A Mother’s Sacrifice

by Gemma Metcalfe

  Cory stirs in my arms, a small cry emanating from him which sounds a little like a wounded baby bird. ‘It’s all right, baby boy,’ I whisper. ‘We’re going now.’

  A shiny, wrapped present catches my eye as I place Cory in the pram. I stare at it for a moment, the memory of Annette bringing it round earlier today working its way into my mind. ‘It looks soft,’ I say. ‘Maybe it’s something warm. Always a good idea to wrap up warm in winter, baby boy. You’ll catch your death otherwise.’ I take hold of the present, the paper crumpling as I do. ‘Yes, definitely clothes.’ In the distance, James’s voice rises in urgency. ‘You need to come quick then,’ he shouts. ‘Because I can’t bear this a second longer.’

  Tearing open the wrapping paper, I smile down at a tiny blue sleepsuit which has a message embroidered on the front in black stitch. Picking it up, I take a closer look at the writing, my stomach turning to liquid as I realise what it says. Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.

  ‘James, come… quick.’ I can hardly speak, my words toppling over one another.

  I look back down the hallway to where soft light streams out through the half-dozen panels in the kitchen door. Behind them, James is still speaking to somebody, presumably on the phone, the glass partitioning his silhouette into thin rectangles. ‘I’ll probably have to. It is for the best, yes. I know – thank you.’

  I look down again at the sleepsuit, the embroidered letters now jumbling up in front of my eyes. What am I going to do? Tell James? Surely now he has to believe me? I bring the soft blue velvet up close to my face, breathe in its scent, the smell of Annette’s perfume, which has somehow infused its way into the fabric, causing me to wretch. Good! At least there’s no denying who it’s from. She can’t get away with her twisted game any longer, her number is finally up!

  A sharp knocking on the door is closely followed by the sound of a familiar voice. ‘It’s me. Let me in.’

  I throw my hand over my mouth, almost dropping the sleepsuit as I do. Magda! Guilt gnaws at my insides. How could I ever have believed she was involved? I unlock the door quickly, look down to where she is standing on the bottom step, dressed all in black, the porch light reflecting her tears. She looks up at me and swallows hard. ‘Is James there?’

  ‘Mags…’ My own eyes swell, the whole situation causing a solid lump to wedge itself into my throat. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry for accusing you.’

  She tilts her chin, her jaw clenched, obviously not ready to forgive me so easily. ‘Why the sudden change of heart?’

  I hold up the sleepsuit in front of her, not sure she’ll be able to see the black stitch in the dark. ‘You see this, it’s from Annette and Ron, the same words which were written inside the card at the hospital. They are trying to steal Cory.’ I watch her expression change from confusion to shock.

  ‘What’s going on? Why is Cory in the pram in just his vest?’ James’s voice comes from behind me, his footsteps heavy on the laminate flooring. ‘What are you doing now, Louisa? For the love of God, it’s freezing!’ His voice is hard.

  I turn to face him, the sleepsuit still clutched between my fingers. ‘Look, it’s…’

  ‘Nothing. It’s nothing to worry about.’ Magda yanks the sleepsuit out of my hands, her fingers icy-cold and red-raw. I look down at her and she shakes her head at me, a warning flashing across her eyes.

  ‘What?’ James runs his fingers through his hair. ‘What’s going on now?’

  I look over at Magda, not sure what she’s trying to tell me. Perhaps she knows something I don’t. ‘Nothing,’ I say to James, dragging a smile onto my face, deciding it’s probably best if he leaves so Magda and I can figure out what to do about Annette and Ron.

  ‘I’m not going into work, Mags, so you can go home. I can’t leave her like this. I’ve called the mental health team but they can’t get anybody here until the morning.’ James offers me a pitying glance as he speaks. ‘They said we could take her to A and E but I think it’s best if she stays here until the morning. I know how short-staffed they are at this time of year.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t need the mental health team.’

  ‘You go,’ says Magda, before reaching into the pram to pick up Cory. ‘We’ll bath and dress this little one and then we’ll have a cup of tea and talk everything through. Right, Loulou?’

