Page 46 of The Pieces of Us

Ruby stirs when I open her bedroom door.

‘Sorry, love,’ I whisper. ‘I’m just doing the rounds.

’ Checking on her and Minnie is the last thing I do, most nights, unless I’ve fallen asleep myself before I can carry out any of my usual routine.

Tonight, the night before I leave for Ireland, it feels even more important to do it.

‘It’s all right,’ Ruby mumbles. ‘I can’t sleep.’

I kneel on the floor beside her bed. ‘You feeling OK?’

‘I guess.’

‘What’s up, love?’

‘Dad messaged tonight.’

I bite my lip. Impeccable timing from Tomás, as always.

‘I told him he’s going to be a grandpa. He seems excited. It’s abuelo , in Spanish, so he says. He wants to see me.’

‘Of course he does.’ I run a finger across her forehead, just above her eyebrows, the way I did when she was tiny.

‘But he can’t get time off work,’ she says flatly.

‘Oh, sweetheart. Are you OK?’

‘I don’t expect him to turn into a doting grandpa,’ she says tightly. ‘He didn’t show up for his own kid, so …’

‘It’s going to be all right, Ruby. We’ll get through this, I promise.’

‘Don’t do that,’ she says, and I quickly withdraw my hand from her forehead, but she pulls it back. ‘No. Not that. You can keep doing that. But don’t make promises you can’t keep.’

‘Fair enough,’ I say, and I stroke her forehead with the tip of my finger until her eyes finally close and her breathing slows down. Then I do it a bit longer, just to be sure.

‘I don’t need to go,’ I whisper when I think she’s asleep.

‘You do,’ she murmurs. ‘Because if I’d decided to give my baby up for adoption, and she decided to find me when she was older, I’d want her to do it.’

I call Asim while I pack.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Nervous. Excited. Wondering if I’m doing a ridiculous thing. Wondering if I’m being incredibly selfish, leaving Ruby and Minnie behind.’

‘Cat, it’s only a few days. You know they’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t know that. What if Ruby goes into early labour? Or Minnie falls and breaks a bone?’

‘OK. Both possible,’ he admits. ‘But not likely. There will never be a perfect time for you to do this. So you might as well stick to your plan and do it now.’

‘OK,’ I murmur.

‘Anyway, isn’t Lena Minnie’s favourite?’

‘Hey, you’re supposed to be making me feel better.’

He laughs. ‘I’m trying to, yes.’

I stuff my toiletries into the corner of my small suitcase. ‘I don’t have a clue what’s going to happen over there.’

‘Something amazing might happen. Or nothing. That’s life, huh?’

‘That’s life,’ I agree softly.

‘What time is your ferry crossing?’

I look at the list on my bedside table with all the details of each stage of my journey, from the Cairnryan to Belfast ferry to the B & B I’ve booked in Bundoran, only a few minutes’ walk from 44 Bayview Cottages. At the very bottom of the list Ruby had added: Find Beth .

I turn my face away from the phone but it doesn’t work. Asim still hears me crying, despite my best efforts.

‘Oh, Cat. It’ll be OK.’

I sniff. ‘I know.’

‘You have two of my best handkerchiefs now. Go and find one and blow your nose.’

‘You and your handkerchiefs.’

He waits, giving me a moment to cry. I sit on my bed and look at my half-packed suitcase. ‘I’m OK,’ I tell him.

‘Do you want me to come over?’

Yes , I think. ‘No,’ I tell him. ‘It’s late. I need to finish packing. Thank you, though.’

‘Do you want me to come to Donegal with you? I have holidays to take from work, and I’ve never been to the Titanic museum.’

I laugh. ‘You’re something else, Asim Khan.’

He laughs too, but there’s a slight pause, and after we say goodbye I wonder if he was being serious.

‘I can’t thank you enough,’ I tell Charlie as I climb on to the passenger seat at 8.30 a.m. ‘Honestly, this is amazing.’

He grins at me. ‘There’s no way Lisa was letting you get the bus to Cairnryan. It’s my pleasure. You can buy me a coffee on the way. That’s thanks enough.’

