Page 20 of The Pieces of Us

‘I’ve made my mind up. I’m not going to college.’

Ruby’s voice rings through the kitchen before I’m even aware she’s home. I carry on loading the washing machine, taking my time, wondering if I’ll work out the right thing to say, how to make my voice sound normal, how to deal with something else , before I get to the bottom of the basket.

‘ Mum . Did you hear me?’

‘Yes, Ruby. I did.’ I stuff the rest of the clothes into the machine and slam the door closed. When I turn to face her, she’s sitting on the table, arms folded, lips pressed together. I know this stance. She’s gunning for a fight.

‘What the hell has made you decide this? I thought you were looking forward to college.’

‘I will go. But not this year. I’m deferring.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I tell her. ‘What’s going on, Ruby? There’s been something up with you for weeks and I can’t figure it out.’

‘I’m pregnant,’ she says. ‘I’m pregnant. I’m sorry.’ The words surge out of her: Impregnantimsorry.

I stare at her. ‘ What? ’ I don’t recognize my own voice, its biting screech.

‘I’m pregnant.’ She says it louder, with an edge to her voice, like this is my fault.

I steady myself against the kitchen counter. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I took two tests at Sophie’s. I left school at lunchtime today to go to the doctor’s.’ She pulls a letter out of her pocket. ‘I have a scan appointment.’

None of the questions racing through my mind – how?

when? why? – slow down enough for me to grab hold of them.

I’d instigated the contraception chat when she’d been seeing Sean for a few months, when they’d started spending more time behind her closed bedroom door, the music just loud enough to muffle their voices.

‘Mum. Ewww ,’ she’d said when I’d handed her a pack of condoms and asked if she wanted to talk about other options.

I’d clearly misinterpreted her response.

It wasn’t the thought of having sex with Sean that was inappropriate; it was talking about it with me.

I take hold of the letter, leaving my other hand to grip the edge of the countertop behind my back. Meanwhile, my pregnant teenage daughter moves around, opening the fridge door, closing it again.

‘A scan appointment? Already? How far on are you?’

‘Around twelve weeks.’

‘ Twelve weeks? Why did you wait so long to go to the doctor?’

She shrugs. ‘I didn’t notice the first time I missed a period. And then … I was scared. I didn’t want to think it was true. I just kept hoping my period would come. But then I started feeling … weird. Tired. But not like normal tired.’

My heart breaks as it all starts to make sense.

The long naps after school. The mood swings I was too quick to put down to the stress of Minnie moving in on top of the usual pressures of being a teenager in this modern world.

The sweet cravings. There are no physical signs yet.

Her face – downcast and make-up free – looks younger than ever.

A lump forms in my throat as I think of everything Ruby has ahead of her if she has a baby – cracked nipples, sleepless nights, projectile vomit.

Self-doubt, stress, anxiety, loneliness.

‘I have some leaflets from the doctor,’ Ruby says quietly. ‘I mean, it’s all online anyway. But will you look at them with me?’

‘Of course I will. Ruby – fuck – what are you going to do? Are you going to have an abortion?’

‘I have no idea.’ She’s still moving around the room.

‘Ruby. Ruby. Sit down and talk to me, please.’

We both sit, and I wait, my heart beating a relentless drill against my chest.

‘It’s Sean’s obviously.’ She puts her elbows on the table and clasps her head in her hands.

‘Sean. Yes, of course.’ I’ve hardly processed the fact that other people are involved in this, people who will have their own reactions and opinions and wishes. Sean and his parents – people I’ve never met, whose names I don’t even know.

‘Fuck, Ruby. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .’

‘I know!’ she shouts at me, then remembers about Minnie. ‘I know,’ she whispers, and starts to cry.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, sweetheart?’ I lighten my voice. ‘I’d have come with you to see the doctor. I … I hate the thought of you doing that on your own. Or did Sean go with you? Lauren or Sophie?’

She shakes her head. ‘I went on my own. You’re so busy with Gran. I didn’t want to …’ She bites her lip.

‘Oh, Ruby.’ I grab her hand, my eyes filling with tears. ‘I’d never be too busy for you, sweetheart.’ She’s crying too, between short intakes of breath.

‘How did this happen? I thought you knew what to do. What not to do. Didn’t you use protection?’ I remember that she took the packet of condoms from me after the ewww .

