Louisa
Now
‘Louisa! Twice in one day? I must have been a saint in a past life.’
I look over to where Magda stands at the open door of a greasy spoon café, her hair swept up into a fluorescent pink bobble hat.
‘What are you even doing in there?’ I ask, grimacing as I read the misspelled writing on a standup chalkboard out front, advertising two of ‘Mama’s specals’ for a fiver.
Mama’s cafeteria has been operating for as long as I’ve lived in Chester. It’s situated on a main road a few hundred metres from where we live. I can’t say it’s a place I’ve ever fancied visiting, the infamous ‘Mama’ known around Chester for her doorstop sausage butties and tattooed knuckles. I’m surprised to see Magda here, if I’m honest, not only because of the café’s reputation but because she lives a mile or so in the opposite direction.
‘Oh, just fancied a cuppa before heading home,’ she says, offering up a smile.
‘Here?’ I roll my eyes over the exterior of the café, the sign above the doorway both faded and chipped.
‘Well, actually…’ She pauses to take a breath. ‘Truth be told, I’m not relishing the thought of going home to Helen. She’s really not good at the moment and I’m finding it all a bit much. I suppose when I bumped into you at the doctor’s I came here in the hope you’d walk past.’ She pulls a face, sort of apologetic but it’s difficult to tell.
‘I see. Sorry to hear about Helen.’ Awkwardness rests in the air between us. I feel torn, a part of me wanting to stay with Magda, especially given her plight, but an even bigger part of me desperate to get home. ‘Do you want to come back to ours?’ I ask eventually.
She shakes her head, perhaps picking up on my reluctance. ‘No, I don’t want to burden you, Louisa, especially not with your cold. I was selfish to expect.’
James nudges me in the side. ‘Why don’t you stay here and have a coffee with Mags? I’ll get the little man home.’
I turn to face James, trying and failing to keep my tone light. ‘I’d love to, but you’re on call, remember? You might have to rush out.’ Please don’t make me go into Mama’s, James. I’ll get E. coli. I’ll die. Really I will.
He smiles, either completely oblivious to my attempts at telepathy or choosing to ignore them. ‘It’s five minutes’ walk away. If I do get called in I’ll ring you to come back. Go on, have a natter with your friend. It might be just what the doctor ordered.’
My heart sinks. If only that’s what the doctor had ordered.
‘There’s a cup of coffee and a mince pie with your name on it if you do,’ says Magda, her voice small.
‘I, erm…’
‘Please?’ She sticks out her bottom lip. ‘For me?’
I sigh. ‘All right, just a quick one though.’ I turn to James, my voice harder than a moment ago. ‘You go on ahead. I’ll keep Cory with me. Might as well allow him to stay in the pram while he’s sleeping.’
‘Right you are.’ James plants a kiss on top of my head before practically running down the road, no doubt to a fresh Nespresso and a hot shower, the lucky bastard!
‘Thanks, Louisa,’ says Magda, already making her way back inside. ‘You’re an angel.’
The café looks even worse on the inside than it does on the outside. Tacky Christmas decorations hang down from the ceiling, all shiny gold and bright red, which would be much better suited to an Eighties sitcom. It’s relatively busy though; a mismatch of people all huddled around wonky-looking tables, varying sized mugs of coffee and tea clasped between their frostbitten hands. The distinct waft of burnt bacon tickles my nostrils, a serving hatch behind the counter seeming to be its source.
Magda gestures for me to sit down, her half-drunk coffee coated in a thick layer of skin. ‘It’s not the best but at least it’s warm,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘And old Mama’s cabbage soup will definitely put hairs on your chest. You want a bowl?’
I cover my mouth with my hand, tasting what can only be described as puke in the back of my throat, which I’m sure is still preferable to Mama’s cabbage soup. ‘No thanks, Mags, just a coffee will do, thank you.’
‘I’ll just go and order it then. Won’t be a tick.’
I watch her as she makes her way over to the counter, a spring in her step despite her tricky home situation. Mags has always been the same; chirpy in the face of heartbreak, always putting others before herself. Things must be tough for her too, I think. After all, Helen’s son was her nephew, and with no children of her own…
My mind drifts off to the first time we met, fourteen or fifteen months ago now.
James and I were sitting in SureLife’s cafeteria, which was as plush as the rest of the establishment, from the Italian-inspired delicacies, neatly exhibited in a gleaming glass display counter, to the granite worktop and exposed brick walls. A far cry from Mama’s café, I can tell you. I placed the toasted panini back on the plate and pushed it away, the herb-encrusted bread sticking to the roof of my mouth. Everything was about to change and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about it all.
‘Not hungry?’ James eyed me up over the rim of his cappuccino, a newspaper folded out on its centre page in front of him. He wasn’t reading it, that much was obvious.
