Page 44 of The Pieces of Us

I’d gathered all Minnie’s postcards together – dozens of them – and secured them with an elastic band.

Between London and Cornwall, I find it. DONEGAL is printed in black along the top, above an image of a rock formation in the shape of a bridge with a turquoise sea in the background.

On the back of the postcard, next to the address of the house I grew up in, is another handwritten address: 44 Bayview Cottages, Bundoran, Co. Donegal, F94 .

A small line of text at the bottom of the postcard tells me that the image is of the FAIRY brIDGES AND TULLAN STRAND, BUNDORAN . The sender has added in tiny writing: (my favourite place).

I look at the image on the front again. Donegal . It’s not a place Minnie ever mentioned to me. I turn to the back, searching for the answer. The postmark is 13 November 1978. I was one year old.

I’m kneeling on the floor in Minnie’s room with a dry mouth and a thumping heart, and it feels like time is standing still.

I carry the postcard into the kitchen, quietly close the door behind me and google 44 Bayview Cottages, Bundoran, Donegal .

I look at the small building on a map – right in the middle of a gently curved crescent.

I learn that it’s been a holiday cottage in recent years, but when I dig further it doesn’t seem to be available to rent right now.

There’s no doubt in my mind that this postcard came from Beth or someone connected to her. I google every possible version of her name – Beth Muir, Beth Sarah Muir, Elizabeth Muir, Elizabeth Sarah Muir – alongside Bayview Cottages, Bundoran, Donegal. I find nothing.

After an hour I tear myself away from my screen to make hot chocolate for Minnie and Ruby, who are watching Frozen and singing along.

I take my nervous energy into the bathroom and scour the toilet until it gleams. I reply to a text from Asim, signing off with a red heart emoji because today has been a good day and I’m feeling hopeful and brave.

Then, after my mother and daughter are in bed, I stay up far too late, reading about Donegal’s Fairy Bridges – made of centuries-old sea stacks and said to have magical powers, bestowed on them by the fairies that haunt them.

Another rock formation in the same place, the Wishing Chair, offers an incredible view of the Atlantic Ocean, and might just make your dreams come true.

I keep the postcard to myself for a few days, giving my mind permission to go to Donegal in lieu of my body.

My work shifts have been busy now that we’re into wedding season – and relatively calm at home until 7.

43 p.m. on Thursday. Ten minutes ago, I’d left Minnie in the living room with Candy Crush to talk Ruby out of a last-minute panic about her maths exam tomorrow morning.

When I leave her feeling a little calmer, I meet Minnie standing in the hall, a line of tears rolling down her cheek.

She’s still holding the iPad; underneath I can see the dark patch spreading from her crotch.

‘Oh, Min.’ I jump to my feet and take her arm. ‘It’s OK. I’ll run you a bath.’

In the bathroom I follow our usual routine. I turn on the taps, then Spotify. Spread towels on the floor. Sprinkle lavender bath salts into the running water. Pull her shower chair next to the bath so she can sit down and lift her legs over the side.

‘How the tables have turned,’ she says. ‘You used to get into a right mess when you were potty training.’

‘Right,’ I say, but she’s on a roll.

‘You did a shite on Skinny Maureen from next door’s lawn once. Luckily her husband had just been over it with the mower, so it was easy to pick up. But Skinny Maureen was raging.’ Minnie laughs.

‘You can just keep that story to yourself,’ I tell her. ‘OK. Shall I leave you to it?’

She grabs my arm. ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘No problem,’ I tell her, hoping my voice doesn’t betray how shattered I feel right now.

Brushing Minnie’s hair and helping her get dressed and making sure she takes her medication is one thing.

But I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.

The lurch in my gut and the pressure in my chest tells me that we’re about to cross a huge line.

I know if I give Minnie a bath I’m robbing her of one of the few private moments she has left.

A couple of minutes later she’s standing in front of me, as naked as the day she was born, telling me to get a bloody move on, and this is when I need to dig deep.

Because I also know that if I give her a bath now, there’s a chance she won’t do it on her own again.

My eyes move from her hip bones, as sharp as nails, to her deflated breasts, to her hunched, jagged shoulders.

This is the woman who danced while she ironed my school uniform, who had a generous cleavage in a sweetheart neckline, who giggled with Ada over a pitcher of margaritas on a Saturday night.

