He shuffles around awkwardly, looks down at his feet, not saying a word. Anticipation swells inside me, making me almost giddy. I am edging closer to the truth. I know I am.
‘You haven’t had a drink today,’ pipes up Doug, looking at James oddly. He is still holding Cory who appears to be taking everything in. Don’t panic, baby, I inwardly promise him. Mummy will always protect you.
A heavy silence hangs in the air as everybody fixes their eyes on James.
‘Fine,’ says Magda, her voice a notch above a whisper. ‘If you must know I offered to drive James. I phoned him earlier today but I told him to keep it quiet.’ She sticks her thumb in her mouth and bites her fluorescent pink nail.
‘And why would you do that?’
All eyes slide from James to Magda, tension thick in the air.
‘Because, Louisa, I’m really worried about you.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘As a counsellor, it is my professional judgement that you’re suffering with postnatal psychosis, a highly dangerous form of postnatal depression. I phoned James to convince him to admit you to hospital. You’re my best friend and I love you.’ A sob escapes her mouth. ‘I’m sorry but it’s for the best.’
‘You’re no friend of mine, Magda,’ I say evenly, not caring when my words cause her face to crumple. ‘ You’re just a barren old hippy intent on stealing my family.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Magda
After
Soft light seeps through my closed eyelids, its warmth evaporating the dream which previously rested there. I don’t know where I am or how I got here, only that nothing is how it should be. A smell, strong and sterile, hits my nostrils, like stepping into an indoor swimming pool. I fight to open my eyes, forcing all of my strength into my eyelids, both at once, then one at a time. Neither of them budges.
In the distance, a machine beeps, another one breathes; powerful, raspy, not quite human but thereabouts. Something burns in the back of my throat, the sides of my mouth aching, similar to spending hours in a dentist’s chair.
I hear footsteps, two sets, maybe even three. Think, think.
My memories are vague: chopped, spliced, muddied over. The pain in my lower abdomen intensifies, burns – what’s happened to me?
‘How’s she doing?’ A man’s voice pierces through my thoughts, his tone clear and sharp.
‘No change really. Have you found her yet?’ This second voice is somehow familiar – both tone and pitch stored in an area not yet erased.
‘We haven’t as of yet. I know this is a really hard time for you but we need to ask you a few questions.’ A third voice washes over me, its centre soft, its syllables emphasised in all the wrong places. ‘You met Louisa on Christmas Day, didn’t you? How did she seem?’
Louisa! Your name hits me like a dozen spinning knives, the memory of when we first met bursting into my brain uninvited.
One year ago, or thereabouts, I was sitting alone in SureLife’s cafeteria, Doctor Hughes’s earlier diagnosis playing over and over in my mind: ‘inhospitable womb, natural killer cells, unlikely to carry to term’. After four failed IVF attempts with quality donor eggs, I knew he was right.
‘What other options do I have?’ I asked him.
‘Surrogacy?’ he suggested, his face advertising the fact that he didn’t particularly recommend it.
‘It’s too expensive,’ I told him, to which he simply nodded.
I knew in that moment that my journey to motherhood had ended, or at the very least a great big boulder had been wedged in its path, a boulder so big even the Angel Gabriel would have been hard-pressed to move it. Slowly, my surroundings started to fade away, the cafeteria’s sights and sounds dwindling until all that was left was you.
You were sitting several tables in front of me, James opposite you reading a newspaper. Your aura was dark blue, a sure sign you were unsure of the future and desperate to take control. It garishly contrasted with your fiery red hair, which hung limply down your back.
‘Excuse me? I hope you don’t mind me intruding?’ I was beside you before I’d even realised I’d stood up. You looked me up and down, not intentionally, of course, but my then-purple hair obviously warranted a double-take. ‘I’m Magda. Pleased to meet you.’ I held out my hand, my nails painted a luminous orange.
You shook my hand. ‘Louisa, nice to meet you.’ I noticed how your nails were chewed, your fingers and wrists naked apart from a cheap-looking wedding ring which you must have owned long before having the sort of finances needed for treatment at SureLife. ‘And this is James.’ You seemed a little awkward introducing James, like you were almost feeling his embarrassment.
‘I saw you around,’ I tried to say casually. ‘Are you under Doctor Hughes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just like me then.’
You smiled at me then, revealing beautifully white teeth and small dimples.
I guess I knew in that moment that we were destined to be friends… I just didn’t know why.
‘Louisa was a little confused on Christmas Day,’ says the familiar voice now, the sound dispersing my bubble of thought. ‘But she didn’t seem violent. I can’t understand why she would want to kill Magda.’
My heart races, nought to one hundred in under a second. Surely I can’t be dead? I curl both hands up into fists, bang them down on something firm that lies beneath me.
‘It’s just so sad.’ The voice is frantic now, turning up at its edges. ‘I keep looking for any sign of life but there’s none.’
I’m here, I’m right here! I kick out both legs, can feel my heels sliding down a cool sheet, friction burning my skin. Why aren’t they hearing me?
‘Magda always spoke highly of Louisa. She said she felt a connection to her. I don’t know why she’s done this; my sister never asked for any of this.’
Sister? Of course, the familiar voice, Helen’s voice! Oh God, what have you done to me, Louisa? Why is my sister crying? I open my mouth and scream, the sound like a freight train all around me.
‘Just keep talking to her,’ says the masculine voice, his words disintegrating my scream like it was never even there in the first place. ‘They say people in comas can sometimes hear.’
A coma. I’m in a coma? The question births a memory, delivered fully formed.
I remember now, I remember what happened.
And I know exactly who was responsible!
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Louisa
Now
I sit on the edge of the bed, cloaked in darkness, my hands and feet numb with cold. The slight gap in the bedroom doorway allows muffled voices from the hallway below to filter through, a secret discussion I’m not privy to. Somebody is crying but I can’t decipher who and I don’t really care. They can all rot in hell, every last one of them.
After a few moments, the front door slams shut, and the voices slowly taper off until all I can hear is my own solitary breath and the beating of my heart. My eyelids soon grow heavy, the weight of the past three weeks, coupled with endless cycles of broken sleep, causing exhaustion to weigh them down. Despite the danger I am in, I am desperate to sleep, to fall into oblivion where nobody can reach me. The mattress feels lighter than air as I allow myself to fall back into it; dreams quickly leak into my thoughts, like thick black oil in clear water.
‘Let her sleep. It won’t do her any harm.’ I peel open my eyelids, look up at an opaque figure looming over me, his heavy bulk lightening the darkness which surrounds him. I sense somebody else in the doorway, a flowery perfume tickling my nostrils. This second figure remains silent – motionless. No longer wanting to fight against it, I allow sleep to pull me under, a little at first, then all at once.
‘Come, Louisa… come to me. I’ll protect you both.’ Aiden’s face appears in front of my eyes and I realise I am no longer afraid of him. Gone are the wonky teeth and black eyes, his face now angelic and open, like a waxwork angel. After all, we share the most wonderful gift, we are connected by blood, bounded for all eternity. Peace envelops me, the heaviness lifting from my skin until I am lighter than air. I reach my hand up to him, touch his silky red hair, my fingers melting into his scalp.