A Mother's Sacrifice
Gemma Metcalfe
PROLOGUE
The woman’s nightdress blew against her bare legs as she made her way towards the bridge. The voices inside her head continued to taunt her; an acidic sewer of hate which, over the past four weeks, had eaten away at her sanity, grinding her down to nothing but flesh and bone.
She laughed out loud into the black abyss of the night sky, knowing that soon, their mocking words would die on their cruel lips; like the final smirk of a guilty prisoner on death row.
Outwardly, her body continued to play the game, her top and bottom teeth clamping together, the cold November night stiffening the muscles in her arms and legs. She blew out a knot of fear, watched in awe as it kissed the freezing air in front of her, physically morphing itself into something tangible, before slowly evaporating away to nothing.
The child in her arms began to stir. She responded by gently pushing him into the softness of her chest; his shock of red hair tickling the underbelly of her chin. He began to suckle her neck, hunger morphing his nasally snuffle into a raspy moan.
‘Shhh baby,’ she cooed into his ear. ‘Everything will be all right.’
As she stepped on to the bridge, the storm intensified, the force almost knocking her off her feet. Rain continued to hammer down on top of her, the wind cutting it through the sky at an odd angle. At 3 a.m., the bridge was deserted, the only sound coming from the angry outbursts of the swollen River Dee below, which threatened to burst its banks.
Climbing over the railings was somewhat fiddly, especially while trying to keep hold of the baby. He squirmed beneath her, his podgy fist grasping hold of her soaked auburn hair, yanking it down and almost pulling it from its roots. She held tightly hold of the railing as she leaned over the river, her arm twisted behind her at an uncomfortable angle. Her free hand rested itself on the baby’s back, his warm body heating her palm.
The voices inside her head began to intensify, a choir of heckles rising and falling in response to the conductor’s orders.
‘Death! Where is your sting?’ Lifting her head up to the night sky, she loosened her grip on the railing.
In a matter of seconds, it would all be over…
CHAPTER ONE
Louisa
2014–Now
‘Oh God no, please no!’
I clamp my teeth together and squeeze my eyes shut as the all-too-familiar dull ache wraps itself around my abdomen and lower back, my uterus compressing under what can only be described as the steely jaws of a mechanical vice.
‘Come on, Louisa, you can do it!’ My husband, James, squeezes my hand at the exact same moment the ache gives way to a searing hot pain which slices my insides in half, bringing forth a scream which strips the skin from my throat. ‘No, really, I can’t, you’ll have to do it for me!’
A nasally snort flies out of his nose.
‘I’m glad you’re finding this amusing.’
‘Sorry,’ he says, peeling back his grin. ‘You know I would if I could.’
‘As if! You still think man flu’s a thing!’ Grabbing hold of the plastic mouthpiece from the gas and air, I shove it into my mouth and suck. Why did I want a baby so much? Why oh why oh why!
‘Come on now, Louisa.’ The familiar brusque tone of the midwife severs my thoughts. ‘The head’s almost out, another big push now, right into your bottom. You can do it.’
‘No, I can’t, why does everybody keep saying that?’ I bring the mouthpiece out of my mouth just long enough to try and make the midwife understand that I really am dying. It’s only now I realise she isn’t the same one who gave me the gas and air a few hours ago, nor is she the one who induced me yesterday morning. This one is short and stocky and, judging by her gravelly voice, smokes around sixty fags a day. ‘You need to make this stop!’ Fat tears roll down my cheeks as I ready myself for the next contraction. ‘I’m actually going to die, please don’t let me die!’
‘Not much longer now, sweetheart, you’re doing amazingly well!’ James sidles onto the bed next to me and wraps his arm around me. He smells of coffee and cigarettes which is somewhat comforting even though it makes me gag. ‘Just calm down and practise your breathing exercises.’ He reaches over and pushes my sopping wet fringe back off my forehead.
‘You have absolutely no idea, it’s like shitting out a…’ My words fall away as another, much more powerful contraction rips through me without warning, plunging me down into a world without sight or sound. I writhe around on the bed, bare legs and feet twisting themselves into impossible positions, the starchy-white bedsheet underneath me feeling like freshly laid stinging nettles.
‘Push, Louisa, push and hold, push and hold.’ The midwife’s orders somehow cut through the pain, coinciding with an almighty urge to empty out the contents of my insides. I’m vaguely aware of a low, almost primal, grunting noise as a ring of fire ignites between my legs, and just as I feel I can’t possibly take it any more, James’s voice explodes into my eardrum.
‘Oh my God, the head’s out. Lou, we’re having a baby!’
The grip on my abdomen loosens and my vision slowly returns, a fizz of excitement rippling through me. ‘And here’s me thinking it was a dodgy curry.’ I manage to laugh through my tears, the gas and air making me slightly delirious. Looking up for the briefest of seconds, my eyes connect with James’s, his own red-rimmed and swollen. I notice for the first time how his jet-black hair is stuck up through the middle where he’s no doubt shoved his hand continuously through it over the past few hours, a sure sign that beneath his carefully placed humour he is as terrified as I am.
‘Right, Louisa, when you next get an urge, you need to push like you’ve never pushed before.’ The midwife’s head pops up from between my legs, reminding me of the arcade game ‘splat a rat’.
‘Easy for you to say.’ I lie rigid, terrified to move a muscle in case I accidentally suck my offspring back up my vagina! ‘Is he still there, James? Is he okay, is he normal?’
‘Lou, it’s fascinating. It’s a bloody miracle. I can see his head.’ James whips out his iPhone, the flash cutting across my line of vision.
‘You dare!’
‘Not even a little selfie?’
‘Louisa!’ The midwife’s voice rises in volume. ‘It’s vital you push now, come on, baby needs you!’
I flick my eyes over to James whose smile appears to have fallen from his face. ‘Is she panicking? Why’s she panicking? What’s happening?’
‘No, she’s not, don’t worry.’ He glances over at the midwife, his lips slightly parted. ‘Just do as she says, Lou,’ he says after a half beat. ‘Push, push now!’
‘I can’t, I’m too scared. I’m going to hurt him!’ I shake my head at the midwife, certain I can’t go on any longer, certain that I’m somehow going to suffocate my baby boy. Visions of his scan picture swirl in front of my eyes, his ski-slope nose so like my own, his tiny hand balled up into a fist. ‘It’s a boy,’ the sonographer had said, zooming in to show us the evidence. It had seemed surreal, like looking at somebody else’s baby, both fascinating and terrifying seeing my name positioned at the top of the scan. ‘I’ll always protect you,’ I whispered to the grainy image, my finger tracing the shape of his mouth.
Now, four months later, here I am, having to make good on my promise and failing at the first hurdle. ‘Is he all right, is he breathing?’
The midwife breaks eye contact with me, looks over at the heart monitor, unease flitting across her face.
‘What the hell is happening? Just tell me!’ My eyes flick from the midwife to James, another contraction starting somewhere in my lower back.
James swallows hard before grabbing tightly hold of my hand. ‘The baby…’ He looks down between my legs. ‘The cord, it seems to…’