I play those vivid images on loop while I carefully slip my hands under the loose skin of her armpits and shuffle her towards the edge of the bath.

Her body is cold despite the stifling heat in the flat.

‘I can’t lift my leg,’ she says. ‘I think it’s stuck.’

‘Sit on the chair,’ I tell her. ‘Hold on to my shoulders, as tight as you can. Don’t worry about hurting me. I’ll swing your legs over.’

‘I hate that chair,’ she snaps. ‘Put me straight into the bath.’

‘Don’t blame the chair,’ I mutter, but I kick it away from us.

She lowers her body tentatively, until she’s perched on the side of the bath. We end up in an awkward one-armed embrace, the only thing that keeps her steady while I manoeuvre her legs up and over. ‘I feel like I’m playing Twister,’ I say in an attempt to lighten the mood.

‘What’s Twister? Ooh, that water’s nice.’

‘It’s a game we played when I was a kid. Right, let’s sit you down. Can I fill the bath a bit more? You need more water to stay warm. You’re freezing.’

‘No, I’m not,’ she insists, but she lets me turn the tap. ‘Ooh, I like that smell.’ She closes her eyes.

‘It’s lavender.’

‘It’s nice.’

‘Would you like me to wash your hair, Min?’

She opens her eyes and the sadness in their depths hits me in the gut.

I don’t know if she’s sad because her grown-up daughter is supervising her bathtime, or because she might not wash her own hair ever again.

Maybe it’s the crescendo of ‘Nessun Dorma’ erupting from the Bluetooth speaker behind our heads.

Maybe it’s the lavender, taking her somewhere she doesn’t have the words for.

I use a plastic measuring jug to pour water over her hair, then squirt the tiniest amount of baby shampoo into my palm and massage her scalp gently. Her skull feels tiny under my fingers.

‘I used to love going to the salon. Getting a perm, sitting under one of those big dryer thingies.’

I laugh. ‘You loved your perms.’

After I rinse her hair, I sponge her body, working quickly and comprehensively to keep her warm.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says.

I squeeze the sponge over her shoulder. ‘What the hell for?’

‘For this. For all of it. I’m like a baby. I’m useless.’

I drop the sponge and lower my head until my face is directly opposite hers. She has no choice but to look at me. ‘You are not. Don’t ever say that. Or think it.’

Minnie has no idea how bittersweet this moment is.

I cling to the brief window of clarity, desperate to prolong it.

It could be a good time to ask her about Beth again, but I stop myself.

Instead, I guide her out of the bath, dry her body gently, then settle her into bed and read Diary of a Wimpy Kid to her until she falls asleep.

In the quiet I call Lisa. I don’t tell her what happened with Minnie’s bath – some things are too difficult to be shared, even with a best friend. I do tell her about the Donegal postcard, and she shrieks with excitement.

‘Well? Are you going to do it? You have an address …’

‘Lisa, you know what my life is like. A trip to Ireland isn’t going to happen any time soon.’

‘You can make it happen if you really want to. It’ll just take a bit of planning.’

‘How can I leave Minnie?’ I remember guiding her cold, fragile body into the bath, massaging shampoo into her tiny skull.

‘With people who care about her – and about you. A few days, Cat. You need it. Your birth mum aside, you need a break. We can make a plan for Minnie.’

If I’m going to do this I need to do it soon, I realize after I’ve ended the call, lying on my bed staring at the Donegal postcard. Minnie is only going to get weaker.

Minnie’s current care plan includes six days and nights of additional respite care per year, although I have to pay for it myself then go through the tedious process of claiming the cost back.

Lena assures me that it will be fine, that it’s a pain to walk under the hoops but I’ll get the money back.

I have faith in her, not only as someone who nurses and nurtures Minnie but also as someone who has years of experience working in the astonishingly complex social care system.

Plus, I’m completely on board with her second-language misapplication of the phrase.

It is, after all, far more difficult to walk under hoops than jump through them.

I know all about the hoops – we’re still waiting to find out if she’ll get the once-a-month weekend respite care that we all so desperately need, which will be even more important after the baby arrives.

After days of planning, and worrying, and changing my mind then changing it back again, of writing lists for myself and lists for other people, I buy my ticket for the ferry to Belfast. It’s the first leg of the journey that ends in Bundoran, Donegal.

Every time I have a wobble, Ruby calms me down.

‘What are you scared of?’ she asks me.

