Louisa
Now
‘Come in, come in… so lovely to see you all.’ James pushes himself up against the wall allowing our guests to pile in through the front door almost on top of one another, a chorus of ‘Merry Christmases’ sweeping through the hallway along with a blast of icy-cold air. I stand in the kitchen doorway, looking on as sopping wet brollies are shaken out and balanced against the wall, an assortment of coats and jackets slung over the coat rack. Glancing down at my watch, I feel a flash of panic. The potatoes are yet to be peeled and the turkey currently resembles a vampire’s arse cheeks.
‘Merry Christmas, everybody,’ I say, my greeting swallowed up in the chaos.
James glances over at me, panic skimming across his eyes as he seemingly notices the colander of raw sprouts in my hand. ‘As you can see, we’re totally unprepared as usual,’ he says to everybody collectively, a smile several sizes too large breaking out on his face. ‘Having a newborn in tow puts you at least three days behind schedule so please do bear with us!’
I watch him as he proceeds to kiss Annette on the cheek before turning his attention to Magda, his lips lingering on her for a fraction too long. I shake the intruding thought away before it even has a chance to properly form. Stop with the paranoia, stop it now!
‘Lou, don’t just stand there. Give us a squish!’ As if reading my thoughts, Magda breaks free from James and practically runs down the hallway towards me, her multicoloured ponytail swishing to and fro, reminding me of My Little Pony. She envelops me in a hug, the remnants of a burnt joss stick clinging to her skin. See, everything’s fine. Stop being ridiculous.
‘Glad you could make it, Mags.’ I stand back and drink her in, as always feeling drab and dull in comparison. Today she is wearing a Bohemian-style shawl and figure-hugging denim jeans, her body tanned and toned in all the right places. Only the slight crow’s feet around her eyes give any indication of her true age.
‘How’s your cold?’ she asks.
‘Yeah, fine.’ I pause, embarrassment blistering my cheeks. ‘Getting better.’
She gives me a knowing look. ‘Don’t worry, it’s common.’
I frown, not sure if she’s referring to my phantom cold or not. ‘Yeah, I guess so. And how are you?’
She opens her mouth to reply but is instantly cut off by Annette who barges between us, a strange, almost gloating, smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. The rain has flattened her normally short, frizzy hair, causing it to hang down on either side of her face like a judge’s wig. ‘Oh, Louisa… how are you?’ She leans in and pecks me on the cheek, her lips feeling like sandpaper against my skin. ‘So sorry I had to dash the other day. Came over a bit queasy.’
‘Oh… right.’ My planned rebuke melts on my tongue. ‘But you’re all right now?’
‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ interrupts Magda, gesturing over to the doorway where a small scrap of a woman with greasy hair and misshapen Ugg boots hovers. ‘Helen, come on in and meet Louisa.’
‘Hi, Helen,’ I shout over to her, something about her appearance familiar even though I can’t quite place her. ‘Just stick your coat anywhere and please do come on through.’
‘She’s feeling it more than ever today,’ whispers Magda into my ear. ‘Obviously with it being Christmas.’
I nod, a surge of sympathy for Helen swelling my chest. Perhaps my heightened emotions are another side effect of the antidepressants, or perhaps it’s because I understand what it feels like to lose somebody you love.
‘Look, come on through to the lounge, everyone,’ I say, my voice more confident than I feel. ‘Dinner won’t be too long but I think I can find some Christmassy snacks to be going on with.’
‘Well, it certainly all smells beautiful,’ beams Annette, her happiness so out of character it’s almost concerning. ‘I think today is going to be just wonderful.’
I look over at Magda who raises her eyebrows. ‘I guess it is the season for miracles,’ she says.
‘Absolutely impeccable, my dear Louisa!’ Ron’s knife and fork clatter against his empty plate. ‘The turkey was as succulent as Mary Magdalene’s bosom.’
‘Don’t be crude, Ron,’ says Annette through a mouthful of sweet potato. ‘Especially not on Christmas Day.’
