Louisa
Now
I attempt to open my eyes but my eyelashes are stuck together. I prise them apart with my fingers, my head pounding, the bridge of my nose aching with unshed tears. How long have I been asleep for?
Tea, toast, Wizard of Oz, Mummy…
‘Shut up!’
The voices quieten on my command, as if they too are grateful for a rest.
‘See, wasn’t hard, was it?’
I pull myself up off the floor, not sure why I was ever there. My back cracks as I stand, pain radiating down the left side of my body causing me to wince. I ease myself down onto the sofa where Cory lies sleeping. He’s surrounded by cushions to keep him safe. I smile. ‘Didn’t I say I’d always protect you?’
The evening is a blur, my memory of it hazy, as if trying to remember a dream after waking. I run through what I can remember, now even more certain than ever that I have to stop taking the antidepressants. There is no way they should be affecting my memory like this, although I have been pretty tired lately. Perhaps I just need a good night’s sleep? I look out of the window as I think, the night sky calm and still as if the storm from earlier had never really happened.
I remember going to SureLife and speaking to Doctor Hughes earlier today. He’d seemed slightly annoyed with me but I can’t remember why. Then James turned up and… Magda! That’s right, Magda was with him. She was with him because she is trying to whisk me off to a mental institution so she can become Cory’s mother. She’s been manipulating James the whole time, hasn’t she? I remember now; remember the way she held Cory in her arms yesterday, remember her jealousy of Annette’s pregnancy, the charm bracelet she’d purposely dangled in my face. The gold locket around my neck starts to choke me, the chain digging into my skin. Yanking it off, I throw it against the wall. I glance back over at Cory, my heart physically aching to see him lying there so vulnerable. ‘I won’t let them separate us, baby. We’ll go to a place where there isn’t any more pain.’
I pick him up and make my way into the hallway to where the pram is parked. James is in the kitchen speaking a succession of words I don’t have time to process. We have to get out of here, have to somehow get away from Magda before she manages to take everything away from me. I’m calling the mental health team right now. A memory suddenly splices down the centre of my brain; James, a moment or two ago, threatening to call the mental health team. He was angry with me, furious, but why? What did I say to him?
Cory stirs in my arms, a small cry emanating from him which sounds a little like a wounded baby bird. ‘It’s all right, baby boy,’ I whisper. ‘We’re going now.’
A shiny, wrapped present catches my eye as I place Cory in the pram. I stare at it for a moment, the memory of Annette bringing it round earlier today working its way into my mind. ‘It looks soft,’ I say. ‘Maybe it’s something warm. Always a good idea to wrap up warm in winter, baby boy. You’ll catch your death otherwise.’ I take hold of the present, the paper crumpling as I do. ‘Yes, definitely clothes.’ In the distance, James’s voice rises in urgency. ‘You need to come quick then,’ he shouts. ‘Because I can’t bear this a second longer.’
Tearing open the wrapping paper, I smile down at a tiny blue sleepsuit which has a message embroidered on the front in black stitch. Picking it up, I take a closer look at the writing, my stomach turning to liquid as I realise what it says. Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.
‘James, come… quick.’ I can hardly speak, my words toppling over one another.
I look back down the hallway to where soft light streams out through the half-dozen panels in the kitchen door. Behind them, James is still speaking to somebody, presumably on the phone, the glass partitioning his silhouette into thin rectangles. ‘I’ll probably have to. It is for the best, yes. I know – thank you.’
I look down again at the sleepsuit, the embroidered letters now jumbling up in front of my eyes. What am I going to do? Tell James? Surely now he has to believe me? I bring the soft blue velvet up close to my face, breathe in its scent, the smell of Annette’s perfume, which has somehow infused its way into the fabric, causing me to wretch. Good! At least there’s no denying who it’s from. She can’t get away with her twisted game any longer, her number is finally up!
A sharp knocking on the door is closely followed by the sound of a familiar voice. ‘It’s me. Let me in.’
I throw my hand over my mouth, almost dropping the sleepsuit as I do. Magda! Guilt gnaws at my insides. How could I ever have believed she was involved? I unlock the door quickly, look down to where she is standing on the bottom step, dressed all in black, the porch light reflecting her tears. She looks up at me and swallows hard. ‘Is James there?’
