A Mother’s Sacrifice

by Gemma Metcalfe

  She notices the wine I left her as she flicks on the kettle. The bottle isn’t in my line of vision, but I know she has seen it. Her eyes light up for just a moment; quick, fleeting, like the quick flash of a camera.

  It takes her two minutes to discard the kettle in favour of the strong stuff, perhaps while inwardly assuring herself that ‘she’ll only have the one’. Of course she won’t… but I suppose she doesn’t know that, not consciously at least. Whereas I always knew tonight would end this way.

  Fail to prepare, prepare to fail.

  I allow the binoculars to fall back against my chest, confident I have seen all I need to see.

  A moment later, I stand on the corner of the street and flick through the photos on Louisa’s mobile phone. It wasn’t difficult to lift it from her bag as she pushed her way through the crowd earlier today. She didn’t notice me standing behind her, my warm breath condensing on the nape of her neck. It was a risk getting so close to her, of course… but as the Lord says, ‘The eyes are useless when the mind is blind.’ The ginger homeless guy was a stroke of genius, wasn’t he? The best twenty pounds I ever did spend. Yes, my plan is starting to come together nicely. The cracks are starting to appear and it won’t be long before her outer shell shatters completely.

  My eyes glisten as I zoom in on a photograph of my son. He is perfect, the ultimate embodiment of a living angel. Gabriel, his name is, meaning an angel of God almighty. I have been waiting such a long time for him, but finally I have him in my grasp.

  Quickly, I swipe my finger across the phone’s icons until I locate what I am looking for. Tapping out a quick message, I press send, excitement fizzing in my veins.

  I check my watch… another half hour and Louisa will no doubt pass out, the wine bottle empty by her feet. Then I’ll be ready for the final part of tonight’s mission.

  The fumbling of a key in the front door lock rouses me. I swallow down the acrid taste of alcohol which has grown a layer of fur on my tongue. ‘Hello?’ I whisper into the darkness, my breath caught somewhere against my ribcage. ‘Who’s there?’

  Memories swirl in and out of focus. Why in God’s name did I drink a full bottle of wine? Of course the answer is readily available but I push it to the back of my mind, not wanting to admit I’ve potentially put Cory in danger by lying comatose for God knows how long.

  A cold draught sweeps through the house, heavy footsteps a few paces behind. ‘Who is it?’ I manage a little louder.

  Nothing.

  I pull myself up into a sitting position, my neck stiff and sore. I glance into the Moses basket to the side of me, let out a shaky breath of relief when I see Cory is still sleeping. I want to grab hold of him and flee from the house. But where would I go? There are only two possible exits and both of them are separated by the hallway.

  The footsteps start up again, rising in volume until they’re virtually upon me.

  I freeze and squeeze my eyes shut, a scream of terror trapped inside my throat.

  ‘Lou, what an earth are you doing?’ James’s voice is suddenly upon me.

  ‘Oh, thank God.’ I exhale a breath I didn’t even realise I was holding. ‘Don’t do that to me.’

  He doesn’t reply and I realise there is something strange about his demeanour, his face stony, his large bulk blocking my exit. The buttons on his shirt are done up unevenly, meaning the left side hangs down lower than the right. ‘Are you all right?’ I ask him, unnerved by the way he is glaring at me. He shakes his head, slowly, almost purposefully; black stubble speckled with silver clings to his chin. ‘James, what’s the matter?’

  ‘What in God’s name have you been doing?’

  ‘Pardon?’ I stare up at him, shocked at his tone.

  ‘I can’t even speak to you right now!’ He turns on his heel and disappears down the hallway towards the kitchen. I am gobsmacked. In all our years of marriage, he has never spoke to me like this before.

  Pulling myself up, I follow him into the kitchen, the bright light causing me to squint. Sickness sits at the back of my throat as I look over at the empty wine bottle on the countertop. James is on his knees by the fridge-freezer, rooting around in the top compartment, a glass tumbler in his hand. ‘Do you mind telling me what I’ve done to warrant such abuse?’ I ask, trying and failing to keep my voice on an even keel.

  ‘Magda texted me!’