‘ Yes .’ The word comes out in a gulp. ‘Of course.’

I try to keep my voice even. ‘Ruby, I’m not an idiot. Of course? ’

‘We did,’ she insists. ‘But … I guess something went wrong. Sometimes these things just happen. You should know that better than anyone.’

I take a deep breath and let it out in one noisy blast. ‘You know what your options are, right? We need to talk about them.’

She nods, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. ‘I know.’

‘Does Sean know?’

Another nod. ‘I WhatsApped him last night.’

‘You WhatsApped him? Jesus, Ruby.’

‘What?’ She glares at me.

I shake my head.

‘He’s going to support me, whatever I decide to do.’ Her eyes don’t meet mine. ‘I don’t know what that is yet.’

‘This is a huge decision, Ruby. And it’s your decision. Sean is involved but it’s your body.’

‘I know that.’

‘You can’t take too long, sweetheart. Not when you’re twelve weeks already.’

‘I know .’

‘Do you want to go and get the information from the doctor? We can take a look at it now?’

‘Sure,’ she mumbles. While she’s in her room, I quickly check on Minnie, asleep on the sofa. I adjust her head a little to make her more comfortable and tuck a blanket over her knees.

Ruby’s back in the kitchen. ‘Dr Traynor says I have three options.’

‘OK.’ A dull ache has started at the side of my head. I fill a glass with tap water and gulp it down.

‘I can keep the baby or I can give it up for adoption or I can have an abortion.’ The words spill out.

She keeps her eyes on the leaflet open in front of her.

‘Did you know you can have an abortion at up to twenty-four weeks?’ She doesn’t wait for my reply.

‘We talked about it in PSE last year. Watched a Women’s Aid video about abortion rights.

And now … here I am.’ Finally she looks up at me briefly and bites her lip.

‘Ruby, I wish I could make this all better for you. Wave a magic wand and make this all disappear.’ I put my arm round her shoulders. ‘I’m not saying an abortion is a magic wand. Far from it. But … you’re so young. You have your whole life ahead of you.’

‘I know that. But I don’t know if I want to have an abortion.’ She picks up another leaflet. ‘The idea of adoption feels weird. Like that’s just something they do in the movies. Remember Juno ?’

I sigh. ‘I do remember Juno , yes.’

I can count the number of nights I’ve spent apart from my daughter on one hand – the very occasional hen do, the other few spawned from rare last-minute appearances from her dad during her early years.

I know her inside out, or at least I did when she loved zoo animals and swimming and watching Dora the Explorer .

None of her answers to the big and small questions of life have taken me by surprise.

But right now, looking at her tight jawline and pale lips, I have no idea what she’s going to do. I look at her not looking at me.

‘If I don’t have an abortion … if I don’t give it up for adoption …’ Her voice is barely more than a whisper, but I hear her fear as loud as thunder. ‘How the fuck would I cope with a baby?’ she moans, holding her head in her hands.

I feel a wave of nausea. ‘You’re thinking of keeping it?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ she says quickly, picking up her phone.

I sigh, as she scrolls. ‘Ruby, can you put that down please?’

‘It’s the size of a plum, it says here. That’s bigger than I thought it would be.’

I give her a moment.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ The tears are back.

‘Sweetheart …’

‘I wasn’t planned, right?’

Her question takes me off guard. ‘No.’ This isn’t news to her, nor is it something she’s brought up for years. Unlike me, she knows exactly how she came into the world.

She arches an eyebrow. ‘Must run in the family.’ This burns, but I remind myself to pick my battles.

‘It was a shock when I found out I was pregnant with you, Ruby. But I –’

‘Decided it would be a good decision to have a baby with an asshole?’

‘I didn’t realize just how much of an asshole he was until after I got pregnant,’ I tell her.

‘It can’t have come as that much of a surprise,’ she huffs.

I add Are you going to tell your dad? to the end of my mental list of difficult questions.

This one is marked low priority – Tomás will likely have no part in any of this unless Ruby decides otherwise.

After she turned thirteen I took a step back, letting her control how often she contacted him – and how often we spoke about him.

As far as I’m aware, their contact amounts to no more than scattered text messages and a phone call every few months.

‘Did you think about having an abortion?’ She puts the heat back on me. ‘ Don’t lie .’