A rich aroma of roasted coffee beans filled the air, accompanied by hushed chatter of expectancy and hope. ‘I just feel a bit queasy,’ I replied, the pulp from my ‘fertility boost’ smoothie congealing on my tongue.
James placed his cappuccino back in its saucer and looked at me. ‘Is something on your mind?’
I raked my hand through my hair, the feel of it dry and brittle between my fingers. ‘Just nervous.’
‘It’s not too late to change your mind.’
It wasn’t lost on me how he said ‘your’ instead of ‘our’, thus detaching himself from the situation. Since Doctor Hughes had mentioned the notion of a sperm donor, James had swiftly altered his position from an anxious, albeit keen, participant, to a detached spectator. It upset me, of course, but what was I to do? The sperm donor was the only thing on the table and I was determined to grab it with both hands.
Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, which hung over an original chesterfield in the corner of the room, I was startled. My once sleek red hair hung lifelessly down my back, my cheekbones protruding out of my gaunt face. The last three years had taken their toll on me, from the endless cycles of hope and heartbreak, to the darkest depths of shattered dreams and unanswered prayers. As I sat in the cafeteria, surrounded by the clattering of cutlery and the whispered promises of broken-hearted couples, I felt my womb stir with anticipation. Soon, I would be a mother. The donor, a two-dimensional stranger with no name, was about to offer me the missing jigsaw piece to my puzzle. He was about to make me whole. I shook my head at James. ‘I won’t be changing my mind.’
‘Well, this sperm guy better not be ugly.’ He tried out a laugh. ‘Or a weirdo.’
We knew little about the donor, the hospital keeping his identity strictly confidential. All we knew was that he was a young man in his late twenties, a university graduate with auburn hair. I thought it was best we choose somebody with similar physical features to myself so we knew what ‘we were getting’ so to speak. At least that’s what I kept on telling myself.
‘Excuse me? I hope you don’t mind me butting in.’ I was vaguely aware that somebody had nestled themselves between our stools, a psychedelic mass of colour hovering in my peripheral vision. I turned my head, trailing my eyes upwards until they rested on the face of a lady, her eyes kind and her hair the colour of a Palma Violet. ‘I’m Magda.’ She smiled, her straight teeth a shade off white. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She held out a dainty hand, her manicured nails painted a luminous orange.
‘Louisa, nice to meet you.’ I felt grubby as I held out my own hand, my nails bitten down to the skin. ‘And this is James.’ I felt strangely awkward introducing James, in the whole situation to be truthful. It wasn’t normal, not least in my world, for random strangers to strike up conversations, especially not in fertility clinic cafeterias.
‘I’ve seen you both around,’ she continued, fixing her gaze on James. ‘Who’s your doctor?’
‘Doctor Hughes,’ I answered. ‘The owner.’
‘Mine too,’ she gushed, reaching out to take my hand in hers. ‘How long have you been with him? Isn’t he wonderful? Well, I hope you don’t mind me saying,’ she continued, not giving me a chance to answer either of her questions, ‘but I overheard you mention a sperm donor.’ She mouthed the words, as if revealing something top secret. ‘Me too.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed James stiffen. I pulled my hand away, not comfortable with her overfamiliarity. ‘Oh, well, we’re just contemplating it at the moment. Nothing is set in stone.’
‘Well, anyway…’ she continued with a flick of her hand. ‘I have no choice but to use one. Not interested in men very much. Not that I bat for the other team, mind,’ she laughed, nudging James in the ribs. ‘Has Doctor Hughes mentioned the support group to you? Only I haven’t seen you there.’
I picked up my smoothie off the table, despite its being empty, and began to fiddle around with the straw. ‘He has mentioned it but I don’t think…’
‘Nonsense,’ she said, interrupting me. ‘You should come. You both need support at a time like this.’
‘Well, I don’t…’
‘We’d love to,’ said James, which shocked me to say the least. ‘Let us know when it’s on and we’ll be there.’
Suddenly, a shriek pierced the air followed by heavy footsteps on the narrow corridor that joined the cafeteria to the consolation rooms. I swivelled round and looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows which lined the front of the cafeteria, seeing a woman fly past, tears streaming down her face. A man, who I assumed to be her husband, gave chase, his suit several sizes too large for him and his face crumpling in on itself as he pleaded for her to come back.
‘Oh dear,’ said Magda. ‘That’s Annette and Ron. Been trying for a baby for over ten years, they have. Five failed IVF attempts under their belt but she was finally successful on the sixth a few months ago.’ She looked directly at me, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘Do you think she’s had a miscarriage?’
