A Mother’s Sacrifice

by Gemma Metcalfe

  ‘Are you sure about that, Louisa?’ Hughes raises his thick, black eyebrows in expectation. ‘You’re psychotic, remember. Those tablets worked a treat, didn’t they?’

  I grit my teeth. ‘How did you even know I was prescribed tablets? Have you really been following me this whole time?’

  ‘Remember the man in the pharmacy, the one with his back to you looking hopelessly at a shelf of nappies?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘No, I guessed not. You were never very observant. Of course I had to follow you, to make sure you were actually prescribed antidepressants in the first place. I wouldn’t put it past doctors these days to describe a cup of chamomile. Not that Fluoxetine’s any better. It’s so mild it’s practically a placebo… you’d have barely broken out into a sweat.’

  ‘So what? You switched them?

  He smiles. ‘I enjoyed watching the effects of the Lustrate as it began to wreak havoc on you. You know that particular drug comes with its own black-box warning? Hallucinations, paranoia, suicidal thoughts. So yes, I’m pretty sure after receiving your recent medical records and testimonies from your friends, the police will have no doubt you were psychotic. Oh, not to mention the fact that your dear friend Magda is currently lying dead on your kitchen floor.’

  I shake my head, visions of Magda’s lifeless body floating just out of reach. ‘I didn’t mean to kill her.’ The hazy memory of me holding a knife to her stomach causes my head to spin. ‘Everything was a blur. I thought she wanted to take Cory.’

  Hughes laughs. ‘You still can’t slot it all together, can you? I always knew you were a little naïve, but seriously.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ My stomach tightens as I ready myself for what I know is coming next. I thought I’d been hallucinating earlier on today, thought I’d finally lost my mind.

  ‘Magda was never your friend, she only ever wanted the baby for herself. I suppose infertility does strange kinds of things to people… women in particular.’

  ‘No!’ I clench my fists, unable to believe what Hughes is saying even though a part of me knows it to be true. ‘Magda wasn’t involved. She can’t have been.’

  ‘She was ever so sad when I told her she’d never be able to carry a child of her own, you know. Of course that wasn’t strictly true, but the occasional white lie is admissible in certain circumstances.’

  ‘So what? You and Magda were planning on running off together? You wanted to bring Cory up as your own?’

  Hughes sucks his teeth. ‘God no! At least not on my part. I just knew she’d be useful, that a friend on the inside would help me correctly diagnose your mental state as the mission unfolded. The Lustrate her sister was taking was also a blessing. Potent stuff it is, Louisa, although you know that, don’t you? No, I always planned on killing the hippy eventually. You just gave me the perfect opportunity to do so!’

  ‘So I didn’t kill her?’ Relief and terror tear through me in equal measure. ‘But everybody is going to believe I did! Apart from James,’ I manage to say again, no longer sure who I’m trying to convince. ‘He’ll fight for the truth.’

  ‘No, he won’t.’ Hughes looks up at me, a smile lighting up his eyes. ‘Initially he might. But how do you think he’ll react when he sees your medical records? Not the first time you’ve attempted to jump to your death with a baby in tow now is it, Louisa?’

  Sickening realisation robs me of my last drop of strength. He’s right. My ‘suicide attempt’ fourteen years ago, along with my subsequent miscarriage, would have been logged in my medical history… something I have always feared would one day come back to haunt me. If I die, James will be given the full details of what happened that night. He’ll know all the sordid details! ‘Oh shit!’ Another memory drags me back into the past. Earlier today, trapped in a hallucination of my own creation, I told James about Aiden, I’m almost certain I did! ‘The records are bullshit,’ I tell Hughes. ‘They don’t tell the full story.’

  I don’t remember the initial impact on the night Aiden pushed me into the canal, only that the water was suddenly all around me, crushing me, pushing me down from all sides like the walls of an imaginary prison. I kicked and clawed at the surface, desperate to find some leverage, reaching out towards the embankment, only for it to slip through my fingers. My body fought for every last morsel of air but the weight of the water soon pulled me down, my lungs burning, my mind blank, panic quickly fading to numbness. I gave in to the darkness as the last gasp of air escaped my lips, replaced by the icy water. As my lungs began to fill, darkness consumed me, bringing with it a peace like nothing I’d ever experienced before. It was then that I saw her. My mother.

