A Mother’s Sacrifice. Gemma Metcalfe

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СКАЧАТЬ time. But I refuse to turn back around.

      Sometimes it’s best not to look.

       ‘I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him.’ 1 Samuel 1: 27

      I watch her from afar as she potters around in the brightly lit kitchen, dusting away crumbs from the work surface and straightening the tins in the overhead cupboard so the labels are facing outward. Her arse is stuffed into a pair of denim jeans, the waistband pulled up to her navel. It’s hard to believe by looking at her that she was ever pregnant; that something so precious dwelt inside of her for so long. The baby is stuck to her chest like a magnet, her hand resting underneath his bottom. She flicks on the kettle and spins round to grab two mugs off the draining board. This gives me the perfect vantage point from which to assess her. Studying her facial expressions, while she thinks nobody is watching, is the only way to accurately validate her mental state. It is crucial that I correctly diagnose her at this early stage. I have of course seen her expressions countless times before; have witnessed the whole spectrum of emotions flash across her face; from the dizzying heights of happiness to the darkest depths of despair.

       Louisa is no stranger to me…

      She doesn’t see me watching her, as she completely disregards her tea-making session a mere five seconds into it, perhaps realising that to pour boiling water into two mugs while holding a baby is a recipe for disaster. Of course she could have placed him down, or asked for help, but I doubt the thought even entered her pretty little head. He is ‘her’ child after all, and nobody is easily going to come between them. That isn’t a great concern to me though. I enjoy a challenge.

      The little hospital ‘gift’ has most certainly had the desired effect. She is trying to disregard it, to place it at the back of her brain while telling herself there is a logical explanation. I know that is what she’ll be doing… because, as I previously mentioned, I know Louisa very well indeed. Unfortunately for her though, any attempt at logical thinking soon becomes drenched in anxiety until it is extinguished, her sanity reduced to flaky ashes which can be blown away in a puff.

      The baby is exquisite though, all pale skin and red hair.

      Yes, I prayed for a child just like him… and God has most certainly granted me my desire.

CHAPTER FIVE

      Louisa

      Now

      ‘Hey, Lou, look, I think he might be smiling.’

      I place my Kindle down on the nightstand, having not read a single word, and look over to where James is lying, Cory propped up on his thighs wearing nothing but a nappy and a smile. He’s now two weeks old and changing by the day. ‘Well, it does says in the book that babies properly smile around six weeks old; until then it’s most probably wind.’

      ‘Balls to the book. You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you, son?’ James sticks out his tongue and widens his eyes at Cory who wriggles around in response, his eyes transfixed on his daddy’s face as if it’s the most amazing thing he has ever seen.

      ‘He does pull that face a lot though, normally before taking a dump.’ I hold in a laugh, knowing that any talk of nappies sends James into a frenzy.

      ‘Oh God no.’ He covers his mouth with his hand as if he’s about to heave. ‘I’m still recovering from that one last week. Seriously it was horrific, right up his back like a lamb korma.’

      I laugh. ‘You’ve told me a million times. It can’t have been that bad?’

      In actual fact I had panicked when James had explained the colour and texture to me. I waited until he went shopping before calling the GP’s surgery, the snotty receptionist informing me that unless it was white there was no cause for concern. I wanted to ask her where she’d got her practitioner’s licence from but didn’t because the surgery is only on the doorstep, meaning it’s conveniently placed in case of emergency.

      It’s now mid-December, meaning the temperature has plummeted into the minuses. We have central heating throughout the house but I still worry about Cory getting cold. ‘Pass him over now. I need to change him into his sleepsuit.’

      James scoops him up and passes him over to me, always careful to keep his head and neck supported. ‘I need to go to sleep now anyway, I’ve got an early start.’

      James went back to work today after two weeks’ paternity leave from his job as an anaesthetist at the local hospital. ‘I haven’t even had a chance to ask you how your first day back went,’ I say, feeling a stab of guilt. ‘How was it?’ I place Cory down onto the duvet and lay out his yellow sleepsuit to the side of him, ready to dress him.

      ‘So so,’ says James through a yawn. ‘We had a girl come in virtually at death’s door this morning. Tried to give herself an abortion by all accounts. It wasn’t pretty.’

      I glance over at him, my heart suddenly racing. ‘Did she survive?’

      James sighs. ‘She did, yeah, thankfully. Makes you wonder though, doesn’t it? Why in this day and age people feel the need to go to such lengths.’

      I shrug, quickly averting my gaze. ‘Anyway, best you get some sleep. Like you say, you’ve got an early start.’ I place Cory on top of the laid-out sleepsuit and proceed to bend his arms into the openings. I try my best to ignore the slight shake of my hand, telling myself it’s been a long day and I’m in desperate need of sleep.

      Half an hour later, I lie on top of the covers, hearing James’s gentle snores, which are somehow comforting rather than annoying. My mind clogs up with one thought after another, none of them completely whole. Eventually I begin to feel my muscles grow heavy and somewhere deep inside of me fear takes hold, almost as if my body knows what my subconscious is planning. My eyelids fall, a little at first… then all at once.

      His fingertips brush the inside of my thigh. ‘Close your eyes,’ he whispers, his touch slightly ticklish like the static from a balloon.

      My bare legs are raised and wide apart. I am without underwear and cold seeps into my nakedness, the hem of a garment I am not familiar with skimming my knees. ‘This won’t hurt,’ he promises, just as something sharp slides inside of me, my teeth clamping together in protest.

      ‘Stop, it hurts. Please.’ I try to shuffle away but there is no escape. I am locked in.

       A baby’s cry splices through the silence, yanking me forward. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ I say, guilt clawing at my chest. ‘It isn’t right.’

       ‘Shhh,’ he says, the sensation between my legs a spiked cocktail of pleasure and pain. ‘I’m nearly finished.’

      ‘Lou, I’m at work tomorrow. Will you see to him, please?’

      I wake with a gasp, the nightmare evaporating into cold sweat which lathers my chest. Cory’s cry fills the bedroom. ‘Okay, baby,’ I say, my voice thick with sleep. ‘I’m coming.’

      ‘I was just dropping off then.’ James’s voice is clipped. ‘Does he ever sleep?’

      ‘It would appear not.’ I sit up and peer out into the darkness, СКАЧАТЬ