I glance over at James who rolls his eyes at me, seemingly at his wits’ end.
‘Well, she was a hooker, wasn’t she?’ barks Ron, his empty wine glass worryingly balanced between his thumb and forefinger. ‘All the disciples would have had a right good old suckle on those titties, isn’t that right?’ He nudges James in the ribs, his expression one of permanent delight, like a ventriloquist’s hand is stuffed up his arse.
Annette sighs. ‘Ron, please… the Lord Jesus will be turning in his grave!’
I cough awkwardly into my fist, my face flushing with heat for the millionth time today. Cory, having woken up the moment I sat down to eat, is currently propped up on my knee, staring intently at the colourful array of food which remains virtually untouched in the middle of the table. I seriously wouldn’t have gone to so much effort if I’d known nobody, bar Ron and James, would be eating. Magda, being a vegetarian (something she failed to mention until today), heaved as I brought in the turkey, claiming the accompanying ‘pigs in blankets’ reminded her of her childhood sausage dog, Bindy. ‘I’ll just make do with a few carrots and a pickled walnut,’ she insisted, fanning herself with a Christmas cracker. Her sister, Helen, who has barely spoken a word since she arrived, is so skinny that she declared herself ‘full to the brim’ after a forkful of stuffing and a roasted parsnip. Then there was Annette who yet again complained of ‘feeling queasy’, and by that point I was too stressed to swallow my own saliva never mind a Christmas dinner!
‘I’m sorry, will you excuse me a moment while I top up the water jug?’ I pass Cory over the table to James before making a swift exit, sure I’ll physically combust if I have to listen to Ron’s vulgar comments for a second longer.
The kitchen is in a state of disarray; pans, plates and chopping boards all littering the worktop, the normally bright white tiles splattered with gravy and sausage fat. The heat from the oven, which still clings to the air despite its now being turned off, causes another surge of dizziness to wash over me, so much so that I have to lean against the work surface for support, terrified I might actually faint. ‘Come on, you can do it, just get through today.’ I take a deep breath before steadying myself, proceed to fill up a glass of freezing cold water straight from the tap, guzzling it down in one. It’s of little use though. My skin remains hot and itchy, like somebody has infected me with the menopause.
Opening the back door, I step outside, inhaling a chilly lungful of air as I do. The pounding rain from earlier has reduced to a trickle, the snow all but gone, now nothing other than a sopping great puddle of sludge. Despite it only being 5 p.m., the sky is dark and dense, the rustling of the trees, which line the rear fence, making it sound like a storm isn’t far away. Hearing footsteps in the kitchen, I make my way back down the garden path, hoping James might have come out to check on me. Perhaps together we can hatch a plan to make everybody leave early.
Magda stands by the bin as I enter the kitchen, tipping what looks like a broken glass into it. ‘Sorry,’ she says, glancing at me over her shoulder. ‘Ron had a little accident with the wine glass.’
‘Is Cory all right?’ I ask, a surge of adrenaline pumping through me.
‘Yeah, James has taken him upstairs for a sleep. Are you feeling all right?’ she asks, her face scrunching up into a frown as she seemingly takes in my appearance. ‘Your aura is bright red!’
‘Not really,’ I reply, feeling the onset of tears. ‘I’ve got a confession to make.’
She turns to properly look at me. ‘Go on.’
‘I haven’t got a cold. That isn’t why I was at the doctor’s the other day. James, the doctor, they think I’m suffering with postnatal depression.’
Magda nods, an empathic smile following suit. ‘Look, I did guess as much. When you called me the other day and mentioned… you know.’
‘The donor?’
She purses her lips. ‘I take it you explained everything to James?’
‘He didn’t believe me. It’s a long story.’ I pause, not wanting to go into the details of how I supposedly hallucinated, feeling both embarrassed and scared at the memory. ‘I suppose I did just imagine it all,’ I say to Magda, hearing a little voice in the back of my mind telling me not to be so ridiculous. You didn’t imagine it, you’re not crazy.
