Louisa
Now
‘And what has Father Christmas got for Mummy then?’
James appears at the living-room door, Cory in his arms wearing a Santa Babygro several sizes too large.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done to our baby?’ I can’t help but laugh, the red and white felt hat balancing on Cory’s ears causing them to stick out. ‘He’s not wearing that all day; he looks like nobody owns him.’
‘What do you think then, Father Cory? Has Mummy been a good girl?’ James grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘She certainly was last night.’
‘Stop talking vulgar, he’s very intuitive you know.’ I look over to where a small, neatly wrapped present is propped up on Cory’s belly, hiding what looks like the markings of a black and gold belt. ‘Is that present for me, baby boy?’ My voice holds a certain sing-song quality which always seems to be present when talking to him, even though it’s never intentional. ‘I can’t wait to open it.’
‘So you like the outfit?’ James sits down on the sofa beside me, repositioning Cory into the crook of his arm.
‘I love it. It’s good quality too. Where did you buy it?’
‘EBay… but before you start panicking, it was new with tags.’
‘I wasn’t going to panic,’ I say, a grin lying in wait. ‘Even if it was secondhand I wouldn’t have minded.’
‘Lou?’ James raises his eyebrows.
‘Well, okay, maybe I would have minded a little bit. Well, actually, a lot. Please tell me it was definitely new with tags?’
‘Scout’s honour. Merry Christmas, sweetheart, and happy birthday.’ James leans in and kisses me on the cheek. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’
I shrug, still not completely happy with being forced to take antidepressants, especially since I’ve not stopped itching for the past few days, not to mention the headaches which could shatter glass. ‘I think Ron was lying about them meds though,’ I admit to James, feeling myself getting teary even though I was fine just a second ago. ‘Fluoxetine’s strong stuff. Two days I’ve been taking them and I’m constantly burning up. My emotions are all over the place too. Yesterday I cried at a charity advert about homeless donkeys, ended up sending them money so they could have a Christmas dinner.’ I rub at my temples in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure. ‘I could really do without cooking Christmas dinner for six people today. Especially since Annette pissed off the other day without a word.’
‘So, all in all, good then?’ replies James, quickly rearranging his face when he realises his humour hasn’t been well received. ‘Did Annette ever message you back by the way? I can’t believe she just left you.’
I shake my head, the memory of being abandoned in Mama’s two days ago still fresh in my mind. ‘I mean, how rude can you get? Honestly, I’ve got a good mind to message her and tell her not to bother coming.’
‘But you won’t.’
‘No, I won’t,’ I say through a sigh. ‘Because I’m too nice and I’m starting to think that’s my downfall.’
‘Louisa… I love you just the way you are.’ James reaches over and squeezes my thigh.
‘Yeah, now I’m doped up to the eyeballs.’ I intend it as a joke but all it achieves is an awkward silence which seems to drag on for an eternity. I know James feels guilty for insisting I take the antidepressants, and so he bloody well should do. But with no other cards materialising in the last week, I’m stuck in limbo, having no way to prove my sanity. I suppose, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not even sure whether or not I did hallucinate the message inside the card last week. Given my history, it’s certainly not beyond the realms of possibility. Now, after having a chance to calm down, it does seem somewhat ridiculous that an anonymous sperm donor would stalk me in order to steal back the seed of his loins. And it’s even more ridiculous to consider that somebody else might have been behind it. I mean, for what possible reason? And yet, while all of this remains absurd, there’s still the very real fact that a man did approach me in the market last week. He quite clearly said my name. Or did he? Again, it’s difficult to be sure, especially as I wasn’t in a rational state of mind, having just scarpered from the coffee shop after hearing Magda’s psychic spirit guide’s warning!
Either way, I have no choice but to hold things together now, for Cory more than anybody else. When the mental health team show up in the New Year I have to convince them I’m sane. The alternative doesn’t even bear thinking about. No, the cards have stopped, which is ultimately a good thing. It’s Christmas Day, my thirtieth birthday, and I’m determined to see it through with a smile. ‘So, come on then, Saint Nic,’ I say at last, forcing the niggling doubts to the back of my mind. ‘Let me have that present.’
‘Saint Nic hasn’t mastered his fine motor skills yet so his trusty elf will deliver the gift on his behalf.’ James passes me the present, his hand shaking ever so slightly.
‘Aww, are you nervous? That’s sweet.’ I hold the cubed present to my ear and give it a shake. ‘I wonder what it could be?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ says James, smiling down at Cory. ‘It isn’t off me. It’s off this little guy.’
I savour the moment, knowing that the present is another first, one I’ll cherish for years to come. Placing it on my knee, I look out of the lounge window and drink in the world, which for once I feel very much a part of. At 8 a.m. the sky is blotted an inky blue, the heavy snowfall turning to grey mucky slush as fat droplets of rain drum a frantic beat off the glass. I guess I was crazy to believe the north of England would deliver a white Christmas: It’s always pissing raining on Christmas Day, I distinctly remember my mother saying one year. Perhaps that’s why she chose Christmas Day to kill herself; most probably not but you never know. The weather doesn’t matter though. My dreams of Christmas never did include snow; just a forever family, containing the very people who are now beside me.
‘Go on then,’ says James, shuffling around on his bottom, the anticipation clearly getting the better of him. ‘Don’t leave us hanging.’
I pick up the gift and loosen the red ribbon, the feel of it silky and soft between my fingers. ‘It’s wrapped beautifully. When did you learn to wrap like this?’
‘Bloody hell, Lou, enough with the questions. The wait is killing me.’
I glance over at him and smile, his excitement infectious. He’s still dressed in his pyjama bottoms, his chest covered in dark hair, his shoulder muscles well defined. He’s gorgeous, my very own Prince Charming.
‘Lou, the present, please.’
I roll my eyes in mock irritation. ‘Okay, I’m opening it. It best be good after all this build-up.’ I push my fingernails down into the loose paper fold and begin to carefully pull it open. A velvet, dark-blue box slowly starts to reveal itself. Unable to contain my excitement for a moment longer, I rip off the rest of the wrapping paper and ping open the lid. ‘Oh my God, it’s beautiful!’ Tears rush into my eyes as I gaze down at the white-gold love heart locket which dangles down inside. The front is engraved with Cory’s date of birth: 05.12.2014. ‘This is amazing. Thank you so much!’ I pull my eyes away from the necklace in order to look at James, his face breaking out into a grin.
‘You really like it, Lou?’
‘Of course. It’s perfect.’ I open up the locket, my fingers fiddly. Inside, the heart is split into two segments. On the left, a photograph of Cory, the first photo ever taken of him. He is squinting up at the camera, his lips pursed, his expression quizzical, like he can’t quite understand where he is. On the right, a photograph of James and me on our wedding day. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ I realise I’m shaking. ‘I’ll cherish it for ever.’
James kisses me on the mouth, his lips the flavour of hot coffee. ‘Now, wherever you go… you’ll carry us both close to your heart.’
Taking the necklace out of the box, I clutch it tightly in my fist, now more certain than ever that the bad times are behind us. ‘I’m going nowhere,’ I say, so happy I could burst. ‘I’m staying right here, with you and Cory.’ I undo the clasp and place it around my neck, fiddling around as I try my best to fasten it. It’s heavier than I expected, and shines and shimmers against the twinkly lights which frame the bay window. ‘It’s perfect,’ I say again. ‘I can see this being the best Christmas ever.’