A Mother’s Sacrifice

by Gemma Metcalfe

  ‘Louisa, it’s your turn.’ Aiden gestures for me to take the floor. We’ve been playing charades for the best part of an hour and have just witnessed the new boy, Darren, stick three fingers up before dropping his trousers and grabbing his testicles.

  ‘No thank you, it’s childish.’ I slide my hand through my hair before leaning back against the sofa cushions and taking a sip of my ‘Christmas punch’, which is really just orange and cranberry juice mixed together. The Christmas dinner was pretty nice this year, despite smelly Susan coughing all over the turkey. But I helped Aiden with the trifle and he said I was a natural.

  ‘Okay, well maybe we have exhausted that now anyway.’ Aiden winks at me before throwing me the remote control. I feel my cheeks flush with heat. ‘You pick something to watch on the box,’ he says, ‘and I’ll microwave the popcorn.’

  ‘That’s not fair, how come she gets to choose?’ Stacey looks up from the Game Boy she got for Christmas. Every year we get presents off ‘the staff’ but it’s common knowledge the government set them a Christmas budget and it doesn’t come out of their own pocket. I got a dinosaur Tamagotchi, which is possibly already dead, and a Top of the Pops CD.

  ‘Because Louisa is the oldest and therefore she gets to choose.’ Aiden flicks his eyes over at me, a small smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. He looks just like Kurt Cobain from Nirvana, with messy strawberry-blond hair and bright-blue eyes. Okay, well, he might be more ginger than blond but he’s even got the dimple in his chin like Kurt.

  I flick on the television and scan through the channels while Aiden makes the popcorn in the kitchen. Carl runs over and dives into Aiden’s space, nearly sending my drink flying in the air.

  ‘Watch it, will you! And get back in your own space, that’s Aiden’s.’

  ‘Shut it, Tango tits. Gay boy can sit on the floorl this is ‘ar ‘ouse.’ His strong Salfordian accent slices through the air, his mouth full of mushed-up chocolate.

  ‘Move!’ I kick out at him, my foot connecting with his calf. ‘Go and sit back over there with Stacey.’

  ‘Nah, she stinks of fish.’

  ‘Well, at least I don’t look like Popeye,’ she bites back.

  ‘No, you just smell like him.’

  ‘Hey, calm it. I’ll sit over there with Stacey.’ Aiden walks back into the room, three bags of microwave popcorn clutched between his fingers. He throws one over at me and Carl before making his way across the room. My chest deflates as he sits next to Stacey, her smug grin instantly ruining my Christmas.

  ‘Oh keep this on, I love this movie,’ he says, his arm brushing up against Stacey’s.

  Glancing over at the television, by way of distraction, I feel my stomach flip. The golden yellow-brick road, surrounded by multicoloured munchkins with bizarre moustaches, causes my whole body to shake, a panic attack gripping tightly without warning. I bite down hard on my top lip, desperate to follow my therapist’s advice.

  ‘Remember, Louisa. One thing you can see, one thing you can hear, one thing you can feel.’

  I can feel my fingers and toes tingling, can feel the panic physically rising up within me like lava. I close my eyes, desperate to shut out the pain, the image of Mum hanging from her curtain pole bleeding into my brain, Esther’s blistered skin battling against it for space.

  ‘Louisa, what’s the matter?’ In the distance, I hear Aiden’s voice, hear the cackling laugh of Stacey, hear Carl chomping loudly on his chocolate.

  ‘I want to go home, let me go home.’ The sides of my bare feet tap together involuntarily, the smell of Esther’s burnt flesh and my mother’s rotting corpse fusing together, a scream bubbling to the service.

  I open my eyes, my mind fuzzy, having no recollection of what has happened. I know I’m in bed and that it’s dark outside but I don’t know how I got here, only that something bad has happened.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Loulou, I had no idea.’ Aiden’s face floats above me, his floppy hair almost touching my eyelashes. The sweet tang of his aftershave clings to the air, his eyes searching out mine in the darkness. He called me Loulou, like a nickname, like something you call somebody special to you. I smile lazily up at him, no longer caring how I got here, only that I am here, with Aiden, with the only person in the world who really cares about me.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask him, not really wanting to know but knowing only that I need to keep him here, by my side.