‘Lou, I’m awfully sorry.’ Magda appears back by my side, her voice pulling me away from my thoughts. ‘I thought I had another few quid on me but I don’t. You’ll have to go and pay.’ She looks down at her feet, her cheeks reddening. ‘I can’t believe I pestered you to come for a coffee and now I’m making you pay.’
I shrug, already reaching under the pram to retrieve my purse. ‘It’s fine, don’t fret.’ I stand up, catching a glimpse of Magda’s coffee, the skin now peeling back and reminding me of a mud mask. ‘I’ll get you another while I’m at it, shall I?’
She nods. ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all. You watch Cory. I won’t be a tick.’
I make my way over to the counter where a burly woman with hairy arms and a nose ring guards my unpaid-for cup of coffee, her tattooed knuckles positioned through the handle. I swallow loudly, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this is the notorious ‘Mama’.
‘Can I get another one of those?’ I ask, holding up my purse like I’m about to participate in some sort of dodgy drug deal. ‘I have money.’
‘No sweat,’ she replies, her voice so deep I wonder if she ought to change her name.
‘Oh, Louisa, fancy seeing you here?’ I blanch at the distinct sound of Annette’s voice, which comes from behind me. Can today actually get any worse?
I turn around. ‘Hey, Annette, how are you?’
`Fine. Just nipped in for a few mince pies and a custard slice for Ron. Bettabuys have run out.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Bettabuys? I thought you always said Bettabuys was for poor people.’
She stiffens. ‘Yes, well, Ant and Dec did the advert for them this year and I quite like them.’
I laugh. ‘You must have a fetish for small people.’
She frowns. ‘Don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, right…’ I offer, wondering why the hell she is even here. Surely a woman who shuns Bettabuys wouldn’t be seen dead eating Mama’s delicacies?
‘Ah, look, Magda’s here too.’ She waves over at Magda but I fail to catch her response.
‘I’m just buying coffee. Do you want one?’ I ask Annette, out of common decency as opposed to actually wanting to spend any time with her.
‘If you insist.’ She pulls out her mobile phone and proceeds to tap away on the touchscreen, angling the phone away from me. ‘I’ll just let Ron know I’ll be another twenty minutes. He’s just called actually,’ she continues. ‘Said you were in the pharmacy earlier.’
I feel my cheeks flush. ‘Yes, I, erm… Well, it’s difficult to explain.’
‘Well, actually he was acting very strangely. Talking about pickled eggs or something.’ She shakes her head. ‘You can carry three cups over, can’t you? My legs are dying for a rest.’ She takes off before I even have a chance to answer.
‘Here, three cups of steaming hot coffee, with Mama’s secret recipe.’ A few moments later, I arrive back at the table where Magda and Annette are now both sitting. I struggle to put the mugs down on the table, which I notice has dried egg yolk hardening on its surface.
‘Yeah, she’s a star is Mama,’ says Annette, taking one of the chipped mugs and wrapping both hands around it. ‘We went to school together actually, were best friends once upon a time.’
I shake my head, confused as to the absurdity of the day. If I wasn’t mental when it began I’m sure as shit going to be by the time it ends.
‘Actually, Lou…’ Magda hesitates, flicking her eyes briefly over to Annette. ‘I think I best go. The girl from the pharmacy just rang while you two were waiting for the coffees. Apparently Helen’s been loitering around outside.’
‘Dawn rang you?’ asks Annette, her tone brusque. ‘She shouldn’t be calling you, especially not while working.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ says Magda quickly. ‘I know her, we attend yoga together.’
‘Well, even so. Having said that, I’m not surprised your sister’s hankering for those meds, Magda. Strong stuff she’s on, used only in extreme cases of depression but highly addictive.’
Magda looks down into her coffee cup. ‘I know. But unfortunately her case is extreme.’ She wipes at her eyes as if tears may be forming. ‘Look, I think Ron might have asked Dawn to call me. She seemed a little vague about it all, just said I should maybe head home.’
‘Ron wouldn’t have told her to do that, he doesn’t even know your sister.’
‘Well, I don’t know then. But don’t say anything to him, Net. Dawn was only doing what she thought best. Helen’s been so poorly lately. I’m so worried about her, she just cries all the time.’
‘Well, Christmas Day’s going to be a barrel of laughs then, isn’t it?’ says Annette, causing Magda’s eyes to well up further. ‘Fine, I’ll not mention it,’ she continues after a moment’s pause. ‘But that Dawn’s one cat-cow stretch away from the job centre as it is. My poor Ron doesn’t know where to put his eyes half the time, the poor lamb.’
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
‘Louisa, I really am painfully sorry.’ Magda places her hand over her heart. ‘But I’ll see you on Christmas Day and we’ll have a proper catch-up then.’