‘It’s easily done, Lou. I see postnatal depression a lot in my counselling sessions. One big side effect is paranoia.’
‘But the antidepressants the doctor gave me…’ I say, feeling a sudden urge to offload. ‘Ron said they weren’t strong but they’re playing havoc with me. I’m burning and itching and my thoughts are racing. It’s like they’re trying to take over my body.’
‘Which ones did she prescribe?’
‘Fluoxetine.’
She frowns. ‘Well, I’m no doctor but they shouldn’t be affecting you that badly.’
‘Perhaps I should come off them?’
‘Seriously, what’s taking you so long?’ Annette bursts into the kitchen with what looks like another broken wine glass wrapped up in a napkin. ‘Sorry, Louisa, my Ron’s always suffered with butter fingers. It’s his nerves, you see.’
I refrain from rolling my eyes. ‘Just stick it in the bin with the other one.’
She narrows her eyes, first at Magda then at me. ‘What’s going on in here? You two are in cahoots about something.’
I sigh, tiredness beginning to pull at my eyelids. ‘We’re just discussing the meds the doctor gave me. They seem a little too strong.’ Right on cue my left eye begins to twitch, another symptom which has plagued me for the past two days. ‘See,’ I say, pointing at it. ‘No way should they be giving me facial spasms.’
‘Well, no, not really,’ says Annette. ‘I mean, side effects can occur with the ones you’re on but they should be pretty mild. Unlike the meds your sister is on.’ She turns her attention to Magda. ‘She needs to come off them if you ask me. I remember a few years ago we had a woman with a prescription for the same stuff. Batty it made her, convinced she was communicating with Uri Geller. Her husband said she made a right bloody mess of their cutlery draw.’
Magda looks down at her feet, clearly not amused. ‘Speaking of Helen, I should really get back in there. Poor love hasn’t eaten or drunk a thing all day.’
‘Or cracked a smile come to that!’ Annette glances over at me, amusement dancing in her eyes.
‘I can’t say I blame her, in all honesty.’ I turn to Magda, wanting Annette to see her catty comments for what they are. ‘So, as I was saying, Mags, do you think I should come off the medication?’
Magda slides her eyes over to Annette, concern knitting her brows together. ‘Well…’
‘Absolutely not!’ Annette jumps into the conversation. ‘They aren’t bloody Smarties, Louisa, and if you’ve been prescribed them it will be for your own good.’
I sigh for the second time in as many minutes. ‘I know, you’re probably right.’
‘Anyway…’ Annette finally chucks the napkin full of glass into the bin before turning on her heel. ‘I best get back to Ron; poor little lamb gets nervous when in the sole company of a female. He’s awfully shy, you know.’
I watch her leave, wondering, not for the first time, if I’m the only one who’s stark raving mad!
‘Well, if you please, I think I’d like to make a toast. To Louisa, James and the lovely Cory, who have welcomed us into their home and made us part of their family.’ Magda raises her flute of champagne in the air, her bright-red Christmas hat sitting lopsided on her head.
I look around the table at a sea of faces all gawping at me. ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘That’s really lovely of you. Isn’t it, James?’
James looks across the table at Magda and swallows loudly. ‘Mags, you’re one in a million. You have supported us from the moment we met you.’
‘I am truly blessed to be a part of your journey,’ she says to him, her eyes burning holes into his. ‘Louisa is the luckiest lady I know.’
My jaw stiffens, something about their exchange not sitting well with me. You’re just being paranoid. Stop it! ‘It was really lovely to finally meet you,’ I say, turning to Helen in an attempt to pull my thoughts, and eyes, away from Magda and James. ‘Mags tells me you don’t live far from here. You’re always welcome to nip round for a cuppa.’ For a reason I can’t quite put my finger on, I am drawn to Helen. Perhaps it’s because both of our lives have been ravaged by tragedy, or maybe it’s because, in the back of my mind, I know I have seen her some place else. ‘Have we met before?’ I ask her. ‘You look familiar.’
