Page 18 of The Pieces of Us

‘OK, then let’s talk about that. Maybe we could make a couple of tweaks to your medication – maybe you don’t need to take all those pills.’

‘That’s exactly what I tell her,’ Minnie says. ‘She doesn’t listen.’

Dr Ozdemir goes through each of Minnie’s prescribed medications, explaining why it’s important that she takes it and asking about any side effects that are bothering her.

Minnie can’t remember what happens when she takes the yellow pill versus the white one, and she loses her train of thought halfway through the conversation, so I fill in the blanks.

‘It’s important that you keep taking all your medicine, Minnie,’ Dr Ozdemir says, and Minnie nods obediently.

‘It keeps all the different parts of your brain healthy and working together as they should. The brain is a complex machine and sometimes it just needs a little help to perform at its best. Does that make sense?’

Minnie takes a break from nodding to turn to me. ‘She’s a smart one, so she is,’ she says.

‘She sure is,’ I agree.

‘I’m going to prescribe some of these in liquid form,’ Dr Ozdemir tells me.

‘See if that makes a difference. Sometimes the pills can cause nausea, although that should have stopped by now. Anyway, it’s worth a try.

’ She turns to Minnie. ‘There’s been a lot of change in your life recently, Minnie.

You’re doing really well. How do you feel in your new home? Do you like living with Cat and Ruby?’

‘I love it,’ Minnie says, reminding me that I can never predict what’s going to come out of her mouth.

‘That’s wonderful to hear.’ Dr Ozdemir smiles. ‘What do you like to do at home? What makes you happy there?’

‘ Candy Crush ,’ Minnie says without hesitation. Dr Ozdemir lets her talk about the game for a few minutes, making notes on her computer between encouraging noises.

‘It sounds like you’re excellent at Candy Crush , Minnie. I’m so pleased – it’s good for your mind. And I do recommend that you keep going to the park now and then. Fresh air and exercise is good for you. I know Cat enjoys that too.’

At the mention of my name Minnie looks at me and smiles. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘She’s my best friend.’

‘Well, that’s just lovely.’ Dr Ozdemir grins at me. ‘My daughter is eight. I hope she’s as wonderful as Cat when she’s older.’

‘Daughter?’ The confusion is back on Minnie’s face with a hint of alarm. ‘Cat’s not my daughter.’

‘I’m not?’ She’s telling me what I already know but I feel the rush of adrenaline, the goosebumps on my arms, my body scrambling away from the threat. I stare at her, wondering if she’s about to tell me everything. ‘Minnie, I’m not your daughter?’

She responds by patting my hand. ‘Don’t worry, dear. You’re just like a daughter to me.’

I’m speechless. I look at Dr Ozdemir, who’s smiling sympathetically and who has no idea how pivotal this moment is.

‘ I’m just like a daughter to you .’ I repeat Minnie’s words, trying to absorb them.

‘Yes. You and that good-looking girl. Don’t tell her, but you’re my favourite.’

‘Lena?’

Her eyes light up. ‘ Lena . That’s the one. She’s so down-to-earth and helpful.’ She turns to Dr Ozdemir. ‘She’s very attractive, looks like a model. It’s those Slavic cheekbones.’

The mammoth weight of disappointment pushes me against the back of my chair.

Minnie can’t be blamed for thinking I’m her carer, because there’s very little I don’t do for her now.

I make her tea because boiling water is too much of a risk.

I squeeze toothpaste on to her toothbrush.

I button and unbutton her coat. She leans on my body to steady her own during the rare occasions we walk to the park or anywhere else.

She never does anything for herself without me being only a few feet away from her.

I want to correct her, to tell her that while I’ve become one of her carers, I am her daughter.

I want us both to believe that regardless of what happened after I was born.

But she’s started wringing her hands, which means she’s getting anxious, and her consultant’s office is the most inappropriate place for me to correct her.

So I hold her hand and say nothing else.

We’re back from the clinic and I’m emptying the washing machine when a notification makes my phone buzz.

I open an email from Asim and click on the link to the Memory Cafe website and look at the photos of people holding cups of tea, painting flowers on huge strips of paper attached to a wall and dancing in a circle.

Some of the faces are shiny with joy, some tight with trepidation, others devoid of all emotion.

I like to think of Minnie wielding a paintbrush, creating messy petals in bright red and yellow, thick stripes of green for the stalks.

Drinking sweet tea and eating shortbread biscuits with new friends, none of them caring that she’s covered in crumbs.

Dancing to the buoyant sixties music she once loved.

I regularly find myself searching my memories for glimpses of her as a young woman, a strong single mother.

Sometimes she’s ironing my school uniform on a Sunday evening for the week ahead.