  My stomach sinks. ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay.’ Tears pool in my eyes as I consider the hurt James must be feeling. If Magda’s told him what I think she has, everything’s about to turn to shit. ‘I was going to tell you when I received the first card at the hospital but…’

  ‘Wait!’ James stands, ice in hand, and slams the freezer door shut. ‘What are you talking about?’

  I frown, my drunken mind unable to piece everything together. ‘Wait… what did Magda say to you?’

  ‘That she called you. That you were acting strangely, that Cory was screaming.’ A flash of anger skims across his face. ‘She was worried about you, and so am I.’ He throws the ice into the glass and looks over at the empty wine bottle. ‘You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? You know how it reacts with your disorders.’ He bends down and retrieves a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. After unscrewing the top, he pours it over the ice where it crackles and spits.

  ‘I’m sorry. I was on the verge of a panic attack. I needed to take the edge off.’ I know my confession is going to lead to more questions but I can’t hold back the truth any longer… not when Cory’s safety is at stake.

  James shakes his head and turns his eyes away from me, as if suddenly disgusted by my presence. He knocks the whiskey back in one, the irony seemingly lost on him. ‘You can’t be doing that with Cory in the house, it’s dangerous.’ After grabbing his cigarettes off the countertop, he makes his way into the back garden.

  I watch him for a moment through the kitchen window, the red glow of his cigarette sending me into a trance. I have to tell him. He deserves to know the truth.

  ‘I see you’ve started smoking again!’ he says loudly, his voice thick with tar.

  ‘What are you talking about? Of course I haven’t started smoking.’ The frozen ground bites into my bare feet as I step outside, my muscles tensing up against the cold.

  He laughs, his super-white teeth contrasting against the night sky.

  I flick on the outside porch light which causes a dappled orange glow to illuminate my collection of gnomes in the rockery, their painted-on smiles twisting into sinister smirks.

  ‘What’s this then?’ he says, pointing down to three cigarette butts which litter the floor by the bench.

  I shrug. ‘Obviously they’re yours. I don’t smoke.’

  He sighs, almost as if dealing with a problematic child. ‘I don’t flick them on the floor.’

  ‘No, you flick them in the bush.’ I attempt a smile but it’s several sizes too small. ‘It wasn’t me, James,’ I try, more seriously this time. ‘I haven’t even been out here.’

  ‘So how do you explain this?’ He produces my mobile phone. ‘On the bench when I came out,’ he says by way of explanation.

  I shake my head, my memory of the evening vague, not remembering much after the third glass of wine. But surely I didn’t come outside and smoke James’s cigarettes? And how has my phone got out here? I haven’t been in the garden for days. ‘James, I don’t understand. I promise I haven’t been out here’

  He stares up at me, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. ‘You know drinking gives you amnesia.’

  ‘You never should have bought wine then. You know I don’t like drink in the house. You could have at least hidden it.’

  ‘I didn’t buy it actually. It was on the doorstep when I arrived home earlier. It had a note attached.’

  ‘A note.’

  He rubs his hand over his stubble. ‘Congratulations on the birth of your son, I think. Something like that. I can’t really remember. It didn’t even say who it was off which I thought was strange. Probably one of them Bible b
ashers across the road. Although it’s not very Christian encouraging us to drink, is it?’

  The sound of his ringtone stops me from replying. ‘This best not be the hospital again,’ he says as he stands up and stuffs his hand into his trouser pocket, his eyes closing as he presumably sees the caller ID. ‘Hello, Mother.’

  I turn to leave, not wanting to hear anything Tamzin has to say.

  ‘Calm down, Mum… what?’

  I stop in my tracks, panic swelling inside me at the sound of James’s voice. I turn round to look at him. To my surprise, he is staring right back at me, his mouth open. ‘No, is it heck. No, listen, Mum, I have to go.’ His eyes hold me in place. A lump rises up into my throat, almost choking me. ‘I’ve said I have to go, Mum,’ he practically spits down the receiver before abruptly hanging up.

  ‘James?’

  Loaded silence hangs heavily in the air. ‘Please tell me you haven’t,’ he says to me eventually.

  ‘Haven’t what?’

  He flicks his finger frantically across the screen of his phone. I watch, noticing how his teeth have started to chatter, how his eyes are swelling with tears.

