are reversed, and I am sorry for you, really I am.

  But my own good fortune is seeing me through.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Louisa

  Now

  ‘You’re having a little boy?’

  Annette smirks. ‘We are. I always did want a little boy, especially after you gave birth to Cory.’

  My eyes fall down to her stomach, to where bulbous fat forms a hefty triangular pouch around her midriff, the staunch denim battling to keep it all contained. Although fat, it doesn’t look like a pregnancy bump to me. It’s neither round nor taut.

  ‘What’s the matter, Louisa? You don’t look too well.’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’ I bat away her comment, knowing I need time in which to process everything. There is no way I can accuse her outright of wanting to steal my child. Not unless I want to run the risk of being sectioned before dessert has even been served. ‘I’m sorry, will you excuse me?’ The wooden chair scrapes across the laminate flooring as I stand, the sound setting my teeth on edge.

  ‘Lou, honey?’ James grabs my wrist, his fingernails digging into my skin. ‘You all right?’

  ‘I’ve just said I’m fine.’ I lean against the dining-room table for support. Blood rushes to my head causing the room to spin once again. I have to stop taking the antidepressants before they send me over the edge. ‘I need to get some fresh air.’ Yanking my arm away from James, I stumble the width of the room, the floor like elastic under my feet.

  The hallway is dark and cold. I use the wall for support as I push on towards the kitchen, certain a panic attack is imminent.

  The first thing I notice as I enter the kitchen is that the back door is wide open. ‘James! Quick!’

  He appears at the kitchen door in a matter of seconds, his eyes wide. ‘What? Lou, what’s the matter?

  ‘Somebody’s broken in.’

  ‘What, who?’ he shouts, looking over my shoulder towards the open door.

  Behind him, everyone is gawping at me.

  ‘What do you mean, somebody’s broken in? How do you know? The glass isn’t smashed. Has something gone missing?’

  I shake my head, James’s multitude of questions all piling up on top of one another, making it difficult for me to answer any. ‘No, but the door is wide open and it wasn’t before.’

  ‘Louisa…’ Annette sidesteps James and makes her way over towards me, her smile morphing into a smirk as she approaches. ‘When I came in earlier you’d just been outside, remember? Did you shut the door behind you when you came in?’

  James sighs. ‘Bloody hell, Lou. You failed to mention that!’

  I shake my head, my brain alive with static. Why can’t I be certain of anything? What’s happening to me? ‘I did shut the door. I’m sure of it!’ I stare down at my feet, knowing I have to speak my fears out loud. ‘What if the donor’s upstairs?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ James’s voice teeters on the edge of fury.

  I look up at him, my voice breaking up in my throat. ‘I’m not being ridiculous! I know what I saw in that card even if you refuse to believe me.’

  ‘Lou… calm down, honey.’ Magda steps forward, her voice small. ‘Where has all this come from, hey?’

  I look from her to Annette and back again, no longer sure of anything. Wasn’t it just a moment ago I thought Annette and Ron were going to kidnap Cory?

  ‘Louisa, I don’t think you’re well. Let’s have a chat… mother to mother.’ Annette reaches out her hand towards me, as if she’s about to stroke my arm.

  I bat her away, more harshly than I should but I don’t care any more. ‘Leave me alone. I don’t trust you!’

  ‘What?’ She backs away from me, her movements small, as if I’m a frightened deer who shouldn’t be startled. ‘What do you mean, you don’t trust me? What are you talking about, for heaven’s sake?’ />
  ‘You came into the kitchen earlier,’ says Helen to Annette. ‘When Magda and Louisa were upstairs. Was the door open then?’

  Annette shrugs. ‘Can’t say I noticed. I was very upset. You know, about the reaction I got when sharing my good news? I mean, after all those years of waiting and…’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, it isn’t all about you!’ I can’t help myself, my words toppling from my mouth before I have chance to stop them.

  ‘Lou… uncalled for.’ James glares at me. ‘Stop it now!’

  ‘Look…’ I turn to Annette, my voice verging on desperation. ‘Was the door open or not when you came in? Please just tell me.’

  ‘Like I’ve already said,’ she says after a second’s pause, ‘I can’t remember. And anyway…’ She turns to Helen. ‘You came in here after me, wanting a paracetamol.’