  ‘Shh, don’t worry about that now.’ He reaches out and lightly strokes my cheek with his thumb, my body tingling in places I never even realised it could.

  There is a slight crack in the door, allowing light from the landing to seep into the dark bedroom. Aiden is the most beautiful person I have ever seen, his lips full and red, his eyes the deepest blue. ‘Don’t leave me,’ I hear myself saying, my voice no longer sounding like my own.

  ‘I’ll never leave you.’ He brings his face closer to mine, so close I can feel his warm breath against my skin.

  ‘Here,’ he says, as if remembering something. He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out something fine and delicate, the light from my bedside lamp catching it and causing it to sparkle. ‘I got you a present. From my own money.’

  Tears rush into my eyes before I can stop them. The necklace is cheap but that doesn’t matter. A pink love heart dangles from it, a single diamanté pinpointed in the centre. ‘Do you like it?’

  I stare down at it, my hand shaking. ‘I love it.’

  ‘If anyone asks, say you bought it with your pocket money, right?’ He reaches over and puts his hand over mine, almost as if he wants to hide the necklace from view. ‘Obviously I wanted to buy you a gold one but then people would ask questions. I’d get into trouble if anyone found out I’d bought you this and you don’t want to get me into trouble, do you?’

  I shake my head, gobsmacked that somebody could be so kind to me. ‘Why me?’ I ask.

  ‘Because you’re special to me, Louisa.’ He leans closer to me, his lips brushing mine.

  ‘More special than Stacey?’ I ask, my voice trembling.

  ‘More special than anyone.’

  As he kisses me, I taste sweet popcorn on his lips, hear the blood thundering in my ears and see my own longing reflected in his pupils.

  And what do I feel?

  I feel like the luckiest girl alive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Louisa

  Now

  ‘Come in, come in… so lovely to see you all.’ James pushes himself up against the wall allowing our guests to pile in through the front door almost on top of one another, a chorus of ‘Merry Christmases’ sweeping through the hallway along with a blast of icy-cold air. I stand in the kitchen doorway, looking on as sopping wet brollies are shaken out and balanced against the wall, an assortment of coats and jackets slung over the coat rack. Glancing down at my watch, I feel a flash of panic. The potatoes are yet to be peeled and the turkey currently resembles a vampire’s arse cheeks.

  ‘Merry Christmas, everybody,’ I say, my greeting swallowed up in the chaos.

  James glances over at me, panic skimming across his eyes as he seemingly notices the colander of raw sprouts in my hand. ‘As you can see, we’re totally unprepared as usual,’ he says to everybody collectively, a smile several sizes too large breaking out on his face. ‘Having a newborn in tow puts you at least three days behind schedule so please do bear with us!’

  I watch him as he proceeds to kiss Annette on the cheek before turning his attention to Magda, his lips lingering on her for a fraction too long. I shake the intruding thought away before it even has a chance to properly form. Stop with the paranoia, stop it now!

  ‘Lou, don’t just stand there. Give us a squish!’ As if reading my thoughts, Magda breaks free from James and practically runs down the hallway towards me, her multicoloured ponytail swishing to and fro, reminding me of My Little Pony. She envelops me in a hug, the remnants of a burnt joss stick clinging to her skin. See, everything’s fine. Stop being ridiculo
us.

  ‘Glad you could make it, Mags.’ I stand back and drink her in, as always feeling drab and dull in comparison. Today she is wearing a Bohemian-style shawl and figure-hugging denim jeans, her body tanned and toned in all the right places. Only the slight crow’s feet around her eyes give any indication of her true age.

  ‘How’s your cold?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah, fine.’ I pause, embarrassment blistering my cheeks. ‘Getting better.’

  She gives me a knowing look. ‘Don’t worry, it’s common.’

  I frown, not sure if she’s referring to my phantom cold or not. ‘Yeah, I guess so. And how are you?’

  She opens her mouth to reply but is instantly cut off by Annette who barges between us, a strange, almost gloating, smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. The rain has flattened her normally short, frizzy hair, causing it to hang down on either side of her face like a judge’s wig. ‘Oh, Louisa… how are you?’ She leans in and pecks me on the cheek, her lips feeling like sandpaper against my skin. ‘So sorry I had to dash the other day. Came over a bit queasy.’