  I nod. ‘We will. You go to work, James.’ I try to drag a degree of normality into my voice. ‘I’d hate the hospital to be short-staffed and for somebody to die because of me. I’m fine, honestly’

  He sighs. ‘Fine. But any problems and you call me, all right? As soon as cover arrives I’m coming home.’ This he directs at Magda, seemingly unable to meet my eye. Either that or he no longer considers me capable of sane conversation. I don’t understand why he’s so angry with me. What have I even done?

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ reiterates Magda, before kissing Cory on top of his head. ‘You get going. I’ll look after her, don’t worry.’

  ‘Cheers, Mags,’ says James, seemingly now in a rush to get out of the house. He pulls on his overcoat and picks up his briefcase, still refusing to look at me. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  Ten minutes or so after James leaves for work, I make my way into the kitchen having just placed a sleeping Cory into his Moses basket upstairs. I had wanted to wake him so I could bath him but Magda convinced me to wait until after his ten o’clock feed. ‘He’ll only sick it up,’ she’d laughed, ‘and then we’ll have to bath him again.’

  ‘Here you are, lovely,’ she says now, passing me a steaming-hot mug of tea. She picks up her own matching mug before proceeding to lean against the kitchen worktop, the window positioned directly behind her. She stares at me for a long time, her brow creasing. I want to ask her about Annette, to see if she thinks the police are likely to take the sleepsuit seriously. ‘Drink up,’ she says, before I have a chance to say anything. ‘They do say a cup of tea solves everything.’

  The mug is hot, so hot I can barely hold it. I give the tea a blow, the steam causing fine perspiration to gather on my top lip. I look past Magda, out towards the kitchen window, the light bouncing back off the glass, giving me a shadowy glimpse of myself. I’m dressed in a flimsy white nightdress, my red hair wild and knotted. I have no recollection of changing into my pyjamas, no real recollection of the day if I’m honest. ‘I think the antidepressants are really knocking me for six,’ I tell Magda, taking a sip of the tea. It’s slightly bitter, not how I’d make it at all.

  ‘Everything okay?’ she asks, her eyes glued to the cup in my hand.

  I swallow down more liquid, feel it burn the back of my throat. ‘Fine, just a little more milk next time.’ I arch my back, my shoulders knotted with stress.

  She smiles. ‘Noted.’

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ I offer, feeling my eyes mist over once again. ‘I’m so sorry for what I said earlier. Everything is just so confusing right now.’

  She doesn’t reply, instead choosing to look at me over the rim of her mug, an action I find myself mirroring. It’s obvious that the dynamics between us have shifted. No longer is the conversation effortless, no longer do we just ‘fit’. Although accusing her of trying to steal my husband and child was bound to alter things, wasn’t it?

  ‘So…’ I hesitate, desperate to discuss the message stitched into the sleepsuit but not quite sure how to broach it. At least if we can take it to the police the mental health team may think twice about locking me up. ‘What do you think I should do about Annette and Ron?’

  Magda sighs but doesn’t offer a suggestion.

  ‘I knew she was never really pregnant, you know. Doesn’t even have a bump.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ She stares into her cup.

  I shake my head, unsure as to why she is asking such a question. ‘Because of the message on the sleepsuit! It was the same message I received in the cards. Don’t you see it was Annette and Ron all along?’ A moment of clarity washes over me
. Why did I never see it before? ‘Oh God! The tablets!’ I cover my mouth, fear sinking my stomach. ‘They must have mixed up my medication on purpose, placed me on really strong tablets, maybe even hallucinogens. No wonder I’m losing my mind! Shit, we need to call the police.’

  ‘Louisa, stop it!’ Magda races over to me, prising the half-drunk tea from my hands, presumably before I drop it. She bangs the mug down on the work surface before taking both of my hands in hers. ‘You need to calm down,’ she says, her voice catching in her throat. ‘Can’t you see that you’re ill? Can’t you see that you need help?’

  ‘No, no, you saw the message!’ I shake my head, tears streaming down my face of their own accord. ‘Please, Magda, if you don’t believe me then nobody’s going to.’

