Читать книгу A Mother’s Sacrifice: A brand new psychological thriller with a gripping twist - Gemma Metcalfe, Gemma Metcalfe - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

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 James’s gentle snores, which are somehow comforting rather than annoying. My mind clogs up with one thought after another, none of them completely whole. Eventually I begin to feel my muscles grow heavy and somewhere deep inside of me fear takes hold, almost as if my body knows what my subconscious is planning. My eyelids fall, a little at first… then all at once.

His fingertips brush the inside of my thigh. ‘Close your eyes,’ he whispers, his touch slightly ticklish like the static from a balloon.

My bare legs are raised and wide apart. I am without underwear and cold seeps into my nakedness, the hem of a garment I am not familiar with skimming my knees. ‘This won’t hurt,’ he promises, just as something sharp slides inside of me, my teeth clamping together in protest.

‘Stop, it hurts. Please.’ I try to shuffle away but there is no escape. I am locked in.

A baby’s cry splices through the silence, yanking me forward. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ I say, guilt clawing at my chest. ‘It isn’t right.’

‘Shhh,’ he says, the sensation between my legs a spiked cocktail of pleasure and pain. ‘I’m nearly finished.’

‘Lou, I’m at work tomorrow. Will you see to him, please?’

I wake with a gasp, the nightmare evaporating into cold sweat which lathers my chest. Cory’s cry fills the bedroom. ‘Okay, baby,’ I say, my voice thick with sleep. ‘I’m coming.’

‘I was just dropping off then.’ James’s voice is clipped. ‘Does he ever sleep?’

‘It would appear not.’ I sit up and peer out into the darkness, the nightmare now breaking up behind my eyes. It isn’t a first, or a second, or third come to that. Ever since I opened that card at the hospital, the same twisted dream has hounded me. It would seem that two separate memories, one entirely innocent and the other not so, have somehow tangled together and reworked themselves into a frenzy.

‘James?’ I reach out under the duvet and grab hold of his thigh, suddenly desperate to confess everything. ‘I keep having a dream.’

‘Least you’re getting some sleep then. Sorry, Lou, but I’m going to have to sleep in the spare room. I can’t work on no sleep. It’s dangerous.’ He jumps out of bed and makes his way across the bedroom, his footsteps heavy on the laminate flooring.

I rub at my eyes, feeling a prickle of annoyance when the bedroom door slams shut. To give James his due, he has helped with the night feeds over the past fortnight, and there is no way he can deliver anaesthesia while sleep deprived. But still…

Begrudgingly, I pull myself out of bed, Cory’s cry rising until it’s almost a shriek. I stumble over towards the Moses basket where I can just about make out his silhouette, the street lamp outside our bedroom window permanently suffering with insomnia. ‘Shhh, baby,’ I whisper to him, while turning around to unhook my dressing gown from the back of the door. I put it on, the heavy flannel still warm from where I took it off not half an hour ago. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’ Bending down, I scoop up Cory, his tiny fingers like blocks of ice despite the central heating. Guilt washes over me. ‘Where have your mittens gone, hey? You’ll be scratching that beautiful face again.’ I kiss his head, take a moment to breathe him in. He smells of sleep and Johnson’s shampoo, the scent scrumptious enough to sell.

I carry him over to the bed and sit on the edge, the soft mattress sinking under my weight. I flick on the bedroom lamp, blink a few times as my eyes adjust. Cory squints up at me, his eyebrows furrowing together, creating a cute little mono brow. ‘Well, you will go waking me up, you little sod.’ I stare deep into his eyes which, over the past few weeks, have begun to slowly darken, making me wonder if he will have brown eyes like James after all. The thought causes my spirits to lift. It would be nice for Cory to share some physical characteristics with James, would be nice for all of us. ‘What are we going to do with you, baby? You’re a little night owl, aren’t you?’ My eyes sting and for a moment I feel like crying through sheer exhaustion. In the past three days I must have slept a total of ten or eleven hours, and even then I’ve been plagued by nightmares. I’m not angry at Cory though, how could I be? All he has to do is look up at me and I melt, feeling like a teenager meeting her idol for the first time. He really is beautiful to look at, his skin as white as porcelain and his hair redder than fire. He is a dainty baby, his features all in perfect proportion, reminding me of a Victorian pot doll. ‘So what is it this time, sir?’ I say, attempting to find light in the situation. ‘A tickly foot? Or do you require a freshly powdered bottom?’ He frowns up at me, as if already finding me embarrassing.

An hour later, and with Cory finally asleep and settled back into his Moses basket, I climb back into bed and close my eyes once again. Sleep tugs at my eyelids almost instantly but then a sudden thought jolts me back awake. In the morning, I am due my first home appointment with my health visitor, Carol, something I’ve been dreading. I hate the idea of a stranger snooping around inside my house, watching me, judging my mothering abilities.

Or perhaps I’m just terrified she’ll mention my past.