‘I don’t think so,’ she mutters, dropping her gaze onto her lap while rubbing the gold crucifix around her neck. ‘Since Luke… well, I’ve hardly been out.’
‘The pharmacy…’ I say, all of a sudden remembering seeing her two days ago as she’d crouched down beside the female hygiene aisle, her hair as dirty and lank as it is today. ‘I think you were in the pharmacy the other day.’
‘Yes, maybe.’ Her cheeks redden and she looks as if she’s about to burst into tears.
Oh shit! I could kick myself as I suddenly remember the phone call Magda received while in the coffee shop; Ron’s assistant concerned about Helen loitering around the pharmacy. Obviously I’ve touched a nerve, and I could bloody kick myself.
‘That solves it then,’ I offer through a smile. ‘I am sorry for your loss, by the way. I can’t even imagine how hard it must be for you.’
‘Well…’ interrupts Annette, an after-dinner mint clasped between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Ron and I would like to make a little toast of our own.’ She looks over at Ron who appears to be virtually comatose. ‘Ron!’ she shouts, causing him to sit up straight like a soldier called to attention. ‘I was just saying we have an announcement, dear… and it would be preferable if you were alive to witness it.’
‘Right you are, dear,’ he slurs, his head lolling back down onto his chest. ‘Break a leg.’
A rush of blood surges through me for a reason I can’t quite articulate.
‘Louisa, are you still with us?’ she asks. ‘’You’ve gone a little pale.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ I say, fanning myself with my hand in an attempt to cool down. ‘Go on, what’s your announcement?’ I flick my eyes over towards James who shakes his head at me, clearly as much in the dark as I am.
Silence descends all around us, the slow ticking of the clock acting as a physical countdown. ‘Come on then,’ I say, unable to take the tension for a moment longer. ‘What is it?’
‘Well…’ Annette takes a deep breath and rubs her stomach in semi-circles. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Magda stiffen. ‘Ron and I are going to be parents!’
I sit open-mouthed, momentarily unable to speak.
‘You haven’t even had another round of IVF lately,’ says Magda, her voice rising both in pitch and volume. ‘Unless you have and didn’t tell me?’
I look over at Annette, see a smirk formulating behind her eyes. ‘Oh no… this one wasn’t IVF,’ she says, the smirk sliding down onto her lips. ‘This was all natural. I guess miracles do happen after all.’
‘I’m sorry, I think I’m going to be sick!’ Magda jumps up and flies out of the room… her muffled cry as painful as the pounding inside my head.
‘Mags, you in there?’ I tap open the door to the master bedroom, feeling like a stranger in my own home. The overspill from the landing light seeps into the darkness, illuminating Magda who sits on the edge of my bed, the weak light reducing her multicoloured hair to varying shades of grey. She is cradling Cory in her arms, her face wet with tears. I leave the door ajar so I don’t have to switch on the bedroom light. For some reason it doesn’t feel right to do so, as if seeing Magda anything less than perfect will somehow shift the dynamics between us. Since I have known her, she has fought to be the ‘happy one’ in our friendship; always battling through her sadness with a smile, pasting over her grief with yet another hair dye, reinventing herself over and over again as if searching for the person who isn’t maternal, for the woman whose womb doesn’t ache for a child that never comes.
She doesn’t speak as I gently sit down beside her, the mattress indenting under my weight. Cory is asleep in her arms, his face relaxed and devoid of expression, reminding me of a china doll. Magda reaches out and strokes his fingers, her touch gentle. I hold on to my words, understanding that she needs to have this moment with my son. Her pain is so familiar to me and yet I suddenly feel like I am no longer eligible to share it. The bond which bound us together has been broken. No longer are we two mothers without children. No longer are we a united front against the ‘others’: the woman in the coffee shop who ordered two muffins because she was ‘eating for two’, the frazzled-looking mum in the supermarket who juggled identical twins and a trolley full of food. We envied them, we admired them, we wished we were them…
And now I have become them. Annette has become them. And Magda has become ‘the other’.