‘No problem. I hope Helen will be well enough to come. We’re really looking forward to meeting her.’ I glare at Annette in the hope she’ll realise her earlier sarcastic comment was uncalled for.
‘I think that one’s got a fella, you know,’ says Annette as Magda leaves the café.
‘How come?’
She taps the side of her head. ‘Just sense it. Always rushing off, wearing lots of perfume. Unless it’s another woman she’s got. Always thought she could be a vagina diner, if you get my drift.’
I blanch, appalled by her turn of phrase. Especially since she’s supposed to be a God-fearing Christian. ‘I, erm… are you sorted for Christmas?’ I ask, changing the subject.
‘Yes, are you?’
‘Yes.’
An awkward silence hangs between us, neither Annette nor I comfortable in each other’s presence without Magda.
I look around at my surroundings by way of distraction, Mama now back behind her serving hatch, seemingly beating the living shit out of a slab of meat with her bare hands. In the far corner, a young mother tries and fails to shove a spoonful of beans into her toddler’s mouth, all the while attempting to wind a baby draped over her knees like a serviette.
‘Ron told me. About the antidepressants.’
Feeling my insides tighten, I open my mouth to protest. He has no right discussing my business and she knows it. ‘He shouldn’t…’
She holds up her hand, silencing me before my reproach is even properly formed. ‘I would have seen the prescription anyway when I cashed up so you can save your dramatics.’
I sink down into my chair, not wanting to discuss anything with Annette but feeling like I have no choice. ‘The doctor thinks I’m suffering with postnatal depression,’ I mutter. ‘But I’m not.’
She tilts her head to the side. ‘Continue.’
‘Well, it’s difficult to explain.’ I rummage around inside my head for the right words. Do I tell Annette about Cory’s donor or not? James certainly wouldn’t be happy if Ron found out. In the end I decide I have to, knowing only that there have been enough secrets and lies to last a lifetime. ‘James isn’t Cory’s dad,’ I whisper. ‘We used a sperm donor.’
Annette raises her eyebrows but doesn’t look altogether surprised.
‘You already knew?’ I ask her, annoyed.
She pauses. ‘No, I didn’t. But it doesn’t come as a surprise; after all, James and Cory look nothing alike and I always doubted you’d use SureLife for routine IUI.’ She takes a sip of coffee, grimaces as it slides down her throat. ‘But what I don’t understand is the connection to postnatal depression?’
I explain everything to her, right down to the matching cards and James’s insistence that I must have hallucinated the message inside the second card. ‘So you can understand why the doctor might think I’m crazy but I’m telling you somebody is playing mind games. Perhaps the donor or somebody else, I don’t know.’
Annette purses her lips but doesn’t speak, her eyes resting on mine for what seems like for ever.
‘Annette, do you think I’m crazy?’ I don’t know why I ask, but all of a sudden I’m unsure of myself.
She shrugs. ‘What I think doesn’t really matter. I’ll tell you what though, Louisa – either young Cory has soiled himself or Mama is frying one of her legendary beef steaks. What’s saying you go and change him while I buy us a mince pie? Then we can decide the best course of action.’
I sniff up, not really smelling anything apart from damp bodies and fried onions. ‘He could just have a touch of wind but best I change him anyway.’ I reach down into the underbelly of the pram, ready to grab the matching shoulder bag which contains all of his changing gear.
‘If I were you I’d just take the nappy and wipes out. The toilets here are tiny and I wouldn’t fancy putting that beautiful cream bag down on Mama’s toilet floor. She might be a good friend but she was never partial to cleaning, bless her heart.’
‘No, you have a point,’ I say, still somewhat astounded that Annette and Mama are friends. I guess we’re all full of surprises.
Taking Annette’s advice, I stuff my hand into the bag, rummaging around for a clean nappy and the pack of baby wipes. My fingers skim the paper bag containing the antidepressants, the feel of them causing a fresh wave of anxiety to flutter through me. ‘Right, I won’t be a moment.’ I position the nappy and wipes under my arm before picking up Cory. ‘I’m so sorry, baby,’ I whisper to him when he stirs in my arms. ‘We’ll be home soon, I promise.’
I change Cory the best I can, Annette’s description of Mama’s toilet spot on. He’d only weed, which is a relief, although it certainly says something about Mama’s cooking that Annette mistook it for faecal matter.
Finally, after what seems like an age, I push open the toilet door and make my way back into the café, the place now deserted bar an elderly man who scoops sloppy porridge into his mouth, some of it missing and landing in his beard.
I look over at the pram, still positioned where I left it. Three mugs of coffee litter the table beside it, neither of them drunk beyond a sip. All three chairs are now empty.
Annette has gone.