‘Leaving you and Minnie.’

‘We’re fine,’ she says. ‘My exams are over. School is over. I’m not due for over two months. And Lena will be here overnight. What else have you got?’ She folds her arms and looks at me defiantly.

‘Nothing,’ I admit. ‘But –’

‘Enough,’ she says. ‘Get your bags packed.’

I take a break from packing to join Minnie in the living room, turning off the television and sliding the remote control under the sofa cushion.

‘Hey,’ she shrieks. ‘I was waiting for Loose Women. ’

‘It’s not on today, Min,’ I say gently. ‘It’s Saturday. But I’ll put our Grease DVD on in a wee while if you like.’

Her face relaxes. ‘Danny is so handsome.’

‘He sure is. Let’s do that then. We’ll have a movie afternoon, yeah?’

‘With snacks?’

‘Of course with snacks. Always with snacks. You can let me know what you want and if we don’t have it, I’ll send Ruby to the shop.’

‘I heard that,’ bellows Ruby’s voice from the kitchen. ‘Maybe I’m too fat and tired to go to the shop.’

‘Maybe some exercise will do you good,’ I yell back.

‘I’d like some of those crunchy chocolate things. And maybe some mint imperials.’

‘OK, Min. But first … can we have a wee chat? There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

She looks at me suspiciously. ‘You and your wee chats. What’s going on? Am I moving again? I don’t want to move. I like it here, with her.’

I follow her eyes; Ruby grins at me from the doorway. I grin back. Minnie likes it here and I think that’s the first time she’s told me so. I smile at her, and at my daughter, wanting to stay in this moment.

‘I was just about to tell her about my trip,’ I tell Ruby, who’s not paying attention because she’s staring down at her belly.

‘Whoa.’ She puts a hand on either side of her bump. ‘ Whoa . Mum. It’s going crazy in here.’ She sits beside me and I feel my grandchild move.

‘Gran, do you want to feel the baby kick?’

‘Not right now, pet,’ Minnie says. ‘I’m waiting for Grease .’

‘Ah, yes. Grease .’ I reluctantly pull my hands away from Ruby’s belly and from the wonderful activity within. I turn back to Minnie, who’s picking at a loose thread on the seam of her jeans. I rest my hand on her knee, feel the network of bones under the faded denim.

‘Min, I have something to tell you.’

‘Is it something interesting?’

I laugh. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

‘Spill the beans then. Don’t keep me hanging on. I want to watch Grease. GREASE .’

‘I’m going away tomorrow. Just for a few days. To Ireland. Lena is going to stay here every night I’m away; she’ll sleep in my bed. Ruby will be here most of the time. And Ada is going to pop in and have a cup of tea and a wee chat with you.’

‘Oh, good. I miss Ada.’

‘Are you all right with this? I’ll be back before you know it. And you can call me any time. Lena or Ruby can help you FaceTime me. You know, have a video call on the mobile.’

‘I’m too old for that nonsense.’ She’s still pulling at the thread, twisting it round her finger. ‘Can you get rid of this? It’s annoying me.’

I get scissors from the kitchen. When I get back, she’s got the remote control in her hand and is flicking through the channels.

I snip the thread carefully. ‘Want to watch Grease ?’

‘Danny is so handsome,’ she says.

‘He sure is.’ I take Grease out of its case and pop it into the machine.

‘You were only a wee tot when this film came out. I went to the pictures to watch it with Ada.’

‘Well, we’ll invite Ada over to watch it with you when I’m away.’

‘Where are you going?’ She stares at me. ‘You never go anywhere.’

‘I’m going to Ireland, Min. Lena and Ruby will be here with you. And Ada will visit. More people will visit if you’re up to it. Lisa is here to help out.’

‘Ireland.’

‘Yes, Ireland.’

‘I haven’t been to Ireland for years.’

‘I didn’t know you’d been to Ireland.’ I try to keep my voice even, breathe through the hectic beat of my heart against my chest.

Minnie laughs. ‘You were there with me.’

‘I was?’

She stares at me blankly, still rubbing her hands on her thighs, then looks around the room. Something isn’t making the right connection in her mind, and she knows it, but doesn’t know what to do about it. She takes her hands off her thighs and starts pulling at her fingers.

‘Minnie. Min. Mum. Let’s watch Grease .’

Her face relaxes. ‘Danny is so handsome.’