  I turn and try to run down the hallway and into the lounge but my legs suddenly feel as if they’ve been severed at the knee, like trying to run in a dream. Seeing the phone in its holster on the windowsill, I make a grab for it. It falls to the floor, and even though I’m desperate to pick it up, my fingers can’t seem to grab hold of it. I feel suddenly sick, exhaustion snaking up my spine, my muscles growing heavier and heavier until I’m sure I can’t possibly move. ‘I’m going to call the police,’ I mumble, hearing Magda behind me. ‘They need to know about Annette.’

  ‘Louisa, stop!’ She grabs hold of my wrist and drags me up, almost yanking my shoulder out of its socket. ‘Here, look!’ she says, the sleepsuit already in her hand. ‘Read it again!’

  My eyes have a hard time adjusting from the bright kitchen lights to the dimness of the lounge, my eyelids feeling as if they’re being dragged down by dumbbells. I squint at the embroidered stitch, its italic font tilted slightly to the left like the scrawled writing inside the card. ‘I don’t understand.’ The letters dance around in front of my eyes, just like they used to many years ago before I learned how to read. ‘I can’t understand it.’

  ‘I’ll read it then, shall I?’ she says after a moment. ‘I love Mummy and Daddy’. Her finger stabs at the stitch, the letters falling into place in front of my eyes.

  ‘No, I… it can’t say that.’ I realise I am stuttering, my words no longer forming the correct sounds.

  ‘It does, Louisa. It’s nothing at all like the Bible quote inside the card.’

  I stare at her, my eyes unblinking, a million memories clattering around inside my head almost at once.

  ‘What?’ Magda takes a step away from me, her eyes flitting everywhere but my face. ‘What’s the matter?’

  I can hardly speak, my voice nothing other than a collection of broken syllables. ‘The card,’ I manage to say, fear and disbelief mingling together as one. ‘I never…’

  ‘What?’ she shouts. ‘What is it?’

  A sudden calmness washes over me, almost like resignation at what is to come. ‘I never told you the card contained a Bible quote.’ I shake my head, finally realising who is behind everything. ‘It is you, isn’t it, Magda? It’s been you all along!’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Louisa

  Now

  ‘Louisa, please… you’ve got it all wrong.’ Magda takes several steps back until the window ledge stops her in her tracks.

  ‘I haven’t!’ I scream, spit flying out of my mouth, my brief moment of shock giving way to fury. ‘You’ve ruined everything! This was meant to be my time with my family.’

  She starts to cry, thick black mascara snaking down both sides of her face. ‘James told me about the quote,’ she says, each word stabbing at the air as a singular sound. ‘In the car today, he told me everything. That’s how I knew.’

  I shake my head, positive she’s lying. ‘The guilt’s written all over your face!’ I swallow down the lump of fear that has wedged itself in my throat.

  ‘No, Louisa, you’re ill. It’s all in your mind. Remember the sleepsuit. You imagined the writing, remember? It’s the tablets. You’re not thinking straight.’ She attempts to reach out her hand towards me, the silver charms on her bracelet catching against the glow from the fairy lights draped around the window. The refraction is like a needle of glass through the centre of my face. ‘Come on,’ I hear her say, as I rub at both eyes with the tips of my fingers. ‘I’m your friend.’

  ‘You’re not my friend. I saw you, before, outside with James.’ The memory cuts through my blurred vision; Magda leaning in to James, her tone soft, her touch light. She may be right about the sleepsuit, but I didn’t hallucinate everything; not the card, not the way she cosied up to James earlier today, or the way she was with him over Christmas dinner. ‘You’re trying to have me sectioned. You want my husband and baby. The card, it was for a boy. You were the only person who knew we were having a boy.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay. I told Annette you were having a boy too. Perhaps it is her after all.’

  I take a step backwards, the carpet under my bare feet draining away like quicksand. My head begins to spin, a surge of heat rolling up into my stomach. What is wrong with me? ‘I don’t feel well. I…’

  ‘You silly thing,’ she says, looking down at me. ‘What are you doing on the floor?’

  ‘I…’ My words fall away, thoughts and feelings all jumbled together. ‘I don’t feel well. I need an ambulance. Call me an ambulance.’