  ‘James. I haven’t done anything.’ I start to cry through sheer shock. I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done and yet I know without a shadow of a doubt that my world is about to be tipped upside down. I look on, unable to move, as James stares down at the screen of his mobile phone.

  After a minute that feels like hours, he holds the phone up towards me, his hand shaking so badly that I struggle to see what is on the screen. I force my bare feet to take a step forward, even though I want to turn around and run back into the house and lock the door. As I get closer, I see that an email is open on the screen, an email with my name as the sender… sent to ‘all contacts’.

  I quickly scan the message, disbelief clouding my vision. As the reality of the situation begins to manifest within me, bile rises up into my mouth.

  I read the email again… positive I must be hallucinating.

  Sender: Louisa

  To: All contacts

  I need to confess something to you all, something which may come as a shock and yet I cannot hide it any longer. I’m sorry to inform you all that James isn’t Cory’s biological father. Please don’t blame James… none of this is his fault.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Louisa

  Now

  ‘It’s almost ten o’clock, why are you here?’

  I am hunched over on the sofa, my head in my hands, when I hear James’s voice in the hallway, followed by the front door slamming. Swallowing down a lump of despair, I peek out through splayed fingers, surprised and horrified to see a pair of four-inch heels, on the end of what appear to be pyjama bottoms, waltzing across my living-room carpet.

  ‘Never mind ten o’clock! Just settling in for Gogglebox I was. Then all of a sudden my inbox pings; “you’ve got mail” says that Siri. Nearly had a bastard heart attack when I read it! Never liked that woman, James, knew she was trouble.’

  Hearing Tamzin’s voice in the hallway, my heart sinks.

  ‘Mum!’ James follows her into the living room and I hear that he is slightly out of breath. ‘Don’t say nasty things about Louisa, please. We can sort this out in a civilised way.’

  ‘I mean Siri, you daft sod,’ she fumes, before plonking herself down on the chair opposite me. ‘Although now you come to mention it… So come on then, Miss Misery Pants. Have you really done the dirty on my boy? I always knew you were…’

  ‘Tamz!’ Doug’s booming voice cuts her off mid-sentence. ‘All right, Lou, love?’ he says to me as he takes a seat on the opposite side of the sofa. ‘Sorry about this, James, lad. I told her to stay out of it but you know what your mother’s like. Only just got in from work I have… she made me leave my tea in the microwave. Starving I am.’

  The smell of ale that clings to Doug’s breath makes me smile despite the situation. No wonder he always claims to be at ‘work’ with Tamzin as a wife.

  ‘Doug, will you stop complaining about your stomach for five bleeding minutes. It won’t do you any harm to miss a meal let me tell you.’ She raises her chin in the air and fluffs up her white bouffant. She is indeed wearing pink silk pyjamas, along with teardrop diamond earrings.

  ‘Look, Mum…’ James glances over at me and I see the threat which lies just behind his pupils. ‘Lou was angry at me. We’d had a huge row and she hasn’t been feeling well and she sent the email to get back at me. It was a mistake.’

  As James continues to speak, everything in front of me slowly begins to fade away, until his words are nothing but muffled sounds. I can still see Tamzin opposite me, and James as he faces her, his arms outstretched in front of him as if pleading with her to believe what he is saying. But as much as I try to focus, their features are blotted out, like a watercolour painting left out in the rain. All I know is that James is lying. James is lying to his parents about me… but I’m too terrified to make them hear the truth.

  ‘No, Mum, everything is fine. No, I don’t need you to stop over. Honestly, she’s just been a little under the weather. Yes, I know she’s not spoken since you arrived. Yes, I am still glad I married her. Of course he’s my son, Mum. Okay, ‘night. Yes, I love you too. Bye, Dad.’

  I listen as James slowly backs his parents out of the door before closing it and turning the key in the lock. He takes a few steps towards the lounge and then the sound of his footsteps abruptly stop. I’m freezing cold despite the gentle hum of the central heating which warms the house. Pulling out strands of hair, I try and fail to remember the evening. Nothing seems real, everything is a blur.