  Her hair was a shimmering gold, her smile painted on with permanent marker just like Beverley’s had been all those years before. ‘Don’t be afraid, Louisa,’ she whispered, reaching out her hand towards me. ‘It’s safer here, there isn’t any pain.’ I took her hand in mine, allowed her to pull me towards her, her lips touching mine as she kissed me just like she’d always done when I was a child.

  ‘I love you, Mum.’

  ‘We love you too, Louisa, we all do. It’s okay, just hold on.’ Aiden’s voice suddenly cut through the darkness, a blur of blue light skimming my eyelids, a siren wailing all around me.

  I opened my eyes, realised I was in the back of an ambulance, a paramedic’s face looming over me, his face unshaven and his hair messy. The pain in my stomach was like nothing I’d ever felt before, almost as if I were being slit open by whips and chains. ‘She’s miscarrying,’ I heard the paramedic say, his voice rising in panic. ‘Do we know how many months along she is?’

  ‘I have no idea. Didn’t even realise she was pregnant.’ Aiden squeezed tight hold of my hand as he spoke. ‘She’s been pretty low lately. I think that’s why she jumped. Probably terrified of the children’s home finding out she was pregnant, the poor love.’

  It was at that moment that darkness consumed me once again. But this time, peace didn’t follow.

  ‘You’re sick,’ I say to Doctor Hughes now, dragging my thoughts away from that fateful night which changed everything. ‘I didn’t jump, I was pushed. But I was too afraid and too traumatised to say anything when I came round in the hospital the following morning. I allowed them to believe I’d attempted suicide.’

  Allowing Aiden to get away with grooming me, not to mention trying to kill me, has weighed me down with guilt my whole adult life. Of course, at the time, a scared, vulnerable fourteen-year-old girl, I was blind to it all, still believed that Aiden loved me, that we would one day run away together just like he’d always promised. He seemed so genuine the day after the attack, sat by my hospital bed for hours on end, reading me snippets from my favourite magazine and holding my hand. He whispered into my ear over and over again just how sorry he was. ‘I panicked, Loulou, it was all such a shock. But I dragged you out of the water again, I saved your life.’

  I cried until there were no tears left, knowing in my heart that I’d lost my baby even though nobody had actually confirmed it. The thick panty liner between my legs said it all… I was no longer a mother.

  ‘It was only the size of a grain of rice,’ Aiden told me the day he took me back to the home, his hand resting on my leg as he drove. ‘It’s not like it had feelings or anything.’

  I wanted to tell him that my baby might have only been a grain of rice to him, but to me it was everything, a chance to finally be loved unconditionally like I’d always dreamed of. ‘Can we name him anyway?’ I asked Aiden, certain that if my baby had lived he would have been a boy.

  ‘Sure, whatever you want.’

  ‘Cory,’ I whispered, imagining my beautiful little boy with hair redder than fire. ‘I like Cory.’

  Three days later, I woke up to find Aiden gone. ‘He’s been transferred to another home,’ I was told by Mr Carr, the director of the children’s home. ‘Told me to pass on his good wishes.’

  I should have told the police, of course I should have. But I wa
s ashamed, my heart broken all over again. And even if I had told someone back then, who would have believed me? After all, I was known for my paranoia, for my hallucinations. I was the girl who’d disfigured her first foster carer. As the years went by I always promised myself that, one day, I would bring Aiden to justice, that I’d stop him from hurting other girls in the way he’d hurt me. There were so many times I almost told James, the confession disintegrating on my lips each time I opened my mouth. Tomorrow, I’d promise myself, next week, perhaps after I give birth. Now, I guess tomorrow will never come.

  ‘Magda was appalled you killed your unborn baby, by the way,’ says Hughes now. ‘Or at least she pretended to be. I guess it made her feel less guilty about what she would have let happen to you. It sat well with her that you were a child murderer! Made the idea of taking your baby that much more desirable.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve used my past for your own sick ends. You’re evil, you know that? You’re going to hell.’