  Helen’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. ‘That was before you did. In fact James went in after me to find the champagne because Ron was demanding a toast.’

  James shakes his head. ‘That was ages ago.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ I ignore the look of horror on everyone’s faces, no longer caring what they think of me. ‘Do any of you remember the door being open?’

  They all shake their heads in unison.

  ‘So that means somebody’s in the house. Oh shit!’ I cover my mouth, certain I’m going to puke. ‘Cory’s upstairs!’ I push my way in between Ron and Helen, knowing only that I have to protect Cory.

  ‘Louisa!’ Annette grabs hold of my forearm, yanking me back. ‘Stop being so bloody stupid. The donor hasn’t come back to take your child, for God’s sake, it’s all nonsense. You need to let it go.’

  I swivel round, every inch of my body clenched as I wrench my arm away from her. ‘Get off me now! I have to check on my son.’

  ‘I’ll check on him, for the love of God,’ shouts James, pushing past me. ‘And thanks for letting everyone know I’m not Cory’s dad, Lou! Thanks a bunch!’

  ‘The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded.’ 1 Peter 4: 7

  It is somewhat interesting, watching her distress, being witness to the unfurling of her mind. I wouldn’t say pleasant as such. It’s not as if I’m a psychopath after all, just a person with a purpose greater than oneself. But the minds of human beings have always fascinated me; the way their greatest fears float far back into their subconscious memory like ghosts in the night. It only takes a little exorcism to bring them forth, a psychological lobotomy of the brain to bleed such terrors into the frontal lobe. Of course I have much experience with the unravelling of minds. You don’t work in a profession like mine without witnessing your fair share of cracked psyches, now do you? There is only so much one person can take after all. Don’t I understand that more than most?

  When all of this began, I had wondered how long it would take to reach this pivotal point. I had of course considered every possible scenario beforehand, leaving nothing to chance. It wasn’t good enough for others to simply believe our friend Louisa had ‘blown her gasket’; it was important, in the name of authenticity, that she actually did. After all, it simply wouldn’t have done to risk a sane person spouting their mouth off, especially if, by some circumstance beyond my control, the end game had taken a twisting turn.

  Anyhow, I digress. Ladies and gentlemen, it would now seem that the end times are upon us. In fact, the good Lord whispered as much into my ear this morning. ‘The day has come, the time has arrived!’ he uttered through Ezekiel verse seven. Of course my plan had always been for an extra tablet or two to be placed into Louisa’s Christmas fizz. ‘One for the pot,’ as my dear granny always used to say. There’s nothing quite like a festive gathering to unleash a person’s madness unto the world; it seemed almost poetic that it should be the same day her psyche first began to crack all those years ago. Leaving the door wide open and taking the back-door key was a stroke of genius too, my little pawn now seeming to relish the role bestowed upon them.

  It’s a shame Louisa hasn’t noticed the key is missing yet. Still, all good things come to those who wait.

  Yes, everything is coming together nicely. In a matter of days, Louisa’s outer shell will have crumbled completely, her inner soul will finally sink into the depths of hell… and ghostly memories will dance on her grave!

  ‘Nope, no bogeymen hiding under the bed, surprise, surprise!’ James comes back into the kitchen where the rest of us are still congregated. His sarcastic tone and the way he holds himself suggests he is majorly annoyed. I understand the subject of Cory’s conception is delicate, of course I do. But surely, after everything that’s happened, he didn’t expect me to keep it a secret from our friends?

  ‘So Cory’s all right?’

  ‘Sleeping like a baby.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that a relief,’ slurs Ron, matching James’s sarcasm. ‘Now are you cracking open that champers because my mouth is as dry as a nun’s crotch.’

  ‘Ron… for heaven’s sake.’ Annette shakes her head. ‘Although he is right, Louisa. I would like to get on with our celebratory drinks if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Really?’ I’m somewhat flabbergasted that, despite my obvious hostility towards her, she still seems hellbent on sticking around.

  ‘Of course I can only have a sip,’ she continues, rubbing her stomach. ‘This poor mite must already be sozzled, the amount of Dom Perignon I consumed in our lake house last August. Did I mention the lake house to you, Helen? It’s absolutely beautiful.’

  ‘Did the doctor give you a scan picture?’ Helen asks, seemingly finding the whole ‘surprise pregnancy’ as unbelievable as me.

