Louisa
Now
‘Magda has a charm bracelet on!’ I round on James the second the door clicks shut, fury swimming like acid in my stomach.
He shrugs. ‘So what?’
‘So it seems a little too convenient given the mysterious present.’
‘Eighty per cent of the female population wear charm bracelets – it’s the fashion. Just what are you trying to insinuate, Louisa?’ He rubs at his eyes which are red and swollen.
The baby monitor springs into life, saving me from answering his question. ‘I have to see to Cory.’ I turn on my heel, feel James’s stare follow me up the flight of stairs, my calf muscles feeling like they’re being sliced open with a hot blade with each step I take. Just what am I trying to insinuate?
‘Hello, sleepyhead. Bet you’re glad you missed all the drama, aren’t you?’ I lift Cory out of his Moses basket with all the strength I can muster, his cry reducing to a nasally sniffle as I cradle him in my arms. He feels like a dead weight beneath me, my arm muscles weak, almost as if they’ve become disconnected from my shoulders. Fearing I might drop him, I ease myself down onto the edge of the bed, the thick mattress so welcoming I want to climb under the covers and sleep for ever. ‘Shhh, baby, Mummy’s here, okay?’ He tries his hardest to latch on to my nipple through my jumper, his mouth opening in expectation. ‘Hey, that’s not for you, cheeky monkey.’ My laugh quickly turns to tears as overwhelming guilt consumes me, its force so powerful a scream bubbles up in the pit of my stomach. Everything around me is slowly turning to dust, all of my hopes and dreams for motherhood falling through my fingers like sand. I am everything I feared I would be: useless, a burden, utterly deranged. ‘I’m a bad person, aren’t I?’ I whisper to Cory. ‘After everything Daddy has done for me, I repay him like this.’
I heave myself up off the bed and gather every last bit of strength I can find. I have to apologise to James, salvage our fractured marriage.
Before I do or say something which will make me lose him forever.
The lounge is encased in semi-darkness as I enter. The curtains are drawn, the flames of the open fire flickering behind the heavy metal fireguard. James doesn’t acknowledge me, choosing instead to keep his eyes firmly glued on the television, the volume a fraction above a whisper. He is clutching a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, his grip so tight around the glass I fear it might shatter.
‘Anything decent on?’ I ask, still hovering in the doorway.
He doesn’t reply.
‘Look, I’m sorry. What I said about Magda’s charm bracelet… well, I…’ My words disintegrate on my tongue. How can I even begin to justify my blatant accusation?
‘She’s your best friend, Lou. Not to mention that I’m your husband.’ His words are flat, emotionless.
‘I know. I don’t know what I was thinking. It just seemed so strange that the present was hidden in the cupboard…’
‘As opposed to what?’ He rounds on me, his eyes hard and hostile. ‘As opposed to it being left out where you could find it? I’m sorry for thinking presents should actually be stored away until Christmas Day.’
‘But you never gave it to me!’
A heavy silence hangs between us. Cory’s milk scalds my wrist as I test its temperature, which is odd as it’s already been cooling on the kitchen counter for well over fifteen minutes. ‘Can you check that for me, please? It seems really hot.’ I hold out the bottle to James and for a moment I’m scared he’s going to refuse, but without warning he snatches it from me, tips it up and shakes it against his wrist. ‘It’s fine, lukewarm at best.’
‘Are you sure?’
He holds it out to me, still refusing to meet my eye. ‘I’m positive. But why believe anything I say?’
I sit in a state of panic, not wanting to give Cory boiling-hot milk which will blister his tongue, and yet at the same time not wanting to contradict what James is saying. Cory wriggles around in my arms, his face scrunching up as if he’s about to cry.
‘Give him the bottle, Louisa, for the love of God!’
‘I can’t,’ I admit, my voice shaking so much I’m terrified I’ll choke. ‘Just promise me that the charm was meant for me?’
‘So you’re not sorry at all then, are you? Because you still believe the bullshit you’re spouting is true. And just put the teat in his mouth now because it’s practically cold and you’re driving me insane!’ James is shouting now, his face blood-red as an angry vein pulsates in his neck.
‘No, I am sorry! I don’t know what’s wrong with me…’ I admit, before shoving the teat of the bottle into Cory’s open mouth and praying to God he doesn’t scream out in pain. He latches on to the bottle’s teat quickly and takes famished gulps, looking up at me as he does, his eyes searching out mine. Although I see myself in every fibre of his being, there is something mysterious hiding behind his eyes, something unfamiliar lurking in his soul.
‘There we go,’ says James sarcastically. ‘Nobody died.’
We sit for a few moments in silence with only the quiet hum of the television for company, hostility causing the air to stagnate.
‘Do you think Annette is really pregnant?’ I say at last, taking a quick glance over to the other end of the sofa in order to witness James’s reaction.
He laughs but it’s clear he doesn’t find it in the slightest bit funny. ‘This just gets better and better.’
‘But it just seemed so odd. How can you be almost ready to drop and not know? And her stomach didn’t even look like a bump, it was just…’
‘Just what?’
‘Just fat!’
He slumps into the soft back of the sofa cushion and rubs his forehead. ‘Have you actually heard yourself? First I’m knocking off your best mate and buying her charms of happy families. Then, in the next breath, you’re accusing your other friend of making up a pregnancy. It was only a few days ago you were adamant the sperm donor had come back to kidnap Cory. You’re stark raving mad, do you know that?’
His words are like a slap around the face, made worse by the fact that they are probably true. ‘It’s these tablets,’ I cry, unable to control myself any longer. ‘I’m exhausted, my skin is burning, my face is scalding and all my thoughts are jumbled up. I can’t seem to make sense of anything!’
‘No, Louisa,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘That’s not the tablets. That’s you. That has always been you!’
‘But you love me anyway. You’ll always look after me,’ I say, repeating back his own promise, suddenly vulnerable, unsure of the marriage we have tried so hard to build.
He tips the whiskey down his throat in one swift manoeuvre, his eyes burning with an emotion I can’t quite place. ‘I’m not sure if I can any more, Lou. I can’t protect you from yourself!’