‘Mags…’ My own eyes swell, the whole situation causing a solid lump to wedge itself into my throat. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry for accusing you.’
She tilts her chin, her jaw clenched, obviously not ready to forgive me so easily. ‘Why the sudden change of heart?’
I hold up the sleepsuit in front of her, not sure she’ll be able to see the black stitch in the dark. ‘You see this, it’s from Annette and Ron, the same words which were written inside the card at the hospital. They are trying to steal Cory.’ I watch her expression change from confusion to shock.
‘What’s going on? Why is Cory in the pram in just his vest?’ James’s voice comes from behind me, his footsteps heavy on the laminate flooring. ‘What are you doing now, Louisa? For the love of God, it’s freezing!’ His voice is hard.
I turn to face him, the sleepsuit still clutched between my fingers. ‘Look, it’s…’
‘Nothing. It’s nothing to worry about.’ Magda yanks the sleepsuit out of my hands, her fingers icy-cold and red-raw. I look down at her and she shakes her head at me, a warning flashing across her eyes.
‘What?’ James runs his fingers through his hair. ‘What’s going on now?’
I look over at Magda, not sure what she’s trying to tell me. Perhaps she knows something I don’t. ‘Nothing,’ I say to James, dragging a smile onto my face, deciding it’s probably best if he leaves so Magda and I can figure out what to do about Annette and Ron.
‘I’m not going into work, Mags, so you can go home. I can’t leave her like this. I’ve called the mental health team but they can’t get anybody here until the morning.’ James offers me a pitying glance as he speaks. ‘They said we could take her to A and E but I think it’s best if she stays here until the morning. I know how short-staffed they are at this time of year.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t need the mental health team.’
‘You go,’ says Magda, before reaching into the pram to pick up Cory. ‘We’ll bath and dress this little one and then we’ll have a cup of tea and talk everything through. Right, Loulou?’
I nod. ‘We will. You go to work, James.’ I try to drag a degree of normality into my voice. ‘I’d hate the hospital to be short-staffed and for somebody to die because of me. I’m fine, honestly’
He sighs. ‘Fine. But any problems and you call me, all right? As soon as cover arrives I’m coming home.’ This he directs at Magda, seemingly unable to meet my eye. Either that or he no longer considers me capable of sane conversation. I don’t understand why he’s so angry with me. What have I even done?
‘We’ll be fine,’ reiterates Magda, before kissing Cory on top of his head. ‘You get going. I’ll look after her, don’t worry.’
‘Cheers, Mags,’ says James, seemingly now in a rush to get out of the house. He pulls on his overcoat and picks up his briefcase, still refusing to look at me. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Ten minutes or so after James leaves for work, I make my way into the kitchen having just placed a sleeping Cory into his Moses basket upstairs. I had wanted to wake him so I could bath him but Magda convinced me to wait until after his ten o’clock feed. ‘He’ll only sick it up,’ she’d laughed, ‘and then we’ll have to bath him again.’
‘Here you are, lovely,’ she says now, passing me a steaming-hot mug of tea. She picks up her own matching mug before proceeding to lean against the kitchen worktop, the window positioned directly behind her. She stares at me for a long time, her brow creasing. I want to ask her about Annette, to see if she thinks the police are likely to take the sleepsuit seriously. ‘Drink up,’ she says, before I have a chance to say anything. ‘They do say a cup of tea solves everything.’
The mug is hot, so hot I can barely hold it. I give the tea a blow, the steam causing fine perspiration to gather on my top lip. I look past Magda, out towards the kitchen window, the light bouncing back off the glass, giving me a shadowy glimpse of myself. I’m dressed in a flimsy white nightdress, my red hair wild and knotted. I have no recollection of changing into my pyjamas, no real recollection of the day if I’m honest. ‘I think the antidepressants are really knocking me for six,’ I tell Magda, taking a sip of the tea. It’s slightly bitter, not how I’d make it at all.
‘Everything okay?’ she asks, her eyes glued to the cup in my hand.
