Page 41 of The Pieces of Us

Below the hum of the washing machine and the steady pitch of traffic outside, I’m suddenly aware of the music from the radio.

It’s from Puccini’s La Bohème , one of Minnie’s favourites.

We move on to coffee and then, finally, we say goodbye and promise to catch up again tomorrow.

I picture Lisa going back to Charlie, see him putting a tray of chips into the oven, changing the cat litter, jumping off the sofa when his football team scores.

All those little things that trigger a pang of envy in my chest. I can’t deny that it would be nice to have someone to lie in bed with me tonight when I mull all this over, to put a hand on my arm when I wake up feeling overwhelmed.

As if on cue, Asim calls. ‘We’ve got a completion date for the sale.’

‘That’s brilliant. But do you never introduce yourself on the phone?

’ I cradle my mobile between my ear and shoulder so I can wash my hands then start on Minnie’s lunch.

A light sprinkling of grated cheese between soft slices of white bread with the crusts cut off.

She eats in child-size portions most days.

‘Do I need to?’ Asim asks. ‘Doesn’t my name flash up when I call? Asim the handsome estate agent ?’

‘That’s a bit of a mouthful.’

‘Asim the Handsome then. Like Peter the Great.’

‘I prefer Vlad the Impaler. Hold on. I’m just taking Minnie her lunch.’ I sit my mobile on her lap tray next to the tiny sandwich and plastic cup of milk.

To my surprise she’s not glued to the television. ‘I turned off Loose Women ,’ she informs me. ‘I didn’t like the panel today. It was that woman with the crabbit wee face.’

‘Fair enough. What are you doing?’ The couch is covered in sheets of paper and crayons. I try to decipher what she’s written.

‘It’s a surprise,’ she says, organizing the papers into a pile. ‘Ooh. What’s for lunch?’

I place the tray carefully on her lap. ‘A cheese sandwich. Just what you asked for.’

‘I did not ask for that,’ she says, but she’s quickly distracted by my phone, snatching it up and pressing it to her ear before I can intercept it.

‘Hello?’ She puts on a posh voice, winks at me. A rare glimpse of the mischievous side that was once such a big part of her character.

I wait impatiently while she talks to Asim.

Or, rather, listens to him do most of the talking.

Minnie nods and makes overly expressive faces, raising her eyebrows at me now and again.

She says enough for me to get the gist of their conversation – there aren’t many ways to interpret She needs to get out more and I don’t want her to die a lonely spinster .

‘Give me that.’ I grab the phone from her. ‘Eat your sandwich. All of it.’

I wait until I’m back in the kitchen before I speak. ‘What do you think you’re playing at, Vlad?’

He laughs. ‘Your mother thinks you should go on a date with me. A proper date.’

‘Hmmm. That’s weird – I was standing right beside her and I didn’t hear her say that.’

‘You must have been distracted. Anyway, I think we should go for a drink just to keep your mum happy. Celebrate your completion date, however you see fit.’

I smile. ‘Oh yeah? What do you have in mind?’

‘A glass of champagne? A pint of lager? A Jack Daniel’s and Coke?’

‘You can buy me a sparkling water,’ I tell him. I study the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall, a jumble of words and colours and initials and asterisks crammed into the daily squares. ‘I’m working on Friday, but I have a couple of hours after my shift before I have to get home to Minnie.’

‘Friday it is. We’ll make it work. Text me and let me know where to meet you and when. I’ll be there.’

‘OK. Well, I guess I’ll see you then.’

‘I guess you will.’

‘Goodbye, Vlad.’

‘Goodbye, Cat.’

While I still have my mobile in my hand, I type a text to Lisa.

I think I’m going on a date on Friday!! Fuuuuuuck.

I check on Minnie, who’s back watching television, her untouched cheese sandwich balanced on the arm of the sofa. I tidy up around her, returning the crayons to their box and gathering up the loose sheets of paper.

A list of names catches my eye. This time they don’t belong to familiar faces from daytime TV. My name is there, followed by Ruby and her own in block capitals – presumably to signify its importance.

On the other side of the paper, the name Beth covers every inch. I take a deep breath and sit beside her, put the paper on her knee. ‘Minnie, I can tell that Beth was very special to you. Do you want to tell me about her?’

She shakes her head. ‘I want to watch Grease .’ She points at the television.

‘I’d love to learn about Beth, Min, if you have anything you’d like to share. Any happy memories?’

‘I don’t think I can help you with that,’ Minnie says. ‘Sorry.’

‘Nothing? Nothing at all?’

She shakes her head, her lips clamped shut.

I sigh. ‘OK, Min.’

Minnie doesn’t want to watch TV this evening, so I leave her in her room with her Argos catalogues.

When I check on her an hour later, she’s snoring in bed, Spring/Summer 1981 tucked under her arm.

I carefully extract the worn pages. I take advantage of the soft glow of her night light from the bedside table to study the planes of her face and whisper the words I wish she would understand: ‘ Whatever happens next, you’ll always be my mother. ’

Before I leave the room, I piece the separated nesting dolls back together, realizing for the first time that the smallest doll comes apart too.

But there’s not a sixth tiny doll inside.

Instead, there’s a frayed piece of lined paper, aged to a creamy yellow.

I unroll it, expecting an old shopping list or a note of seven-digit codes for products Minnie had her eye on in the Argos catalogue.

But what I read is this:

I can’t do this any more. It hurts too much. You’re her mother now.

Please never tell her about me.

B

A surge of adrenaline charges through my body. My hands shaking, I rush to Ruby’s room. She’s still awake, lying on her bed, laptop balanced on her bump, wearing her huge bright pink headphones. ‘Hey. Can’t sleep. Just watching stuff,’ she says loudly.

I gesture for her to take the headphones off. ‘I need to show you something,’ I say softly.

‘Course,’ she says. ‘Everything OK?’

‘I’ve found a note.’ I read it to her, my voice stumbling over the scant text. ‘From B.’

‘Beth,’ Ruby says without hesitation.

‘ Beth .’ I stare at the small precise letters, trying to make sense of the words. ‘This proves that she and Minnie knew each other. It sounds like Beth was still in my life in some way when I was very young. I wish I could remember something – anything.’

My daughter takes my hand and holds it against her beautiful bump.