‘I understand how absolutely shit this must feel.’ I reach out to her, placing my hand on top of hers.
She sniffs up. ‘I must seem like a bitch. Annette and Ron have been trying for ever… and after losing that little one at eight weeks. Oh God, I’m evil.’
‘No, you’re not. Look, if it was me, and Annette had looked at me with that smug grin, I’d probably have rammed the pigs in blankets down her throat.’
‘I couldn’t have subjected Bindy to that. She was such a lovable pooch.’ She exhales a small, sad laugh. ‘I am happy for them, really I am. But seeing you with Cory, and then Annette rubbing her stomach…’
‘It’s okay, you don’t have to explain, I get it. But it will happen for you, Magda, one day.’
‘When did you become so clichéd, eh, Louisa?’ Her voice hardens, which surprises me. ‘We bloody hate those people, remember. Stop trying and it will happen, what’s meant to be will be, what’s for you won’t go by you.’
‘Well, what do I know?’ I say, trying to defuse the situation before it properly ignites. ‘I’m a bloody nutter! I think my son’s sperm donor is coming to take him, I’m taking medication that could sedate an ape and I’m turning as bald as Harry Hill!’
She laughs, a small, tired laugh which isn’t really a laugh at all. ‘I don’t deserve you as a friend. You’re too good for me. I’m not a good person, not really.’
I wrap my arm around her, pull her into my side. ‘Of course you are, Mags, you’re the best.’
She shakes her head. ‘I try and be the person everybody expects me to be, but sometimes it’s too hard. Sometimes…’ She pauses, as if wanting to say more but suddenly conscious of what I might think. I stay silent, knowing from experience that she’ll talk when she’s ready. ‘When Helen cries night after night about losing Luke,’ she continues finally, ‘do you know what I think?’ She looks up at me, her eyes glassy with tears. ‘I think she shouldn’t complain so much because at least she was a mother for eight years. How horrible is that?’
I bite my lip, somewhat shocked by her revelation even if I can understand it on some level. ‘Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you,’ I say, the thought popping into my head unannounced. ‘I want to ask you a favour.’
She nods for me to continue. ‘What is it?’
‘Will you be Cory’s godmother?’
She tenses up, her words seemingly frozen in her mouth. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely a whisper. ‘Thank you. I do love him, you know that, don’t you?’
I kiss her cheek, happy that the brief animosity of earlier seems to have been dissipated. ‘I know you do. And if anything should ever happen to James or me you’re the only person I want caring for Cory. So you’re saying yes? You will be his godmother?’
She looks down at my sleeping son, her love for him so strong I can almost feel it. ‘I would be honoured.’
We fall silent as I follow Magda into the dining room a few moments later, my previous headache now a whopping migraine. James stares up at me and raises his eyebrows, as if uncomfortable with the whole situation. I offer him a tight smile before turning my attention to Annette whose eyes are glassy and puffy as if she’s been crying. She holds a crumpled serviette up to her nose and blows into it noisily. Ron is kneeling down by her side, his balding head practically wedged into her bosom. The whole scene looks a little rehearsed, as if the two of them are performing a two-man show.
‘Are you all right, Magda?’ Helen is the first to speak. She rubs the gold crucifix between her fingers while she waits for a reply, one Magda seems reluctant to give. I wonder for a moment if Magda is annoyed with Helen. After all, Helen is her sister; surely she should have been the one upstairs comforting her?
‘I’m fine.’ Magda seems to have difficulty swallowing before taking several steps forward, stopping just short of where Annette is stooped over the table. ‘Annette, Ron, I’m so sorry. Of course I’m over the moon for you both.’ She reaches out and lightly places the tips of her fingers on Annette’s shoulder, as if terrified her touch will be rebuffed.
‘S’okay’ slurs Ron, who remains kneeling down. He’s so hammered I wonder how he’ll ever manage to stand back up. I suddenly have visions of us all standing in a line, yanking him up like he’s a giant turnip. Exhaustion washes over me at the thought, the bottom of my back now stiff with pain. I trail my eyes over the leftovers which still litter the table, the festive tablecloth hidden under multiple Pyrex dishes and gravy-smeared plates. I sigh, knowing I have neither the strength nor desire to tackle it all.