  ‘Well, yes, of course.’ Annette looks momentarily put out, perhaps hoping for a lengthy discussion about the famous ‘lake house’ – which she doesn’t like to mention much, of course. ‘In fact it was a 3D one,’ she continues, her lips puckering as if sucking on a lemon. ‘And he’s an angel. Beautiful. I just can’t wait until he’s with me.’

  ‘Well, he’s already with you now, just inside your womb. Isn’t he?’ I say, my stomach turning over.

  She holds my stare. ‘Obviously I’m aware of that. You know what I mean.’

  ‘So can we see the scan picture then?’ asks Helen, offering me a small smile.

  Does she also suspect Annette isn’t pregnant?

  ‘No.’ Annette narrows her eyes. ‘It’s framed at home. I suppose it would have been nice to bring it.’

  There’s a moment’s pause where nobody speaks, the awkwardness emitting an almost white noise.

  ‘Well, anyway…’ declares James, his tone once again light. ‘I suppose we haven’t got too long to wait until we meet him in the flesh.’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing actually.’ Annette looks over at Ron, as if unsure whether or not to continue. ‘Ron has been offered a new position at a leading pharmaceutical company in Scotland. It’s almost twice the salary meaning I can stay at home with the little one. We’d be crazy not to take it.’

  My mouth turns dry. ‘When are you going?’ I ask, terrified to hear the answer.

  ‘A few days’ time.’ She smirks, giving her stomach another rub for good measure. ‘We just have a few loose ends to tie up here before we go.’

  ‘Louisa?’ Magda’s voice swims towards me and I feel her tugging on my sleeve. ‘Are you feeling all right? You’ve gone really pale again.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ I sniff up, the smell of fresh smoke suddenly turning my stomach. ‘What’s burning? Something’s on fire!’

  ‘James is outside smoking.’ A cold hand touches my forehead causing me to flinch. ‘Relax, Lou, it’s just me,’ says Annette. ‘Did you not just hear him saying he was going outside for a cigarette? You’re sweating. Do you want to sit down? You’re not going to faint again, are you?’

  Her questions are too much for my brain to process. ‘Yes, what? I’m tired. Cory hasn’t been sleeping.’ My words fall from my mouth. I wipe at my brow, which is wet with sweat. ‘I do
n’t think the tablets are helping. I feel really ill.’

  ‘Probably shouldn’t have mixed them with alcohol,’ says Annette.

  ‘Make you batty as a box of frogs that will,’ chirps in Ron, his voice wafting over to me from the other side of the kitchen. ‘And so will I be if I don’t get my hands on an alcoholic beverage soon.’

  ‘Right!’ I snap, unable to help myself. ‘There’s a bottle of champagne in there. Just open it yourself – I need air.’ I point at the cupboard which is nestled into the corner of the kitchen. Even in my flurried state, I distinctly remember James putting a bottle of champagne in there last Christmas, a present from a work colleague, and to my knowledge it hasn’t been drunk. Forcing myself to place one foot in front of the other, I make my way over to the back door where I grip hold of the door frame and gulp in fresh air. James looks over at me from where he is standing a mere three metres away, the fiery end of his cigarette illuminating his face as he inhales a long drag.

  ‘Hey, what’s this?’ I turn around to find Annette on her knees, emerging from the cupboard with something shiny in her hand.

  ‘Can I drink it? That’s all I’m interested in,’ asks Ron.

  Ignoring Ron, I walk over to Annette, giving her space in which to heave herself up. ‘I think you’ve got an extra little Christmas present here.’ She hands me a small, neatly wrapped box with an identical red bow to the present I opened earlier today.

  Taking it from her, I open up the tag which is stuck to the side.

  A keepsake to you. A promise from me.

  ‘James?’ I look over at him as he steps back inside, bringing in stale smoke on his clothes. ‘Annette’s found this?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he says after a brief pause. ‘I bought you that a while ago. I meant to give it you as your main Christmas present but then I had the idea of the locket and, well, I just forgot all about it.’

  ‘Well, can I open it? ‘ I feel almost shy to ask, as if something about the whole situation isn’t quite right.

  ‘Maybe James would be happier with you opening it in private. What if we open that champagne first?’ Magda’s voice slices through the silence.