  ‘Oh… right.’ My planned rebuke melts on my tongue. ‘But you’re all right now?’

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ interrupts Magda, gesturing over to the doorway where a small scrap of a woman with greasy hair and misshapen Ugg boots hovers. ‘Helen, come on in and meet Louisa.’

  ‘Hi, Helen,’ I shout over to her, something about her appearance familiar even though I can’t quite place her. ‘Just stick your coat anywhere and please do come on through.’

  ‘She’s feeling it more than ever today,’ whispers Magda into my ear. ‘Obviously with it being Christmas.’

  I nod, a surge of sympathy for Helen swelling my chest. Perhaps my heightened emotions are another side effect of the antidepressants, or perhaps it’s because I understand what it feels like to lose somebody you love.

  ‘Look, come on through to the lounge, everyone,’ I say, my voice more confident than I feel. ‘Dinner won’t be too long but I think I can find some Christmassy snacks to be going on with.’

  ‘Well, it certainly all smells beautiful,’ beams Annette, her happiness so out of character it’s almost concerning. ‘I think today is going to be just wonderful.’

  I look over at Magda who raises her eyebrows. ‘I guess it is the season for miracles,’ she says.

  ‘Absolutely impeccable, my dear Louisa!’ Ron’s knife and fork clatter against his empty plate. ‘The turkey was as succulent as Mary Magdalene’s bosom.’

  ‘Don’t be crude, Ron,’ says Annette through a mouthful of sweet potato. ‘Especially not on Christmas Day.’

  I glance over at James who rolls his eyes at me, seemingly at his wits’ end.

  ‘Well, she was a hooker, wasn’t she?’ barks Ron, his empty wine glass worryingly balanced between his thumb and forefinger. ‘All the disciples would have had a right good old suckle on those titties, isn’t that right?’ He nudges James in the ribs, his expression one of permanent delight, like a ventriloquist’s hand is stuffed up his arse.

  Annette sighs. ‘Ron, please… the Lord Jesus will be turning in his grave!’

  I cough awkwardly into my fist, my face flushing with heat for the millionth time today. Cory, having woken up the moment I sat down to eat, is currently propped up on my knee, staring intently at the colourful array of food which remains virtually untouched in the middle of the table. I seriously wouldn’t have gone to so much effort if I’d known nobody, bar Ron and James, would be eating. Magda, being a vegetarian (something she failed to mention until today), heaved as I brought in the turkey, claiming the accompanying ‘pigs in blankets’ reminded her of her childhood sausage dog, Bindy. ‘I’ll just make do with a few carrots and a pickled walnut,’ she insisted, fanning herself with a Christmas cracker. Her sister, Helen, who has barely spoken a word since she arrived, is so skinny that she declared herself ‘full to the brim’ after a forkful of stuffing and a roasted parsnip. Then there was Annette who yet again complained of ‘feeling queasy’, and by that point I was too stressed to swallow my own saliva never mind a Christmas dinner!

  ‘I’m sorry, will you excuse me a moment while I top up the water jug?’ I pass Cory over the table to James before making a swift exit, sure I’ll physically combust if I have to listen to Ron’s vulgar comments for a second longer.

  The kitchen is in a state of disarray; pans, plates and chopping boards all littering the worktop, the normally bright white tiles splattered with gravy and sausage fat. The heat from the oven, which still clings to the air despite its now being turned off, causes another surge of dizziness to wash over me, so much so that I have to lean against the work surface for support, terrified I might actually faint. ‘Come on, you can do it, just get through today.’ I take a deep breath before steadying myself, proceed to fill up a glass of freezing cold water straight from the tap, guzzling it down in one. It’s of little use though. My skin remains hot and itchy, like somebody has infected me with the menopause.

  Opening the back door, I step outside, inhaling a chilly lungful of air as I do. The pounding rain from earlier has reduced to a trickle, the snow all but gone, now nothing other than a sopping great puddle of sludge. Despite it only being 5 p.m., the sky is dark and dense, the rustling of the trees, which line the rear fence, making it sound like a storm isn’t far away. Hearing footsteps in the kitchen, I make my way back down the garden path, hoping James might have come out to check on me. Perhaps together we can hatch a plan to make everybody leave early.

  Magda stands by the bin as I enter the kitchen, tipping what looks like a broken glass into it. ‘Sorry,’ she says, glancing at me over her shoulder. ‘Ron had a little accident with the wine glass.’