I swallow down more liquid, feel it burn the back of my throat. ‘Fine, just a little more milk next time.’ I arch my back, my shoulders knotted with stress.
She smiles. ‘Noted.’
‘Thanks for coming,’ I offer, feeling my eyes mist over once again. ‘I’m so sorry for what I said earlier. Everything is just so confusing right now.’
She doesn’t reply, instead choosing to look at me over the rim of her mug, an action I find myself mirroring. It’s obvious that the dynamics between us have shifted. No longer is the conversation effortless, no longer do we just ‘fit’. Although accusing her of trying to steal my husband and child was bound to alter things, wasn’t it?
‘So…’ I hesitate, desperate to discuss the message stitched into the sleepsuit but not quite sure how to broach it. At least if we can take it to the police the mental health team may think twice about locking me up. ‘What do you think I should do about Annette and Ron?’
Magda sighs but doesn’t offer a suggestion.
‘I knew she was never really pregnant, you know. Doesn’t even have a bump.’
‘Why do you say that?’ She stares into her cup.
I shake my head, unsure as to why she is asking such a question. ‘Because of the message on the sleepsuit! It was the same message I received in the cards. Don’t you see it was Annette and Ron all along?’ A moment of clarity washes over me. Why did I never see it before? ‘Oh God! The tablets!’ I cover my mouth, fear sinking my stomach. ‘They must have mixed up my medication on purpose, placed me on really strong tablets, maybe even hallucinogens. No wonder I’m losing my mind! Shit, we need to call the police.’
‘Louisa, stop it!’ Magda races over to me, prising the half-drunk tea from my hands, presumably before I drop it. She bangs the mug down on the work surface before taking both of my hands in hers. ‘You need to calm down,’ she says, her voice catching in her throat. ‘Can’t you see that you’re ill? Can’t you see that you need help?’
‘No, no, you saw the message!’ I shake my head, tears streaming down my face of their own accord. ‘Please, Magda, if you don’t believe me then nobody’s going to.’
I turn and try to run down the hallway and into the lounge but my legs suddenly feel as if they’ve been severed at the knee, like trying to run in a dream. Seeing the phone in its holster on the windowsill, I make a grab for it. It falls to the floor, and even though I’m desperate to pick it up, my fingers can’t seem to grab hold of it. I feel suddenly sick, exhaustion snaking up my spine, my muscles growing heavier and heavier until I’m sure I can’t possibly move. ‘I’m going to call the police,’ I mumble, hearing Magda behind me. ‘They need to know about Annette.’
‘Louisa, stop!’ She grabs hold of my wrist and drags me up, almost yanking my shoulder out of its socket. ‘Here, look!’ she says, the sleepsuit already in her hand. ‘Read it again!’
My eyes have a hard time adjusting from the bright kitchen lights to the dimness of the lounge, my eyelids feeling as if they’re being dragged down by dumbbells. I squint at the embroidered stitch, its italic font tilted slightly to the left like the scrawled writing inside the card. ‘I don’t understand.’ The letters dance around in front of my eyes, just like they used to many years ago before I learned how to read. ‘I can’t understand it.’
‘I’ll read it then, shall I?’ she says after a moment. ‘I love Mummy and Daddy’. Her finger stabs at the stitch, the letters falling into place in front of my eyes.
‘No, I… it can’t say that.’ I realise I am stuttering, my words no longer forming the correct sounds.
‘It does, Louisa. It’s nothing at all like the Bible quote inside the card.’
I stare at her, my eyes unblinking, a million memories clattering around inside my head almost at once.
‘What?’ Magda takes a step away from me, her eyes flitting everywhere but my face. ‘What’s the matter?’
I can hardly speak, my voice nothing other than a collection of broken syllables. ‘The card,’ I manage to say, fear and disbelief mingling together as one. ‘I never…’
‘What?’ she shouts. ‘What is it?’
A sudden calmness washes over me, almost like resignation at what is to come. ‘I never told you the card contained a Bible quote.’ I shake my head, finally realising who is behind everything. ‘It is you, isn’t it, Magda? It’s been you all along!’