Page 29 of The Pieces of Us

Ruby and I exchange a knowing look. It took us both a long time to get used to Minnie’s incoherent episodes.

Now that they’re just another part of our daily lives, they’re less painful.

Her belief that she’s going to the Memory Cafe tonight is easier to take in our stride – especially when it comes with a willingness to let Ruby pluck her eyebrows and a desire to look pretty.

I find Asim in the kitchen, elbow deep in washing-up water.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ Then I sigh loudly.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I feel like I say that to you a lot, and it’s winding me up,’ I admit.

He looks puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You just … do stuff for me. Paint Minnie’s kitchen. Bring me a bottle of wine. Give me a hanky when I cry in the supermarket. And now you’re doing my washing-up.’

He drains the sink and dries his hands. I notice his taut, strong forearms before he rolls down his shirtsleeves. Feel my belly cinch – or perhaps somewhere further south than my belly. It’s been a long time since any part of my body reacted to a man’s forearms.

‘Well, I didn’t really paint Minnie’s kitchen for you . I wanted it to sell so I could get my commission.’

I grab a tea towel and flick it against his leg. ‘Ha ha.’

‘As for the wine, that’s just good manners. And the hanky … I like to be prepared in case I run into any weeping women in Aldi. But listen … you left out the best thing I’ve done for you.’

‘What’s that then?’ I ask him, winding the tea towel round my arm, suddenly feeling awkward.

He shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe you’ve forgotten about the flat white.’

I laugh. ‘I did forget about that. You’re right. That’s without a doubt the best thing you’ve done for me.’

‘There’s more,’ he says, and his face is serious.

My belly flips. ‘There is?’

‘Yep.’ He opens the fridge. ‘You have plenty of vegetable pasta bake … for lunches, dinners, midnight snacks, whatever.’

I stand beside him and give the neat stack of Tupperware boxes a closer look. ‘That actually looks edible.’

‘Totally edible,’ he says with conviction. ‘I scraped off the top layer. Just simmer a wee bit of water in a frying pan, chuck the pasta in and keep stirring. Or something like that.’

‘Check you out, chef,’ I tease, still marvelling at the fact that a man has salvaged my dinner disaster and subsequently provided two meals’ worth of food.

‘Now … I’m going to leave you with your family,’ he replies. ‘Unless you want to give me more chores?’

I grin. ‘The bathroom could do with a once-over.’

‘Next time,’ he says, closing the fridge.

Still standing side by side, neither of us move. I look up at him, not sure what to say.

He speaks first. ‘I find you quite hard to read, Cat McAllister.’

‘Yes,’ I agree, staying close to him, still looking at him.

‘Can I kiss you?’

‘Yes,’ I say again, and he takes hold of my chin and kisses me on the lips – softly, briefly.

Just as I feel him pulling away, I kiss him back, and I don’t know how we end up with our bodies pressed together against the fridge, but that’s what happens and for the next few minutes I forget about everything.

Until what begins as a faint background noise evolves into a familiar sound and I stop the kissing, remembering everything else.

‘It’s Minnie,’ I whisper.

He nods. ‘Go.’

You kissed Asim last night . The words have been running through my head all morning, and I need to think about something else – something less scary, less exciting – to stop them forming the internal soundtrack of my day.

I woke up to a text from him: As good as the pizza was, it definitely wasn’t the best part of the night … I hope I see you again soon, Cat xx

I type out several different replies, delete each one, and finally put my phone away without responding. Part of me wishes I could crawl back to the other side of the line we leaped over in my kitchen last night.

I need a distraction, and Minnie is in a good mood, so I decide now is as good a time as any to ask her about the baby bangle. I sit beside her while she eats her scrambled eggs on toast in the living room.

‘I’ve been sorting through some more of your stuff,’ I tell her. ‘I found this in your jewellery box.’ I take the bangle out of my pocket. ‘Do you know who it belonged to? It’s engraved … I don’t recognize the initials. Can you see? E. S. M.’

She peers at it. ‘That’s not mine.’

‘It was with all your things, Min.’

‘Can I hold it?’

‘Of course.’ I put it on her outstretched palm. ‘It’s pretty, right?’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Do you know whose initials are E. S. M., Minnie?’

‘Maybe it’s Ada’s.’

‘Min, it’s not Ada’s. Why would it be Ada’s? Ada starts with “A”.’

‘Well, I don’t know.’ Her voice gets louder. ‘I don’t know anything any more, do I? Don’t get angry with me.’

‘I’m not angry with you.’ I put my hand on her arm, but she pulls away from me, rocking the tray on her lap. ‘Minnie, it’s OK. It doesn’t matter. I was just curious, that’s all.’ I reach for the bangle but she tightens her grip on it.

‘It’s mine.’

‘OK, Minnie.’

‘It’s mine .’

‘ OK , Minnie.’ I put my hand on her elbow to try to reassure her, but it only makes her jerk her arm away from me.

I find myself covered in scrambled egg. ‘Fuck,’ I hiss.

‘She’s mine,’ says Minnie.

I stop brushing egg off my knees and stare at her. ‘What? Who? Who is yours?’

‘Nobody,’ she huffs. ‘I’m going to my room.’

I wince as her bedroom door slams. Then I take my time to clean up the egg, giving her some time alone.

When I knock on her door, then slowly push it open, she’s asleep on her bed with her red-leather bag tucked under her arm.

Next to her head on the pillow is the tiny silver bangle.

Her words ring in my ear. She’s mine . They don’t tell me anything about the baby bangle, but I know she’s talking about me.