‘Lou…’ James sits up and sighs. ‘I think we need to talk.’
‘No, later, first you need to see this card.’ I pull down the door handle, impatient to prove my sanity. ‘The card, it has a Bible quote inside, about a son, about being pleased with a son.’
James’s eyebrows knit together, seemingly in confusion. ‘That card arrived today, while you were out. I put it on the mantelpiece.’
‘Oh my God!’ The door handle remains in limbo as my brain works overtime in order to process what this means. If I put the card in the bin this morning and it was posted back through the letterbox this afternoon it means the donor must have been in the back garden. ‘Oh shit!’ I say, my mouth now dry. ‘We really need to ring the police.’
James leans back against the headboard and squeezes his eyes shut. ‘You’re going mad, Lou,’ he says, taking a deep breath. ‘You really are.’
‘I’m not mad!’ I try to suppress the rage which rolls up into my stomach, a feeling which has been slowly building since this morning. ‘Did you even read the card? Or are you just assuming I’m crazy because it’s easier than facing the fact that another man’s sperm impregnated me?’
James drops his gaze, every muscle in his face clenched, as if he too is desperate to hold on to his anger. ‘Just come with me,’ he says after a second. ‘You need to see this.’
I follow him down the stairs, not bothering to switch on the landing light. Once in the lounge, I make my way over to the card which is still positioned on the mantelpiece. I’m terrified to touch it and yet at the same time thankful for its presence. Picking it up, I hold it out to James.
‘No, Lou,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I think you ought to look.’
‘But I’ve already read it.’ I try once more to give James the card, unsure as to why he’s turned white. ‘Don’t be scared. The donor might be trying to tear us apart but he won’t succeed. We’re Cory’s parents and that’s all…’
‘Open it, Louisa!’
Realising he isn’t going to take the card any time soon, I open it myself, slightly peeved that I’m now being shouted at in my own home. I understand James must be angry about the donor reappearing but it’s hardly my fault. I haven’t caused this to happen.
‘There, look!’ I point down at the writing inside the card, the words somehow off kilter. I look again, this time reading one word at a time, a cold dread working itself through my insides as I realise what it says.
‘James… it wasn’t. I promise.’ I trip over my words, my brain and mouth seemingly disconnected. ‘The donor, he must… he must have switched the cards.’
‘No, Louisa, just stop this please!’ James reaches out to grab hold of my arm. I take a swipe at him, suddenly suspicious of everything.
‘Get away from me. What did you do with the cards? Is it you? Are you doing this?’
‘What?’ He takes a step away from me as if I’m dangerous. ‘Just what are you getting at?’
‘It isn’t the same one as earlier.’ I hold the card up to James’s face, my hand shaking so badly I’m certain a panic attack is imminent. ‘Come, I’ll show you!’
Running out of the lounge, I dart down the hallway and into the kitchen where I unlock the back door. Once outside, the ferocity of the wind almost knocks me off my feet. I push through it, my bare feet stinging as they hit the icy path.
‘Louisa! Come back!’ James grabs the sleeve of my dressing gown as I approach the wheelie bin.
‘It’s in here, I’ll prove it!’ I yank my arm away from him and pull off the bin lid. The smell of rotting food hits my nostrils as I stick my hands down into yesterday’s leftovers, feeling something cold and slimy squelching between my fingers. ‘It’s in here somewhere. Just wait. Give me a minute.’ Tears stick to my cheeks as I continue to pull out boxes and cigarette butts for what seems like hours, all the while feeling James’s hot stare on the back of my neck.
Finally, when I’m nothing other than a sobbing wreck, James reaches over and gently pulls me away. ‘It’s all right, Lou,’ he says, his voice laced with regret. ‘I never should have made you keep the donor a secret. It’s my fault you’re ill. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not ill,’ I say, my voice too small to be convincing.
‘You are, sweetheart. But that’s okay.’
A moment later, I allow James to guide me back into the kitchen. ‘There was a Bible quote in the card, I promise you,’ I say, no longer sure who I’m trying to convince. ‘The donor must have removed the original from the bin and posted the new one.’ Even to my own ears I sound delusional, and I start to wonder if it’s possible I imagined the message inside the card this morning. After all, I was convinced Carol was about to take Cory. Is it not possible that I looked at one thing and saw another?
‘Look at it, Louisa!’ James prises the card from my hands and holds it up towards me. His voice is gentle, and for some reason that scares me more than if he’d been shouting.
I see the writing for a second time, the typed font like a mirage in front of my eyes.
To Mr and Mrs Carter,
Congratulations on the birth of your baby.
We at SureLife family clinic wish you much happiness for your future x
‘Will you let me take you to the doctor now?’ he asks, the fear in his voice palpable.
All I can do is nod.
‘Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path’ Psalm 119: 105
The stairs creek beneath my bare feet. I shift my weight onto the handrail and feel the next step with the tip of my toe before committing to it. The stairwell is blacker than an underground tunnel; silent, still… as if an anaesthetic has seeped into its cladding.
I have been home for almost three hours but insomnia refuses to surrender. It bounces off the walls of my mind, like a hyperactive child with a tube of Smarties.
Ahead of me, light seeps out of a thin crack in the kitchen door. The promise of alcohol draws me towards it, like a moth to a flame if I were being predictable. My resolve towards Louisa has continued to weaken since I arrived home but I mustn’t allow it to. ‘Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.’ I have started to wonder if I am going too far in my pursuit of happiness, in pursuit of righting the wrongs which have befallen me… but no, in my spirit I know what is right. After witnessing the incident in the garden, it is clear that Louisa now firmly believes the donor has returned to take her child. The irony is almost funny.
The day flashes before me like an express train as I finally touch down on even ground, the icy coldness of the hallway floor biting at my heels. The first stirrings of winter cold cause my limbs to ache. I arch my back and hear it crack. That is what happens when you stealth around in woodland in the height of winter, spying on your prey. But of course it is a ransom I must pay. I know to some my actions may appear ungodly, like the story of Saul in reverse, and yet I know in my soul that the child was meant for me and me alone. Louisa was merely a vessel… like the Virgin Mary.
The whiskey feels like soft silk as it coats the back of my throat. Bushmills single malt. It warms me from within, spreading outwards and soothing my aching muscles. I tip it back in one, enjoying the feeling of serenity as my eyes cloud over.
I am doing the right thing. I am righting every wrong.
Standing in the kitchen brings back memories of the day gone by: The homeless man, the phone, the matching cards and the email. I may wait a little while now, remain vigilant, assess how my planted seed of doubt grows and flourishes. ‘Faith as small as a mustard seed can move a mountain.’
Especially when that seed is planted on fertile ground.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Louisa
Now
‘I think Cory’s lips are turning purple. Do they look purple to you?’ I plough the pram through a thick mound of snow, my arms aching and my bare knuckles burning with cold. On a normal day the doctor’s surgery is a ten-minute stroll, but we must have already been battling the elements for half an hour.