  It is now gone midnight and my body is crying out for sleep. I am finding it difficult to separate reality from fantasy, my memories and thoughts knotting themselves together like fine gold chains in a jewellery box. I can’t believe I would send an email to all my contacts confessing to Cory’s parentage. And yet I must have done because who else would have done it? Icy fear sidles down my spine. ‘James?’

  ‘I’m here.’ He pads along the hallway, appearing in the doorway, his skin a washed-out grey. ‘What do you want, Lou?’ He sounds desolate, exhausted, like every inch of joy has been yanked out of him.

  ‘Why did you lie to your parents?’

  He sighs. ‘How would you have suggested I dealt with it in your infinite wisdom, Louisa?’ He uses my full name, a sure sign he is majorly pissed off with me.

  I shrug. ‘I wanted to tell you… about the cards, about the man in the market. I wanted to tell you everything but…’

  Twenty minutes before Tamzin and Doug arrived, I was forced to confess all to James.

  He shakes his head. ‘You’re crazy. It’s all in your head. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘James, it’s true. But no matter what happens, whatever comes of this, you’ll always be Cory’s dad.’

  He takes a step towards me, slumps down onto the sofa and holds his head in his hands. ‘That isn’t strictly true though, is it, Lou?’ Tears glisten in his eyes. ‘We knew I wasn’t going to be his dad from the very moment we agreed to use a sperm donor.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  James

  After

  The cup of tea has a thick film of skin on its surface which looks distinctly like DC Lawrie’s orange foundation.

  ‘That must have been hard, James,’ she attempts to say softly, throwing in a small smile for good measure. It would seem that while I’ve been taking advantage of a ten-minute fag break, the officers have regrouped. ‘Agreeing to raise a child who wasn’t biologically yours, I can’t even imagine.’

  I flick my eyes up towards the clock. ‘I’m not being rude but how is any of this important? I’ve been here for two hours. You need to be out there, not pestering me.’

  ‘I can assure you we’re doing all we can. Our team is out searching and we’ll inform you when any news comes in.’

  ‘We’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry.’ DC Kennedy bend
s his fingers back until they crack. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since the interview resumed, and now seems to be relishing his ‘bad cop’ role.

  ‘I didn’t have anything to do with this,’ I protest, perhaps a little too hard. ‘Haven’t you checked my alibi yet? I was at the hospital until gone twelve.’

  ‘Although you didn’t actually arrive until gone eleven, did you?’ asks Kennedy, his question more a statement. ‘And yet you say you left the house around eight.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘I drove around for a while, couldn’t bear to be in the house with Lou any longer, she was in such a state. Of course I made sure she wasn’t alone. Oh God, it’s my fault, isn’t it?’ I put my head in my hands, fresh tears seeping through the cracks in my fingers. ‘But I did arrive at the hospital for just short of eleven. Check with Hannah in the canteen. I ordered a coffee.’

  ‘Mr Carter, we’re not accusing you of anything. Of course it’s likely, given your wife’s history and state of mind…’ DC Lawrie’s words fade away and she looks down at her hands, the first real emotion I have seen from her. ‘Not to bother,’ she says quickly, the Scottish phrase slipping from her mouth. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves right now. What we really need is some background history, your relationship with Louisa, particularly in light of using a donor. Given your comments about her obsession with him I think it would be helpful to the investigation.’

  ‘Yes, okay, it was hard,’ I admit, realising, perhaps for the first time, that I really want to talk about it. ‘I didn’t really want to use a sperm donor. Who does? But it was the only way to save my marriage.’

  I force my mind to remember the first time the donor was mentioned. We had just undertaken a third round of IVF, our first at SureLife, a ridiculously expensive fertility clinic which had recently opened on the outskirts of Chester. After the last time, you didn’t want to test yourself at home, you wanted to wait for the official blood test.

  We entered Doctor Hughes’ office which smelt of polish and hope. Doctor Hughes was renowned in his field, a leading expert. You were convinced he could help us. I held on to a shaky breath, the tips of my fingers tingling. You shifted around on the leather-clad chair to the side of me and began to tap the heel of your shoe against the office’s expensive laminate flooring. I reached out my hand and grabbed hold of your fingertips in a show of solidarity. Your skin was slippery, cold, like a dead fish.