  ‘But you think I’m trying to steal your child. Why should I?’

  ‘Pardon?’ I don’t quite understand what she is saying, why she’s no longer crying, why a smile is snaking its way up into her cheekbones. I reach my arm up towards her, my fingers curling around hers.

  She pulls her hand away, her laugh slashing through the air like a set of nails scraping down a chalkboard. ‘Sleeping tablets will make you a little drowsy, sweetie. Although I must admit, I was a little concerned when you didn’t drink all of your tea.’

  ‘What?’ I fight to keep my eyes open. ‘What did you say?’

  She looks down at her watch and puckers her lips. ‘I said we’ll have a nice cup of tea, okay? Help is on its way. You’re just having a psychotic episode, that’s all. Try and stay calm.’

  A surge of adrenaline courses through me. ‘I’m not, I’m not crazy!’

  ‘Of course you’re not. I believe you.’

  I use my hands and feet to push myself up into a front crawl, falling several steps forward before finally managing to stand.

  ‘You can’t run, it’s over!’ Magda takes a swipe at me from behind, the tips of her fingers skimming the hem of my nightdress. I break free, a second shot of adrenaline carrying me through the hallway like a gust of wind.

  The kitchen is brightly lit, the fridge humming like an orchestra of crickets. Now what? I look over at the back door, the key now stuffed into the lock. I shake my head. It wasn’t there earlier, it wasn’t! Of course I could try to run, but then I’d be leaving Magda alone with Cory. Behind me, her footsteps gain ground, her charm bracelet rattling like tubular bells as she enters the kitchen. I see her through the window’s reflection as she approaches, her eyes blazing, her skin a sickly shade of white. ‘You need to let it go,’ she says quietly, taking another step forward, her breath so close it condenses on the nape of my neck. ‘You’ve lost your mind, it’s over!’

  I yank open the drawer underneath the sink before I even realise what I’m doing and grab hold of a steak knife, its steely blade catching against the overhead strip light. I swivel round, the tip a millimetre short of her abdomen. I watch as her pupils dilate until they are nothing but black, bottomless holes.

  She raises both hands to either side of her head but holds my stare, her eyes narrowing to slits. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Why?’ My voice rattles in my throat, my hand shaking so badly I’m certain the knife is going to slip out of my hand and clatter to the floor at any moment.

  She clenches her jaw, her bottom lip trembling. ‘Put down the knife, Louisa. Don’t make this any worse for yourself than it already is.’

  I apply pressure, the tip now pressed firmly into her skin. ‘I want
to know why you’re doing this to me?’

  ‘Because you don’t deserve him.’

  Her words don’t seem to fit the shape of her mouth, almost as if she’s trying to push a wooden cube out of a circular hole. ‘Say that again?’

  Her top lip folds up into her gum, her eyes momentarily flicking over to the window positioned behind me. ‘Say what? I haven’t said anything. Please, Louisa, stop this – you’re really scaring me.’ She looks just short of my eyeline once again, as if trying to beckon somebody over with her eyes.

  ‘What are you staring at? Who’s out there?’ My eyelids droop, the question emerging as a string of incoherent sounds.

  She smiles. ‘You don’t kill one baby and get another one, Louisa. That isn’t how life works.’

  ‘What?’ I blink, long and hard, her words melting away before I have a chance to process them. My vision narrows, blackness closing in all around me. ‘What did you say?’ I push the tip of the knife further into her stomach, her teeth clenching under the pressure.

  She swallows loudly. ‘I said you have to think of your baby.’

  ‘No, no, you didn’t.’ My words trip over one another, everything a mass of confusion. ‘You were talking about my baby, the first one, the one that died. But I never killed him, Aiden did. How do you even know about that?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Her lip and nose twitch in perfect symmetry. ‘What in heaven’s name are you talking about now? Just put the knife down!’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’ I push it further into her, the pressure mounting behind it, sure I’m about to puncture flesh. The memory of that night plays out all around me; the smell of algae burning my nostrils, my lungs collapsing under their own weight. ‘Don’t you dare make out like I’m hearing things! Don’t…’ My words finally give way to a barrage of tears, the voices inside my head reaching fever pitch.