A Mother’s Sacrifice. Gemma Metcalfe
down at Cory whose face is relaxed in sleep. I knead his little hand between my fingers like dough, listening to the sound of the wind as it blows against the windowpane, the drip-dripping of the kitchen tap. I’m home, we’re safe. James is just tired, that’s all. There’s nothing to worry about.
‘Shame about the carrot top though.’ Tamzin cleaves the silence in two. ‘You’d have thought with James’s dark skin and hair this poor sod might have stood a chance.’
‘Tamz, enough!’ Doug shoots her a warning from his position on the armchair.
‘Well… I’m just stating the bleedin’ obvious,’ she barks, before taking a large glug of her whiskey. The ice clinks against her teeth, her calling card for a top-up. When nobody jumps to her tune, she bangs the glass down on the coffee table, causing Cory to flinch.
‘Shh, baby, it’s okay, you’re all right.’ Glaring over at Tamzin, I grimace at the hot-pink lipstick that stains the rim of her glass. ‘We really need an early night,’ I try.
‘Ginger kids get bullied, that’s all I’m saying,’ she continues, like I haven’t spoken.
My face flushes with heat. I twist my hair around my fingers, discreetly pulling out a strand by its root; a coping mechanism, I suppose, something I always do when I’m anxious. Not that I am anxious, just tired… hormones probably.
‘Probably why madam here pulls all hers out!’ Tamzin tips her manicured thumb over in my direction, her top lip twitching with amusement. ‘That’s right, I can see you. You’ll be bald as a badger if you carry on.’
‘Jesus, son,’ says Doug through a cough. ‘Did you give your mother the whole bloody bottle? She’s hammered!’
Awkwardness clings to the air, which isn’t unusual when Tamzin and Doug visit.
‘Well, I happen to love redheads,’ says James, his eyes resting on mine. ‘They are my favourite kind of people.’
I smile, relief flooding through me that he appears to be acting normally again, or perhaps there never was anything wrong with him in the first place. Maybe I only imagined there was. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Paranoia is my thing after all. Well, it used to be my thing. Before Cory came along of course. ‘Thanks, sweetie. Love you too.’
Tamzin sucks her teeth. ‘So what have they said then?’ She lowers her spectacles down onto the bridge of her nose. ‘Are you likely to go a bit loopy given your history?’
‘Mum!’ James shoots her a look. ‘Stop being rude.’
I stiffen, humiliation giving way to anger. ‘Yes, they will keep an eye on me because of my history. But having a history of depression doesn’t mean I’m necessarily going to suffer with postnatal depression.’ My stomach turns over as I say the name of the illness out loud. Postnatal depression, an opportunistic demon. One I’ve feared since clutching the still-wet pregnancy test eight months ago. There is no way I have it though, definitely not. I love Cory, love the bones of him.
Tamzin smiles thinly. ‘Well, it’s all bloody nonsense if you ask me. Never had any of this depression or postnatal thingamajig in my day. A good stiff drink and night out at the Bingo, that solved everything.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s always existed.’ I reach up for a strand of hair but refrain from pulling, not wanting to give Tamzin the satisfaction. ‘It hasn’t appeared out of thin air.’
‘Hmm,’ she replies, her lips pursed, as if sucking on something unpleasant. ‘I blame feminism. A lot of hairy women dancing around a campfire chanting about their rights. That’s what’s caused it, you mark my words.’ She pushes her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose. ‘Anyway…’ She stands up a little too quickly, which causes her to wobble. ‘If you do decide to have a funny turn, I’m sure I can step in for little Rory.’
‘It’s Cory,’ I mutter under my breath, as she staggers out of the room. ‘And in your bloody dreams.’
Louisa
Now
The back garden is pitch-black, the half-moon only allowing enough light to make out the solid shape of the shed and outline of the garden fence, which runs parallel to next door’s garden. I wrap my cardigan tightly around myself and make my way over towards James who is sat on the garden bench, the red glow from the tip of his cigarette acting as a beacon. The fierce wind lifts up my hair, smacking it full force into my face, leaving the bald spot behind my right ear exposed. I have to stop pulling out my hair. The health visitor will visit soon and if she notices the baldness she’ll probably take Cory away from me.
I look down at the baby monitor in my hand, checking again that the green light is flashing. It pains me to leave Cory sleeping inside, but I sense that James needs me. He’s always subdued after his parents visit, which is understandable really; Tamzin has the ability to turn a jester suicidal. I swallow down my dislike for her, reminding myself that she’s Cory’s grandmother, the only one he’ll ever have.
Sitting down beside James, I place my head on his shoulder. ‘Hey, you.’
‘Hey.’ He kisses the top of my head, which is a relief to say the least. He’s fine, I think to myself, he’s happy. Everything is as it should be. ‘How are you doing?’ he asks. ‘Sorry about Mum.’
‘I’m fine. Don’t worry about her, you know I take it with a pinch of salt. She doesn’t mean any harm, not really.’ I’m not sure that’s entirely true and yet I sense James needs to hear it.
We sit for a few moments in silence, enjoying the warmth of each other’s body against the backdrop of the freezing cold night. He continues to smoke his cigarette, inhaling deeply and holding it in his lungs as if savouring the hit.
I nudge him in the ribs. ‘Thought you were quitting when Cory was born?’
Exhaling a sad laugh, he throws the butt on the ground and stamps on it. ‘Never going to quit with her as a mother.’ He tilts his head over towards the house even though Tamzin is long gone. ‘Did you hear her? My son’s not firing blanks, cause for celebration.’ His tone is mocking and yet his voice breaks ever so slightly.
My stomach dips with guilt. ‘She talks rubbish. Anyway, you’re a father now, ignore her.’
‘I suppose.’ Standing up, he proceeds to pace up and down the path. Without the fiery ember of the cigarette, I can hardly see him, his silhouette only just visible. I look down again at the baby monitor to check the signal is still strong. Three red bars leap up to five, as if detecting sound. I jump to my feet.
‘What’s the matter?’ James’s voice is clipped.
‘Maybe Cory’s woken up?’
‘He’s not crying. He’ll be fine. Stay out here a little bit.’
I chew on my bottom lip while continuing to look down at the monitor, which has suddenly dropped down to two bars. ‘I think I best go and check on him. This thing is really active. Best to be on the safe side.’
‘He’ll be fine.’ James’s voice is a little harder this time, almost as if he’s annoyed. He takes out a packet of cigarettes and lights one, tips the packet over towards me. ‘For old times’ sake.’
I shake my head. ‘You know I haven’t smoked for years. I’m not about to start now.’
‘Suit yourself.’
I take a deep breath, confused as to why he’s tempting me with cigarettes, especially so soon after giving birth to our son. He knows how hard it was for me to quit smoking, especially given my issues. Cigarettes and red wine have always been my crutches, but as soon as we began trying for a child, I managed to quit both of them.
I have suffered with anxiety my whole life,