A Mother’s Sacrifice. Gemma Metcalfe

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      ‘Exactly. So, Mrs Carter…’ He drapes his arms over my shoulders, criss-crossing them like the sleeves of a sweater. ‘Would you like me to bring the Moses basket downstairs so we can finally sit down to eat dinner, or how about I get the picnic basket from the boot and we have jam sandwiches and squash with Peter Rabbit and Tweety Bird on this fine summer’s day?’

      ‘It’s Jemima Puddle-Duck.’

      He laughs. ‘Obviously I knew that.’

      ‘Cooey. Anybody in?’ The distinct sound of my mother-in-law’s voice travels up the stairs, closely followed by the slamming of the front door.

      ‘Oh God.’ James rests his chin on the top of my head. ‘You absolutely have to be joking me.’

      ‘Well,’ I sigh. ‘Looks like Mr Tod’s just turned up and pissed all over the picnic.’

      ‘I cannot believe you didn’t call me the moment you got home!’ My mother-in-law, Tamzin, greets us at the bottom of the stairs, her white perm reminding me of a dandelion. ‘I wanted to come to the hospital the night he was born but your father was in no fit state to drive,’ she says to James. ‘Eight years I’ve waited for this grand-baby and he shows up pissed as a pickled fart! And then last night he had to play darts. Darts can you believe? Felt like throwing a bulls-eye right in his bastard eye!’

      ‘It was the final!’ A meek voice, belonging to my father-in-law, Doug, comes from somewhere behind Tamzin’s fluffy bouffant. ‘All right, James lad, all right, Lou.’

      ‘My God, he’s totally delicious. Give him here.’ Tamzin holds out her hands as if she’s about to catch a rugby ball.

      ‘Well, all right but…’ I tip my head over towards the lounge. ‘Let’s sit down first and then you can.’

      ‘Don’t be such a bloody fusspot,’ she titters, causing Cory to flinch in my arms. ‘I’ve had two of my own, don’t forget. They’re not made of bloody glass, you know? In fact, Doug rolled over on our David when he was a nipper. Probably pissed then an’ all, wasn’t you?’ She turns round and glares at him.

      I manage to safely herd both Tamzin and Doug into the lounge, despite already wanting to show them the door. It’s not that I dislike my in-laws; it’s just, well, to put it mildly, they are an absolute pain in the arse. ‘Why don’t you sit down with Cory and I’ll put the kettle on?’ I begin to furiously plump up a fluffy cushion on the end of the sofa, hopeful that Tamzin will sit down and allow me to place Cory safely into her arms.

      ‘Very well,’ she says, for once doing as she’s told. ‘Ahh, isn’t he cute?’ She takes hold of him gently which is a relief, her eyes crinkling up behind her spectacles as she places him in the crook of her arm. ‘Although I must admit I’ve seen better.’

      ‘Mother!’ James throws her a look.

      ‘Oh, I’m only joking. Take a bloody chill pill. Isn’t that what you kids say nowadays?’

      ‘What would you like to drink, Tamzin – tea, coffee?’ I always find that where my mother-in-law is concerned, it’s best to change the subject as quickly as possible.

      ‘No, none of that rubbish for me. Do us a whiskey, will you, love? My son’s not firing blanks after all. That’s cause for celebration!’

      With that said, I quickly retreat from the lounge – the wolf’s claws scraping against the drainpipe as he scurries up the chimney.

      Half an hour later, James brings in a second pot of tea along with a third whiskey on the rocks for Tamzin. Cory is now safely in my arms, Tamzin’s ‘infatuation’ having lasted all of five minutes.

      ‘So then…’ Doug clasps his hands together and raises his eyes up into his head as if thinking of something to say. ‘He’s a little cracker all right.’ He takes a slurp of his tea and smacks his bulbous lips firmly together. ‘God, it’s nice to finally be able to have a cuppa, I tell you.’ He is still dressed in his paint-splattered overalls and I can almost picture him stepping through the door and instantly being frogmarched here.

      ‘You’re right, he is a cracker. Just like his daddy.’ I smile over at James but he doesn’t return the gesture. ‘You all right?’ I ask him, unsure what’s changed.

      ‘I’m fine, Lou, couldn’t be better.’ He drains the last of his drink.

      I avert my gaze from him, looking down at Cory whose face is relaxed in sleep. I knead his little hand between my fingers like dough, listening to the sound of the wind as it blows against the windowpane, the drip-dripping of the kitchen tap. I’m home, we’re safe. James is just tired, that’s all. There’s nothing to worry about.

      ‘Shame about the carrot top though.’ Tamzin cleaves the silence in two. ‘You’d have thought with James’s dark skin and hair this poor sod might have stood a chance.’

      ‘Tamz, enough!’ Doug shoots her a warning from his position on the armchair.

      ‘Well… I’m just stating the bleedin’ obvious,’ she barks, before taking a large glug of her whiskey. The ice clinks against her teeth, her calling card for a top-up. When nobody jumps to her tune, she bangs the glass down on the coffee table, causing Cory to flinch.

      ‘Shh, baby, it’s okay, you’re all right.’ Glaring over at Tamzin, I grimace at the hot-pink lipstick that stains the rim of her glass. ‘We really need an early night,’ I try.

      ‘Ginger kids get bullied, that’s all I’m saying,’ she continues, like I haven’t spoken.

      My face flushes with heat. I twist my hair around my fingers, discreetly pulling out a strand by its root; a coping mechanism, I suppose, something I always do when I’m anxious. Not that I am anxious, just tired… hormones probably.

      ‘Probably why madam here pulls all hers out!’ Tamzin tips her manicured thumb over in my direction, her top lip twitching with amusement. ‘That’s right, I can see you. You’ll be bald as a badger if you carry on.’

      ‘Jesus, son,’ says Doug through a cough. ‘Did you give your mother the whole bloody bottle? She’s hammered!’

      Awkwardness clings to the air, which isn’t unusual when Tamzin and Doug visit.

      ‘Well, I happen to love redheads,’ says James, his eyes resting on mine. ‘They are my favourite kind of people.’

      I smile, relief flooding through me that he appears to be acting normally again, or perhaps there never was anything wrong with him in the first place. Maybe I only imagined there was. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Paranoia is my thing after all. Well, it used to be my thing. Before Cory came along of course. ‘Thanks, sweetie. Love you too.’

      Tamzin sucks her teeth. ‘So what have they said then?’ She lowers her spectacles down onto the bridge of her nose. ‘Are you likely to go a bit loopy given your history?’

      ‘Mum!’ James shoots her a look. ‘Stop being rude.’

      I stiffen, humiliation giving way to anger. ‘Yes, they will keep an eye on me because of my history. But having a history of depression doesn’t mean I’m necessarily going to suffer with postnatal СКАЧАТЬ