A Mother’s Sacrifice. Gemma Metcalfe

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СКАЧАТЬ harsh, but I’m not sure they really liked me anyway. Another time I attempted to work at the meat counter in Morrisons but soon became convinced I’d developed mad cow disease. In the end James said it was probably best I stayed at home, that we’d start trying for a family instead so I wouldn’t get bored. Of course that didn’t go according to plan and I was left in limbo, wondering just how my fairy tale had been sabotaged by the Brothers Grimm.

      ‘Finally!’ James turns to face me, a grin spreading from ear to ear. ‘Don’t know what all the fuss was about!’

      ‘Hurry up now then, before he catches hypothermia.’ Rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet, I watch as James carefully lifts Cory out of the car, seemingly less afraid of breaking him than he was a few days ago.

      They look nothing like each other. James is all bulk and olive skin whereas Cory is dainty and fair like myself. I turn away from them, take a quick glance up and down the street, somewhat edgy despite having reassured myself over and over that the message inside the card the other day didn’t mean what I initially thought it did. And anyway, it’s now safely in a hospital bin several miles away, hopefully buried underneath sloppy veg and trashy celebrity magazines. I have to forget about the card. I have to forget about everything which has gone before just like I always promised myself I would. I made the right decision nine months ago, I absolutely did.

      We live in a modest semi-detached house in Chester, with spectacular views over the River Dee and the meadows which lie beyond. Tonight is miserable though, with threatening clouds, the colour of a fresh bruise, hanging low overhead. Thanks to a diversion on a busy main road north of the river, cars are nose to nose on our normally idyllic country lane, their exhausts exhaling toxic breath as their engines slowly purr. ‘Hurry inside with him,’ I say to James, already making my way down the driveway. ‘He’s going to end up with radiation poisoning or something.’

      ‘Hypothermia, radiation… You’re losing it, love.’

      ‘Why do you say that?’ I shoot him a look over my shoulder.

      ‘Sorry, just a saying, you know.’

      I catch hold of myself, knowing deep down that James didn’t mean any harm. ‘Yeah, of course, sorry.’

      I fiddle around with the key, trying and failing to find the front-door lock. Eventually I have to resort to using the back light on my mobile phone, exhaling a sigh of relief when the key finally gives way. ‘Home sweet home,’ I declare, pushing the door wide open. I feel a little stupid saying it, the overused saying having never been part of my vocabulary before. But I always imagined I’d say such a thing when dreaming of this particular moment… and it feels good to breath life into it, really it does.

      The first thing I notice as I switch on the hall light is a pile of cards on the mat; a splayed-out montage of pastel yellow and soft creams. A wave of fear washes over me.

      ‘Let’s get this little man settled into his Moses basket and then I’ll go and get the bags from the boot.’ James’s voice comes from behind me, making me jump. ‘Relax, Lou,’ he says, placing his hand on my forearm. ‘Why are you so uptight?’

      ‘I’m not, I’m fine.’ I step inside and push myself up against the hallway wall, allowing James to pass. Cory is glued to his chest, his white puffed-up romper suit making him look like an inflated snowman. ‘You put little Jack Frost here down for a nap and then maybe you can get the stuff from the boot while I put the kettle on.’

      ‘I’ve just said that, Lou.’

      ‘Said what?’

      ‘That I’d get the stuff from the boot. You sure you’re all right?’

      I pause. ‘Of course, must be baby brain.’

      ‘That’s okay then.’ He turns round and eyes me up for a fraction longer than is comfortable, the flecked green in his hazel eyes dancing under the hallway light. ‘I’ll bring everything in,’ he says. ‘You put the kettle on, then perhaps we can open them cards?’

      An hour later, I sing Cory to sleep as the white, wooden rocking chair gently rocks back and forth beneath us. On one side of the nursery, Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddle-Duck fly kites into a pale-blue sky, their feet balancing on the top of minty-green hills. On the wall opposite, the words ‘Once Upon a Time…’ signify the beginning of our Happily Ever After. It really does feel like a fairy tale; the beautiful nursery, the doting husband, the scrumptious little newborn who snores softly in my arms.

      Thankfully, the cards on the mat all turned out to be from familiar well-wishers, and for a moment that made everything all right. But then the doubt crept back in, and the message inside that card started to play on a loop over and over until suddenly the Big Bad Wolf was knocking on the door and it took all of my strength not to let him in.

      The night is now as black as tar, transforming the bay window into a colourless mirror. My heart soars as I study mine and Cory’s reflections in the glass, a mother nursing her son, his tummy full and his bottle drained. I feel a stab of guilt that I haven’t been able to breastfeed him, especially given the nutritional benefits. I wanted to, really I did. But how could I ever be sure he was full? And what if I got ill and passed it on to him somehow? James accused me of panicking when I presented my typed-up list of pros and cons. He said breastfeeding was the most natural thing in the world. ‘That’s what they’re made for, Lou,’ he laughed, a grin creeping onto his face. ‘Among other things obviously.’ I did think about what he said. I flitted backwards and forwards for months, joining support groups on the Internet and painstakingly trawling through the self-help guides where the illustrations always depicted women with smiley faces and nipples which could cut glass. But in the end I decided bottle-feeding was the safer option. After all, you can never be too careful where infant starvation is concerned.

      ‘Hey, I thought you were coming downstairs after he’d fallen asleep?’ James appears at the open door, his hair shower-wet, causing it to curl up at the ends. He smells of hot soap, his naked chest revealing toned abs which I’d almost forgotten existed. I didn’t allow sex during pregnancy, was terrified he’d unintentionally puncture the baby’s head. They do say a baby’s skull is the last thing to form, don’t they?

      ‘Well, here’s the problem.’ I bite the inside of my cheek, hope he’ll figure out what I’m trying to say and save me from actually saying it.

      ‘What, Lou?’ He leans against the door frame. ‘Go on, out with it.’

      ‘I’ve been doing some research.’

      He tries to suppress a grin but it’s too late; I catch it as it turns up the corner of his top lip. ‘And what research is that, may I ask?’

      ‘Well… we all know babies are meant to sleep in their parents’ room for the first six months. But, some experts actually advise you to have your sleeping baby by your side at all times.’

      ‘I see.’ James raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘Even if said baby has a ridiculously expensive CCTV camera wired into his nursery which his mother absolutely had to have?’

      ‘Not even.’ I fold over my bottom lip. ‘And besides, he might miss us.’

      James enters the room and walks around to the back of the rocking chair, positioning himself just behind me. His breath is hot and slippery in my ear as he leans over me. ‘I think we might miss him too.’

      I glance back at him. ‘So you agree?’

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