‘Well… I’ll just grab that coffee then,’ I say through a tight smile, already starting to feel on edge.
I order a gingerbread latte, complete with whipped cream and nutmeg. As I make my way back over towards the table, I notice Magda sitting down with Cory’s head nestled into her neck. She is gazing down at him, her mouth making the correct shape but her eyes holding a pain which is only noticeable if you’re familiar with the signs. Guilt sits heavy in my stomach as I place the cup of coffee down onto the table.
‘I hope it was all right that I picked him up,’ says Magda coyly, looking up at me through ridiculously long eyelashes which I am certain are false. ‘He was awake and, well, he’s just far too scrumptious not to.’
‘No, of course not,’ I say, taking a seat to the side of her. I sip at my coffee, the tang of spiced gingerbread clinging to the roof of my mouth. The taste transports me back to the beginning of my pregnancy, when I ate gingerbread biscuits by the packet in an attempt to ward off the daily morning sickness. ‘I can’t quite believe he’s two weeks old today,’ I say, unable to stop the pride from creeping into my voice. ‘He’s changed so much already.’
‘I can’t really put my finger on who he looks like. Definitely not James, that’s for sure.’ Annette glances over at Cory as if he’s something to be pitied, her words flatter than the half-drunk Frappuccino in her hand.
‘He looks like himself obviously,’ Magda replies tersely, her cheeks pinking ever so slightly. ‘He’s perfect and now we just need to get him a couple of playmates, don’t we, Net?’ She raises her eyebrows at Annette, who begrudgingly grunts out her agreement.
‘I was a little worried about coming if I’m honest,’ I offer, aware I’m fiddling around with the edge of the tablecloth. ‘I’d totally understand if you no longer…’
‘Ridiculous!’ Magda’s loud protest causes the elderly lady on the table behind to turn round. ‘One of us had to go first, love. Little Cory is our hope for the future, aren’t you, my darling?’ She plants a kiss on his forehead. ‘It was always going to be tough when one of us had a baby. But we’ll stick together throughout. Isn’t that what we agreed?’ She elbows Annette in the ribs, who rolls her eyes before nodding in my general direction.
‘How’s Ron doing?’ I ask Annette, not because I’m particularly interested in the welfare of Annette’s sleazy drunk of a husband, who dresses in suits several sizes too large and still carries around a Filofax, but simply as a way to break the ice.
She shrugs. ‘Very well. Always plenty of money in the pharmaceutical industry thanks to the hypochondriacs of the world.’ Her snipe is expertly placed.
‘How’s your sister doing, Mags?’ I ask, quickly changing the subject.
‘Not great really. It’s still cutting her up badly, which is no surprise.’
Helen, Magda’s older sister, lost her eight-year-old son, Luke, to a hit-and-run accident eighteen months ago. Although I’ve yet to meet her, my heart aches when I think about what she’s been through, and how utterly heartbreaking it must be to lose a child.
‘Her husband left her as well last month for his secretary,’ continues Magda. ‘How clichéd can you get?’
‘That’s terrible, really awful,’ I garble, not really knowing what else to say. ‘Is she back at work yet?’
Magda shakes her head. ‘You can hardly function as a mental health nurse when you’re going slightly mental yourself, can you?’
‘No, I guess not.’
‘I’ve told her to attend the clinic for counselling, of course. Obviously I wouldn’t do it myself; I’d get one of the others to. But she’s adamant she doesn’t need it.’
‘Are you both still coming round on Christmas Day?’
A few months ago, high on pregnancy hormones, I thought it would be a great idea to invite Magda and Helen round for Christmas dinner. Christmas has always been a horrible time for me since Mum died, especially given the fact that she took her own life on Christmas Day, which also happens to be my birthday. But being pregnant with Cory changed my perspective on the festivities. Now I want to enjoy it for him. Although I’m still looking forward to the prospect of catering for Mags and Helen, I am beginning to panic that making a full dinner with all the trimmings, while caring for a newborn, is going to be a recipe for disaster.
‘Well, yes, but…’ She glances over at Annette. ‘Net and Ron are at a loose end and, well, we wondered if they would be welcome too?’
My stomach sinks. Catering for Magda and Helen is one thing, but Annette and Ron? ‘Of course,’ I hear myself saying. ‘The more the merrier.’
‘Thanks, Louisa.’ Annette graces me with a tight smile.
‘So, what’s been happening on the baby front?’ I feel it best to broach the subject in order to get it out of the way.
‘I went to see the psychic again yesterday,’ replies Magda, her eyes filling with tears.
‘And?’
Annette stiffens beside her. ‘I’ve told her not to believe a word he says.’ Annette, a regular churchgoer, strongly disagrees with Magda’s involvement with psychics. It’s possibly the only thing we have in common.
‘What did he say?’ I take a gulp of my coffee.
‘He said he can’t see me giving birth to a child of my own, not ever! Although I suppose he was wrong when he predicted the Green Party would be elected so he’s not always right.’ She tries out a laugh but it’s paper-thin. ‘I have one frozen embryo left with the sperm donor but Claudio reckons his spirit guide, Fernando, or whatever his face is, has labelled it a dud. And while supporting Helen I really have no other money to try again.’ She looks down at Cory. ‘I’m never going to be a mother, am I?’
I reach over the table and take her hand in mine, her skin cold to the touch. ‘Yes, you are. The psychic is wrong. Do as Annette says and ignore him.’ A quick glance over at Annette earns me another rare smile. ‘And I’d never believe a dead person called Fernando.’
Magda and Annette give each other a small glance, neither of them bothering to laugh. I wonder if I’m really being fair, parading Cory in front of them like this.
I first met Magda in SureLife’s cafeteria, a private fertility clinic a few miles out of Chester. James and I were attending due to multiple fertility problems. The clinic, owned and run by leading embryologist Doctor Hughes, is cutting edge and offers all the latest procedures. It also has a fertility support group attached to it which the clinic encourages patients to join. That’s where we first met Annette and Ron. Of course, Magda and Annette are still waiting for their child, and I can’t help thinking that, by having a baby, I’ve somehow broken the bond we once shared.
‘Are you going to tell her what else he said?’ Annette smirks, the psychic’s revelations clearly amusing her.
‘Why, what else did he say?’ I pick up my latte and take another sip, the bitter liquid turning cold as it slides down my throat.
Magda shoots Annette a look. ‘Erm… just that you need to be careful, Louisa.’
‘What do you mean, be careful?’ The card from earlier swims into my mind’s eye, the image of the stork stiffening my stomach muscles. Earlier, after putting the phone down on Magda, I dumped it into the outside bin, its presence in the house feeling almost demonic.
‘It’s probably nothing. You don’t believe in psychics after all,’ she says, clearing her throat.
‘Well, you do,’ I reply a little too firmly, my insides now turning themselves outwards. ‘Tell me what he said.’
She takes a deep breath. ‘He mentioned you, by name. Your friend Louisa is…’ She hesitates, her eyes flicking up into her