‘Annette, are we still friends?’ Magda asks, having received no response the first time. ‘It was just hard to hear, that’s all. You must understand that?’
‘You’ll have your baby soon, Mags,’ murmurs James, so quietly I wonder if I’ve imagined it.
‘Yes, we’re friends.’ Annette looks up at Magda, a beaming smile now on her face which is completely at odds with the nose blowing of a moment ago. ‘I don’t suppose I can be angry with you. I know all too well what barrenness does to a person.’
A knot of anger tightens in my chest. How can she be so callous?
‘Thanks, honey,’ says Magda, either not registering Annette’s bitchiness or choosing to ignore it. ‘So, a baby…’ she continues, her voice much brighter than it needs to be. ‘When did you find out?’
‘I really thought it was the menopause,’ I hear Annette say, her voice sounding as if it’s coming from underwater. I lean against the door frame for support, another wave of dizziness taking hold, stronger this time, accompanied by a film of cold sweat. ‘After the miscarriage last year we decided to give the treatment a break. I’m getting on a bit now and we thought we might have had to revert to donor eggs. We were taking time out to decide what to do.’ I look over at her in an attempt to focus, see a smile creep into the crevices of her lips. I blink; one, two, three times, trying and failing to bring everything back into focus.
‘Are you okay?’ asks James, presumably to me.
I nod my head.
‘Then, last week…’ Annette’s voice gathers speed. ‘Just after we met at Caffè Nero, I felt terribly faint. I thought with Louisa fainting we both might have had a bug. Obviously now I know hers was down to postnatal depression.’
‘I haven’t got postnatal depression,’ I say, or think; not sure which one.
‘So, anyway, I was walking past Boots and I thought, why not? Not like I haven’t seen a negative pregnancy test before. I couldn’t believe it when it came up pregnant plus five. It was like the greatest of all miracles.’
‘So how far gone are you then?’ asks Magda, or Helen, their faces turned away from me and their voices too similar to decipher.
‘We phoned SureLife immediately. Doctor Hughes managed to squeeze us in for a scan the following morning. We expected a little bean, you know, five or six weeks, something like that. Louisa, are you all right?’ she asks, her voice hardening. ‘Come and sit down or you’ll miss the best bit.’
I make my way over to an empty chair, Ron’s I think, the one beside James. Annette is now sat opposite me, Magda still stood to the side of her. Thankfully, Ron has managed to stand back up and is slumped against the wall in front of me, the back of his head dangerously close to the mirror which hangs behind him. ‘Go on,’ I say, my words clogging in my throat. ‘’Tell us.’
‘Well, you’re not going to believe it.’ She looks me directly in the eye, as if only speaking to me. ‘I nearly jumped off the examination table when the little rascal started waving at me. I’m only thirty-four weeks gone!’
A collective intake of breath shrinks the room.
‘Sorry,’ says Magda, her voice cracking. ‘Will you excuse me? I need the loo.’
‘I mean I knew I’d put on weight,’ continues Annette, oblivious to Magda’s obvious distress. I consider chasing after her again but I’m no longer sure my legs can take the weight. ‘And there was that spell in summer when I thought I had a stomach bug. But I had absolutely no idea I was pregnant. Can you believe we’re going to be parents in a matter of weeks?’
‘No,’ I reply, sickness congealing in the back of my throat. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Well, I think this is cause for celebration,’ says James, his tone falling just short of sincere. ‘Little Cory is going to be thrilled to have a playmate.’
‘Oh, and that’s the greatest thing of all,’ gushes Annette, her eyes still resting on mine. ‘We’re having a little boy!’
I stare at her, everything finally sliding into place: the card, the quote, the slow, careful unpicking of my character. Annette is behind everything. Annette and Ron are going to steal my baby!