She plays old records on the turntable, singing and moving her hips to her favourite tracks.

Always busy, always moving, always with energy to spare.

By bedtime I have four perfectly pressed white shirts for the week ahead, along with two grey skirts with flawless pleats and another Elvis hit ringing in my ears.

She’s making me a stack of pancakes after Saturday-morning hockey practice.

She’s curling my hair before the school disco and giving in to my pleas for eyeshadow.

She’s pressing a hot-water bottle against my belly when I have period pains.

She’s meeting me in her hallway, arms outstretched to take my newborn daughter for as long as I need to sleep.

She’s in my kitchen, making another stack of pancakes – this time for Ruby.

She’s doing the most normal and extraordinary things in the world.

She’s being my mother. Someone else is your mother too , says a voice in my head, the voice I can’t silence no matter how hard I try.

The memories prompt me to leave the basket of wet clothes on the kitchen floor and check on Minnie. She’s in her usual place, on the sofa, watching television. ‘Would you like a cuppa, Min?’

She looks at me as if I’ve just told her she’s won the lottery. ‘I would love one, sweetness,’ she says.

‘And a wee biscuit?’

‘Oh, make it two wee biscuits.’ She winks at me.

While the kettle boils, I go back to Asim’s email.

Hey Cat!

My grandfather loves this place. Maybe see you at the next one? Just look for the old guy in the trilby and I won’t be far away.

Also … for future reference … what’s your coffee order?

Asim Khan

PS More viewings in the diary!

I read it again, then hit reply before I lose my nerve.

Hey Asim Khan,

Memory Cafe looks great. Maybe we will see you there …

For future reference, mine’s a flat white.

Cat McAllister

Minnie and I drink tea and eat two biscuits each, watching people look for dream homes abroad.

Today Minnie couldn’t care less about the property market in Portugal, choosing instead to focus on what people wear.

‘Mutton dressed as lamb,’ she scoffs, or ‘Just goes to show, money can’t buy you style. ’

After Pam and Mike from Scarborough miss out on their Albufeira villa, I turn the television off. ‘Music?’

‘Music,’ she says, neither a yes nor a no.

I find the Beach Boys on Spotify and fill our small flat with good vibrations. I get on with my chores, sticking my head into the living room now and again. Minnie doesn’t move from the sofa, but she’s tapping her feet to the beat.

When my tiny kitchen is covered in damp clothes and the washing machine is whirring for a third time, the doorbell rings.

It’s a familiar voice in my ear when I lift the intercom handset. ‘One flat white,’ Asim sings the words. ‘I’ll catch you later. Have a great day.’

By the time I get downstairs he’s nowhere to be seen. On the doorstep is a takeaway cup with a black-marker cat face on the lid, complete with triangle ears, whiskers and what I’d describe as a tentative smile. The cup warms my hand as I carry it upstairs.

While Minnie naps, I try to find the energy to tackle the mundane tasks I’ve been avoiding, like calling the Department of Work and Pensions to try to sort out an issue with Minnie’s benefits that seems far too complicated given the fact that it stemmed from me inputting the wrong date in a box.

Instead, I read Asim’s email again. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m dialling his number.

‘Just calling to say thank you. For the flat white. It was sweet of you.’ I cringe at my choice of words and put my hand over my mouth.

‘Well, I can be pretty sweet,’ he says, and I feel a little less cringe. ‘Maybe we could have coffee sometime?’

‘Together?’

He laughs. ‘Yes, together. Like in a cafe or any place that sells coffee. Why not?’

Because I’m an idiot who doesn’t even know why she’s called you. Because I’ve not been for coffee with a man for years. Because my life is a mess.

He breaks the silence. ‘You can say no, Cat – if you don’t want to.’

‘It’s not that. It’s just … complicated,’ I tell him.

‘Well, my speciality is complicated. Anything complicated. Chess. Rubik’s Cube. Algorithms.’

‘You play chess?’

‘I do.’

‘Rubik’s Cube?’

‘Working on it.’

I pause. ‘It’s a maybe to coffee. Is that OK?’ It’s the best I can do right now , is what I don’t say, but I think he probably knows that.

‘That’s definitely OK,’ he says. ‘No pressure.’

‘No pressure,’ I agree.

‘Piece by piece, Cat.’

‘What if you don’t know what the next piece is?’

‘Maybe it’s just having coffee with me,’ he says, and I can hear the gentle tease in his voice.

I laugh. ‘Maybe. Listen, I need to go.’

‘You know where I am, Cat. If you need anything. A flat white delivery, a minor paint job. An ear.’

‘I do. Thank you. Really.’ I hang up and lean against the kitchen wall, savouring the feeling of something brand new.