  ‘Is Cory all right?’ I ask, a surge of adrenaline pumping through me.

  ‘Yeah, James has taken him upstairs for a sleep. Are you feeling all right?’ she asks, her face scrunching up into a frown as she seemingly takes in my appearance. ‘Your aura is bright red!’

  ‘Not really,’ I reply, feeling the onset of tears. ‘I’ve got a confession to make.’

  She turns to properly look at me. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I haven’t got a cold. That isn’t why I was at the doctor’s the other day. James, the doctor, they think I’m suffering with postnatal depression.’

  Magda nods, an empathic smile following suit. ‘Look, I did guess as much. When you called me the other day and mentioned… you know.’

  ‘The donor?’

  She purses her lips. ‘I take it you explained everything to James?’

  ‘He didn’t believe me. It’s a long story.’ I pause, not wanting to go into the details of how I supposedly hallucinated, feeling both embarrassed and scared at the memory. ‘I suppose I did just imagine it all,’ I say to Magda, hearing a little voice in the back of my mind telling me not to be so ridiculous. You didn’t imagine it, you’re not crazy.

  ‘It’s easily done, Lou. I see postnatal depression a lot in my counselling sessions. One big side effect is paranoia.’

  ‘But the antidepressants the doctor gave me…’ I say, feeling a sudden urge to offload. ‘Ron said they weren’t strong but they’re playing havoc with me. I’m burning and itching and my thoughts are racing. It’s like they’re trying to take over my body.’

  ‘Which ones did she prescribe?’

  ‘Fluoxetine.’

  She frowns. ‘Well, I’m no doctor but they shouldn’t be affecting you that badly.’

  ‘Perhaps I should come off them?’

  ‘Seriously, what’s taking you so long?’ Annette bursts into the kitchen with what looks like another broken wine glass wrapped up in a napkin. ‘Sorry, Louisa, my Ron’s always suffered with butter fingers. It’s his nerves, you see.’

  I refrain from rolling my eyes. ‘Just stick it in the bin with the other one.’

  She narrows her eyes, first at Magda then at me. ‘What’s going on in here? You two are in cahoots about something.’

  I sigh
, tiredness beginning to pull at my eyelids. ‘We’re just discussing the meds the doctor gave me. They seem a little too strong.’ Right on cue my left eye begins to twitch, another symptom which has plagued me for the past two days. ‘See,’ I say, pointing at it. ‘No way should they be giving me facial spasms.’

  ‘Well, no, not really,’ says Annette. ‘I mean, side effects can occur with the ones you’re on but they should be pretty mild. Unlike the meds your sister is on.’ She turns her attention to Magda. ‘She needs to come off them if you ask me. I remember a few years ago we had a woman with a prescription for the same stuff. Batty it made her, convinced she was communicating with Uri Geller. Her husband said she made a right bloody mess of their cutlery draw.’

  Magda looks down at her feet, clearly not amused. ‘Speaking of Helen, I should really get back in there. Poor love hasn’t eaten or drunk a thing all day.’

  ‘Or cracked a smile come to that!’ Annette glances over at me, amusement dancing in her eyes.

  ‘I can’t say I blame her, in all honesty.’ I turn to Magda, wanting Annette to see her catty comments for what they are. ‘So, as I was saying, Mags, do you think I should come off the medication?’

  Magda slides her eyes over to Annette, concern knitting her brows together. ‘Well…’

  ‘Absolutely not!’ Annette jumps into the conversation. ‘They aren’t bloody Smarties, Louisa, and if you’ve been prescribed them it will be for your own good.’

  I sigh for the second time in as many minutes. ‘I know, you’re probably right.’

  ‘Anyway…’ Annette finally chucks the napkin full of glass into the bin before turning on her heel. ‘I best get back to Ron; poor little lamb gets nervous when in the sole company of a female. He’s awfully shy, you know.’

  I watch her leave, wondering, not for the first time, if I’m the only one who’s stark raving mad!

  ‘Well, if you please, I think I’d like to make a toast. To Louisa, James and the lovely Cory, who have welcomed us into their home and made us part of their family.’ Magda raises her flute of champagne in the air, her bright-red Christmas hat sitting lopsided on her head.