  Hughes smiles. ‘Fail to prepare, prepare to fail. It was quite the added bonus when I unearthed your past. You really are a gift from God.’

  ‘But it was all lies,’ I say again, taking one final moment to try and make him see sense. ‘And I’m not crazy. You are! You’re a sick man and you need help. You’ve obviously suffered a breakdown, which I understand, really I do. But the spirit of your dead wife does not live inside me and my son isn’t your baby.’ But, even as I say it, I know my words don’t hold much weight. Because Cory is his child, isn’t he? Doctor Hughes is the missing piece of the puzzle, his eyes holding the same dark intensity as Cory’s, both of their jaws chiselled to perfection. How could I have been so blind?’

  ‘It’s time,’ he says calmly. ‘The end is upon us.’

  I raise my head, see dazzling blue lights in the distance, cutting through the night sky. Are they real? Or am I simply remembering a similar scenario fourteen years ago?

  The shrill ring of my mobile phone cuts through the air. I look over at Doctor Hughes, who in turn looks back at me. For the first time I see a hint of panic flash across his eyes.

  ‘Now!’ he shouts. ‘Or I’ll kill him!’

  My time is up. One minute more will be a minute too late. I have to save my son, my miracle baby who taught me how to not be afraid. I take one last look across the river, the lights and sirens in the distance like a tropical storm. Hopefully the emergency services will reach Cory in time, but even if Doctor Hughes manages to escape with him, at least I’ll give him a fighting chance. The police will think I’ve committed suicide, taking Cory with me, but James won’t. He’ll fight them all the way. I hate myself for the way I’ve treated James, for the way I’ve accused him, for not allowing him to be a part of my past. And yet there is nothing I can do about that now. There is no time for regrets, just time to make amends. Although I haven’t lost my mind in the way the authorities are going to believe, I know that my refusal to deal with my past has wrought havoc on my present. Over the past three weeks I have allowed paranoia to feed on my anxiety like a parasite. I have allowed Annette’s jealousy to burrow itself underneath my skin, taking her catty snipes and remarks and twisting them into something much more sinister. Annette isn’t a particularly nice person and yet she isn’t all bad either. I’m certain that underneath the bravado and sarcasm is a broken-hearted woman desperate to be a mother. Despite everything, I’m glad she’s finally going to get that chance. She deserves that much at least.

  As for Magda, I can’t even begin to consider the destruction she’s caused. And yet on some level I know that she too is a victim of circumstance, her desperation for a child allowing Hughes to use her as a pawn in his own sick game. And yet, isn’t Hughes also something of a victim? Hasn’t he too suffered unimaginable loss? I guess we all have our tipping point, are all just one tragedy away from madness. People, unlike the characters in a fairy tale, are rarely all good or all bad. Who knows, perhaps even the Big Bad Wolf was once just a hungry, frightened little pup.

  I look down at the water, realise with sudden clarity that all of my life I have been ravaged by guilt: my mother’s suicide, Esther’s disfigurement, the death of my unborn baby. But now, in death, I can finally put everything right. By sacrificing myself I can save Cory and give James a fighting chance to be the dad he so deserves to be. There is no doubt in my mind that James will find Cory, whether it takes a week, a month or even a year. James will see to it that I’m never forgotten, that my spirit lives on through the son who finally made me whole. He’ll also speak to the authorities about Aiden, will demand they look into his history, not resting until justice has been done. So yes, this may not be the Happily Ever After I always imagined… but at last, I can finally be the hero of my own fairy tale.

  Looking down into the water, I see the face of my mother, her smile stretching the entire width of her face. She isn’t Eeyore any more, nor is she Tigger. She’s just plain old Winnie the Pooh.

  ‘I love you, baby,’ I say to Cory as I leap into her arms, the sound of his cry in the night air like heavenly music to my eyes. ‘I’ll always protect you. Always!’

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank HQ Digital for their continued support. A special thanks to my editor Hannah for your guidance and support throughout the planning, writing and editing process.

  To my auntie Suzanne Roberts, I promise that one day I’ll buy you a coffee maker!

  Since becoming an author, I have been overwhelmed by the support of bloggers, book clubs and fellow authors. There are far too many to mention but you know who you are!

