Now, many years later, I am finally starting to believe that the therapist might have been right, that finally I can be free. Cory has to be the cure to my illness. I owe it to him as much as I owe it to myself. ‘Is there something else bothering you?’ I ask James. ‘Apart from your god-awful mother.’ I slide my eyes over towards him and hold my breath, proud of my courage even though a part of me is terrified of his answer.
A long silence stretches out between us. The smell of fresh smoke seeps up my nostrils and I feel my index and middle fingers twitch in response. ‘James?’ I whisper. ‘We can talk about whatever you want, you know.’
He shakes his head, slowly, almost deliberately. ‘I’m fine, Lou… there’s nothing to talk about.’ He flicks his half-smoked cigarette into the bush behind him, plummeting his face back into darkness.
‘You should use an ashtray.’
‘Shhh.’ I sense him freeze. ‘Can you hear that sound?’
I look over at him, his large bulk reminding me how small I really am. ‘Can I hear…?’
‘Quiet! I can hear something, in the trees… like footsteps.’
My blood runs cold. I look over towards the rear garden fence, the wasteland beyond overrun with bushes and trees. The bare branches seem to morph into creatures of the night, the wind cutting between their openings creating an audible whistling noise. ‘No, you can’t. It’s just the wind.’ My words are shaky, my tongue suddenly feeling too large for my mouth. I instinctively look back down at the baby monitor where two bars have lazily dipped down to one. ‘The signal isn’t good here. I need to check on Cory. Finish your cigarette. I’ll make us a drink and some supper.’ Quickly, I turn on my heel and run towards the house, deciding I’ve indulged in quite enough bravery for one night.
I sense James’s eyes on me the whole time. But I refuse to turn back around.
Sometimes it’s best not to look.
‘I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him.’ 1 Samuel 1: 27
I watch her from afar as she potters around in the brightly lit kitchen, dusting away crumbs from the work surface and straightening the tins in the overhead cupboard so the labels are facing outward. Her arse is stuffed into a pair of denim jeans, the waistband pulled up to her navel. It’s hard to believe by looking at her that she was ever pregnant; that something so precious dwelt inside of her for so long. The baby is stuck to her chest like a magnet, her hand resting underneath his bottom. She flicks on the kettle and spins round to grab two mugs off the draining board. This gives me the perfect vantage point from which to assess her. Studying her facial expressions, while she thinks nobody is watching, is the only way to accurately validate her mental state. It is crucial that I correctly diagnose her at this early stage. I have of course seen her expressions countless times before; have witnessed the whole spectrum of emotions flash across her face; from the dizzying heights of happiness to the darkest depths of despair.
Louisa is no stranger to me…
She doesn’t see me watching her, as she completely disregards her tea-making session a mere five seconds into it, perhaps realising that to pour boiling water into two mugs while holding a baby is a recipe for disaster. Of course she could have placed him down, or asked for help, but I doubt the thought even entered her pretty little head. He is ‘her’ child after all, and nobody is easily going to come between them. That isn’t a great concern to me though. I enjoy a challenge.
The little hospital ‘gift’ has most certainly had the desired effect. She is trying to disregard it, to place it at the back of her brain while telling herself there is a logical explanation. I know that is what she’ll be doing… because, as I previously mentioned, I know Louisa very well indeed. Unfortunately for her though, any attempt at logical thinking soon becomes drenched in anxiety until it is extinguished, her sanity reduced to flaky ashes which can be blown away in a puff.
The baby is exquisite though, all pale skin and red hair.
Yes, I prayed for a child just like him… and God has most certainly granted me my desire.
Louisa
Now
‘Hey, Lou, look, I think he might be smiling.’
I place my Kindle down on the nightstand, having not read a single word, and look over to where James is lying, Cory propped up on his thighs wearing nothing but a nappy and a smile. He’s now two weeks old and changing by the day. ‘Well, it does says in the book that babies properly smile around six weeks old; until then it’s most probably wind.’
‘Balls to the book. You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you, son?’ James sticks out his tongue and widens his eyes at Cory who wriggles around in response, his eyes transfixed on his daddy’s face as if it’s the most amazing thing he has ever seen.
‘He does pull that face a lot though, normally before taking a dump.’ I hold in a laugh, knowing that any talk of nappies sends James into a frenzy.
‘Oh God no.’ He covers his mouth with his hand as if he’s about to heave. ‘I’m still recovering from that one last week. Seriously it was horrific, right up his back like a lamb korma.’
I laugh. ‘You’ve told me a million times. It can’t have been that bad?’
In actual fact I had panicked when James had explained the colour and texture to me. I waited until he went shopping before calling the GP’s surgery, the snotty receptionist informing me that unless it was white there was no cause for concern. I wanted to ask her where she’d got her practitioner’s licence from but didn’t because the surgery is only on the doorstep, meaning it’s conveniently placed in case of emergency.
It’s now mid-December, meaning the temperature has plummeted into the minuses. We have central heating throughout the house but I still worry about Cory getting cold. ‘Pass him over now. I need to change him into his sleepsuit.’
James scoops him up and passes him over to me, always careful to keep his head and neck supported. ‘I need to go to sleep now anyway, I’ve got an early start.’
James went back to work today after two weeks’ paternity leave from his job as an anaesthetist at the local hospital. ‘I haven’t even had a chance to ask you how your first day back went,’ I say, feeling a stab of guilt. ‘How was it?’ I place Cory down onto the duvet and lay out his yellow sleepsuit to the side of him, ready to dress him.
‘So so,’ says James through a yawn. ‘We had a girl come in virtually at death’s door this morning. Tried to give herself an abortion by all accounts. It wasn’t pretty.’
I glance over at him, my heart suddenly racing. ‘Did she survive?’
James sighs. ‘She did, yeah, thankfully. Makes you wonder though, doesn’t it? Why in this day and age people feel the need to go to such lengths.’
I shrug, quickly averting my gaze. ‘Anyway, best you get some sleep. Like you say, you’ve got an early start.’ I place Cory on top of the laid-out sleepsuit and proceed to bend his arms into the openings. I try my best to ignore the slight shake of my hand, telling myself it’s been a long day and I’m in desperate need of sleep.
Half an hour later, I lie on top of the covers, hearing