‘Obviously I knew it was an option,’ I tell her. ‘But – and I mean this – I pretty much knew from the start that I was going to have you. I can’t explain it, Ruby. I just felt in my gut that it was the right thing to do. And Minnie was behind me one hundred per cent.’

‘You weren’t much older than I am now,’ she says pointedly, going back to her phone, scrolling and typing so fast it’s making my head spin.

‘I was twenty when you were born,’ I admit.

But not a teenager who hadn’t even finished school yet , I think.

‘Ruby, I’ll be there for you, just like Minnie was for me.

Whatever you decide.’ I can’t help thinking about my biological mother, about the decision she made and how she might have felt.

I see her in my mind like she’s behind a curtain that’s sheer enough to reveal her pregnant body, while her features remain blurred.

‘Do you want me to have an abortion?’ Ruby’s voice is faint, but the words slice into me.

‘Ruby, this is your choice. It’s your body. I’ll support you, no matter what. I mean that. Do you hear me?’

She nods, her eyes watering. ‘You’ve got so much to deal with already. How would we even cope with a baby? How could we afford it?’

‘We’d cope the same way we cope with everything else.’

She sucks her breath in. Then her eyes come back to me, the tears still there, my child who’s trying to decide whether to have a child of her own. ‘Mum, I don’t know what to do.’

I grab her knee with my left hand. ‘We’ll figure it out. Where do things stand with Sean? Do you see a future with him? Maybe he should come over and we can chat about it?’

‘OK.’ She tightens her fingers round mine. Then she lets go and she’s back on her phone.

‘I’ll start on dinner.’ I stand up, but before I’ve moved away from the table her arms are wrapped round my waist, her face pressed against my belly.

‘I’ve ruined my life, haven’t I?’ she whimpers.

‘Oh, Ruby … no .’ I stroke her back, making the circles that always comforted her when she was a teething baby, a wee girl with nightmares. ‘It’ll be OK.’

‘Promise?’ I can hear the desperation in her muffled voice.

‘Promise,’ I tell her with a conviction I don’t have.

After many hours of talking and crying, but mainly crying, I usher a pale-faced, exhausted Ruby into my bed.

Lying side by side, I hold her hand and stare into the darkness until she starts snoring softly.

When I wake up just after 8 a.m., forcing my heavy eyes open, our fingers are still laced together.

I manage to crawl out of the bed without disturbing my teenager. My pregnant teenager. I force my body to keep moving: one foot in front of the other to the door; lift my arm to grab my dressing gown off the peg; pull the handle towards me until there’s enough space for me to slip out.

I’m tempted to keep putting one foot in front of the other until I reach the front door, triple-unlock it and start running – at least until I find someone who can come and fix all this for me.

But I know that person doesn’t exist, so I make my way to Minnie’s room instead.

She’s still asleep, her tiny body barely creating a bulge under the duvet.

In the soft glow of her night light, I look at her photo collage, my eyes stopping on each of the photos of Ruby: a plump, happy-faced bundle in a crocheted cardigan on Minnie’s knee; gap-toothed and grinning on her first day of school; the same height as her gran on her eleventh birthday.

Whatever she decides to do now, part of her has changed forever – years before I hoped it would.

I leave Minnie sleeping and head to the kitchen. Ruby is sitting at the table, her face still pale, her eyes red. She looks so young, barely older than in the eleventh birthday photo, and my heart breaks all over again.

‘Hey.’ Her voice is flat.

I try but can’t make my own tone more upbeat. ‘Morning, Rubes. How are you feeling?’

She shrugs. ‘Not great obviously.’

‘We have a lot to talk about, sweetheart.’ I make the call between tired and wired and opt for the latter. I drop a coffee pod into the machine, hit the button, and then jab it three more times before it comes to life.

Ruby moves around the room like she’s in slow motion: taking a glass out of the cupboard, orange juice out of the fridge, a banana from the fruit bowl.

You still have a Build-A-Bear family on your bed , I think.

We sit in silence for a moment, until she says, ‘Mum, I’m sorry,’ and we both fall apart.

‘Come here,’ I say, sitting back down, and she shuffles over to me. I pull her on to my lap, wrapping my arms round her.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she sobs into my shoulder.

Me neither , I think as I rub her back and rock her gently. ‘Piece by piece,’ I tell myself in my most decisive grown-up voice, and she thinks I’m talking to her.