I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
‘Louisa, I really am painfully sorry.’ Magda places her hand over her heart. ‘But I’ll see you on Christmas Day and we’ll have a proper catch-up then.’
‘No problem. I hope Helen will be well enough to come. We’re really looking forward to meeting her.’ I glare at Annette in the hope she’ll realise her earlier sarcastic comment was uncalled for.
‘I think that one’s got a fella, you know,’ says Annette as Magda leaves the café.
‘How come?’
She taps the side of her head. ‘Just sense it. Always rushing off, wearing lots of perfume. Unless it’s another woman she’s got. Always thought she could be a vagina diner, if you get my drift.’
I blanch, appalled by her turn of phrase. Especially since she’s supposed to be a God-fearing Christian. ‘I, erm… are you sorted for Christmas?’ I ask, changing the subject.
‘Yes, are you?’
‘Yes.’
An awkward silence hangs between us, neither Annette nor I comfortable in each other’s presence without Magda.
I look around at my surroundings by way of distraction, Mama now back behind her serving hatch, seemingly beating the living shit out of a slab of meat with her bare hands. In the far corner, a young mother tries and fails to shove a spoonful of beans into her toddler’s mouth, all the while attempting to wind a baby draped over her knees like a serviette.
‘Ron told me. About the antidepressants.’
Feeling my insides tighten, I open my mouth to protest. He has no right discussing my business and she knows it. ‘He shouldn’t…’
She holds up her hand, silencing me before my reproach is even properly formed. ‘I would have seen the prescription anyway when I cashed up so you can save your dramatics.’
I sink down into my chair, not wanting to discuss anything with Annette but feeling like I have no choice. ‘The doctor thinks I’m suffering with postnatal depression,’ I mutter. ‘But I’m not.’
She tilts her head to the side. ‘Continue.’
‘Well, it’s difficult to explain.’ I rummage around inside my head for the right words. Do I tell Annette about Cory’s donor or not? James certainly wouldn’t be happy if Ron found out. In the end I decide I have to, knowing only that there have been enough secrets and lies to last a lifetime. ‘James isn’t Cory’s dad,’ I whisper. ‘We used a sperm donor.’
Annette raises her eyebrows but doesn’t look altogether surprised.
‘You already knew?’ I ask her, annoyed.
She pauses. ‘No, I didn’t. But it doesn’t come as a surprise; after all, James and Cory look nothing alike and I always doubted you’d use SureLife for routine IUI.’ She takes a sip of coffee, grimaces as it slides down her throat. ‘But what I don’t understand is the connection to postnatal depression?’
I explain everything to her, right down to the matching cards and James’s insistence that I must have hallucinated the message inside the second card. ‘So you can understand why the doctor might think I’m crazy but I’m telling you somebody is playing mind games. Perhaps the donor or somebody else, I don’t know.’
Annette purses her lips but doesn’t speak, her eyes resting on mine for what seems like for ever.
‘Annette, do you think I’m crazy?’ I don’t know why I ask, but all of a sudden I’m unsure of myself.
She shrugs. ‘What I think doesn’t really matter. I’ll tell you what though, Louisa – either young Cory has soiled himself or Mama is frying one of her legendary beef steaks. What’s saying you go and change him while I buy us a mince pie? Then we can decide the best course of action.’
I sniff up, not really smelling anything apart from damp bodies and fried onions. ‘He could just have a touch of wind but best I change him anyway.’ I reach down into the underbelly of the pram, ready to grab the matching shoulder bag which contains all of his changing gear.
‘If I were you I’d just take the nappy and wipes out. The toilets here are tiny and I wouldn’t fancy putting that beautiful cream bag down on Mama’s toilet floor. She might be a good friend but she was never partial to cleaning, bless her heart.’
‘No, you have a point,’ I say, still somewhat astounded that Annette and Mama are friends. I guess we’re all full of surprises.
Taking Annette’s advice, I stuff my hand into the bag, rummaging around for a clean nappy and the pack of baby wipes. My fingers skim the paper bag containing the antidepressants, the feel of them causing a fresh wave of anxiety to flutter through me. ‘Right, I won’t be a moment.’ I position the nappy and wipes under my arm before picking up Cory. ‘I’m so sorry, baby,’ I whisper to him when he stirs in my arms. ‘We’ll be home soon, I promise.’
I change Cory the best I can, Annette’s description of Mama’s toilet spot on. He’d only weed, which is a relief, although it certainly says something about Mama’s cooking that Annette mistook it for faecal matter.
Finally, after what seems like an age, I push open the toilet door and make my way back into the café, the place now deserted bar an elderly man who scoops sloppy porridge into his mouth, some of it missing and landing in his beard.
I look over at the pram, still positioned where I left it. Three mugs of coffee litter the table beside it, neither of them drunk beyond a sip. All three chairs are now empty.
Annette has gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Louisa
Now
‘And what has Father Christmas got for Mummy then?’
James appears at the living-room door, Cory in his arms wearing a Santa Babygro several sizes too large.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done to our baby?’ I can’t help but laugh, the red and white felt hat balancing on Cory’s ears causing them to stick out. ‘He’s not wearing that all day; he looks like nobody owns him.’
‘What do you think then, Father Cory? Has Mummy been a good girl?’ James grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘She certainly was last night.’
‘Stop talking vulgar, he’s very intuitive you know.’ I look over to where a small, neatly wrapped present is propped up on Cory’s belly, hiding what looks like the markings of a black and gold belt. ‘Is that present for me, baby boy?’ My voice holds a certain sing-song quality which always seems to be present when talking to him, even though it’s never intentional. ‘I can’t wait to open it.’
‘So you like the outfit?’ James sits down on the sofa beside me, repositioning Cory into the crook of his arm.
‘I love it. It’s good quality too. Where did you buy it?’
‘EBay… but before you start panicking, it was new with tags.’
‘I wasn’t going to panic,’ I say, a grin lying in wait. ‘Even if it was secondhand I wouldn’t have minded.’
‘Lou?’ James raises his eyebrows.
‘Well, okay, maybe I would have minded a little bit. Well, actually, a lot. Please tell me it was definitely new with tags?’
‘Scout’s honour. Merry Christmas, sweetheart, and happy birthday.’ James leans in and kisses me on the cheek. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’
I shrug, still not completely happy with being forced to take antidepressants, especially since I’ve not stopped itching for the past few days, not to mention the headaches which could shatter glass. ‘I think Ron was lying about them meds though,’ I admit to James, feeling myself getting teary even though I was fine just a second ago. ‘Fluoxetine’s strong stuff. Two days I’ve been taking them and I’m constantly burning up. My emotions are all over the place too. Yesterday I cried at a charity advert about homeless donkeys, ended up sending them money so they could have a Christmas dinner.’ I rub at my temples in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure. ‘I could really do without cooking Christmas dinner for six people today. Especially since Annette pissed off the other day without a word.’