  To my Facebook ‘groupies’, I love you. Thank you for always sharing my posts and never tiring of my constant writing dramas! And of course I have to mention my self-proclaimed ‘Number One Fan’ Jayne Silver! (See – your dedication paid off! )

  To my family and closest friends – both in Tenerife and Manchester – thank you for your constant encouragement.

  Of course the acknowledgements wouldn’t be complete without thanking my husband Danny. I love you, not only for everything you do, but also for everything you are.

  To every single reader who has taken the time to read, review and recommended my books – I truly cannot thank you enough!

  Author letter

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read A Mother’s Sacrifice. If you enjoyed it, I would be most grateful if you could leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. If you would like to be kept up-to-date with news of my next book, sign up here. I promise I won’t bombard you with anything else or share your email.

  PLEASE do come and say hi! I am on Facebook (Gemma Metcalfe – Author) and Twitter (@gemmakmetcalfe) I really do love connecting with readers.

  A Mother’s Sacrifice was inspired by my own journey through infertility. It is something myself and my husband are still dealing with and something which I know many readers will relate to. Using such a sensitive subject as the basis for a thriller was never going to be easy. I can only hope that amongst the twists and turns, I was able to convey the hope and heartbreak that many couples face.

  If, like me, you are still on that journey – please know that you are not alone.

  If you loved A Mother’s Sacrifice then read on for an excerpt from Gemma’s debut, Trust Me

  PROLOGUE

  As she stepped through the door, her first thought was how deadly silent it was.

  Especially given the circumstances.

  ‘Hello, where is everyone?’

  The long, narrow hallway was encased in darkness, thanks to the bulb blowing a few days previously. She fumbled around in the dark with the toggles of her coat in an attempt to take it off, her fingers stiff with cold thanks to the buckets of icy rain which had pissed all over her on the journey home. Finally freeing herself, she attempted to hang the coat on the rail, but the lack of light meant it fell to the floor with a thud.

  ‘Hello?’ she shouted again into the darkness, her voice catching in her throat for a reason she coul
dn’t quite put her finger on. ‘Anyone in?’

  Nobody answered.

  Gripping hold of the banister rail, she gingerly made her way upstairs and towards the bathroom. Opening the door, her teeth chattered hard as she flicked on the light with her elbow, too scared to use her hands in case she got an electric shock. Leaning over the bathtub, she wrung out her heavy, soaked, blonde hair, while sniffing up loudly in an attempt to stop her nose dripping like a tap.

  It was then that she heard a noise.

  Opening the bathroom door, she let the light seep out, illuminating the stairs and hallway.

  What happened next would change her life for ever.

  Running into the living room, she saw him – curled up in a ball, a pool of blood by his side. Perhaps due to the shock, or her hysterical screaming, she didn’t notice the mobile phone by his side; nor did she hear the pleading voice on the other end of the line.

  CHAPTER ONE

  PRESENT DAY

  Lana, Tenerife, 9.30 a.m.

  ‘What is the first rule of sales?’ asks my manager, Damien, a pathetic, bald-headed little Scouser who has a surprisingly large forehead and an even larger ego.

  ‘Well?’ he demands when nobody speaks, a manic grin plastered on his face thanks to the bag of cocaine he’s no doubt just shoved up his hooter. He cracks his knuckles twice, looks around the room for an answer. We stare ahead uninterested, dodging eye contact.

  Through the window of the office, a characterless, white, walled box packed to the brim with computers and sweaty bodies, I catch a glimpse of paradise. Tenerife looks especially beautiful this morning; pale-gold sand meets crystal-blue sea, blending effortlessly into a cloudless sky. Lazy morning sun beats down on half-naked bodies like warm honey; couples arm in arm, forgetting for at least one week about the damp, cold weather and depressing recession which are destined to greet them off the plane home. I swivel around in my chair ninety degrees and can just about make out the harbour in the distance; rich people’s yachts bobbing up and down with the fresh morning breeze, excited babies being rocked on their mothers’ knees, their chubby faces covered in bubble-gum ice cream. Damien says I have the best desk in the office, next to this window. He calls it ‘the window of opportunity’. He likes his play on words does Damien – that’s one of the many reasons why I think he’s a prat!