‘Deal.’

We sit in comfortable silence for the most part as we head out of the city and on to the motorway. ‘I’m not used to this,’ I say. ‘Nobody to run around after. I’ve not been out of Scotland for God knows how long. I hope I can cope.’

‘Ah, you’ll be fine. You’ll have Lisa at the end of the phone whenever you need her.’

‘She’s told you, right? What this is all about?’

He glances at me. ‘She has, aye.’

‘I really have no idea what I’m doing, Charlie.’

I don’t know if he hears the wobble in my voice, but he spends the next twenty minutes telling me about his great-aunt Helen, who was sent to an orphanage with her twin sister when they were three years old.

They ended up being adopted by different families and didn’t see each other again until they were forty-eight.

They were both single, both avid country music fans, both waiting for that missing piece.

Within a month they’d moved in together and booked a trip to Nashville.

‘They’re still alive,’ he says. ‘Turned ninety-two last year. Threw a party … music provided by a Dolly Parton tribute act from Bishopbriggs.’

‘That’s an amazing story,’ I say. ‘Even without a Glaswegian Dolly Parton.’

‘I know it’s not the same as yours,’ Charlie replies. ‘But it just shows … you never know what’s going to happen.’

‘The thing is … I always felt like there was something missing – I’ve only realized that recently.

Maybe just an ability to make decisions …

Things just happened to me. I didn’t strive for anything, like Lisa did.

There was no reason I couldn’t. Maybe this was the reason, only I didn’t know it.

It wasn’t just me, not quite getting things right.

Jobs, relationships, parenting. People say that, don’t they?

That there’s something they can’t quite put their finger on …

They just feel it from a young age. And then it turns out that they were adopted and had a whole other family they knew nothing about. ’

Charlie drums his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘We all feel like that sometimes, Cat. Maybe you’re just human. Maybe this isn’t your missing piece. Just an extra one.’

‘Maybe.’ I look out of the window of his van, into the window of other people’s cars and vans. A young girl in the back seat of an SUV sticks her tongue out at me. I return the gesture and she smiles.

With half an hour to go and time to kill, we stop at a motorway service station for coffee.

While I queue for two flat whites, I check my phone.

I’ve got a photo message from Lena: Minnie in her trench coat, sitting on the park bench with her red-leather bag on her lap. She’s grinning and giving a thumbs up.

She’s great. We go now for cake. Do not worry, kwiatuszek.

I feel a pang, like I want to be there, to go for cake with them and then go home and watch Grease or an old episode of Strictly .

There’s also a text from Ruby: Just finished work. I’m having a hot chocolate with Lauren then going home to see Gran xxx The words are followed by half a dozen cucumber emojis.

I smile. Pregnancy in fruit and veg. I take a photo of my takeaway coffee cup and send it to her with a red heart emoji.

‘Well, here we are. And there’s your ferry.’ Charlie pulls into a parking space. ‘Do you want me to …?’

I smile at him. ‘I’ve got it from here. Thanks. Really.’

‘Absolutely no bother,’ he says. ‘You take care, yeah?’

‘Yep. Bye, Charlie.’ I get out of the van and walk towards the ferry. In three hours I’ll be on Northern Irish soil. Five hours after that, I’ll be in Donegal.

It doesn’t take long to board. I make my way to the restaurant and find a quiet corner. I’ll eat my breakfast. I’ll drink my coffee. I’ll take it one step at a time. Piece by piece .

My phone buzzes. Are you on the boat yet?

Yes , I reply to Asim. Then, because I want to keep the conversation going, because if I’m brave enough to go to Ireland I can be brave enough to admit how I feel about this man: Can we go for dinner when I get back?

I eat my roll and watch the three dots, waiting for them to turn into words.

I’d love to. But do we have to wait until you get back?

I smile. What choice do we have?

Well, we could start with an overpriced ferry coffee.

I look up and he’s walking towards me, with a shy smile on his face and a cup of coffee in each hand.

‘I thought you might want some company,’ he says.

‘You’re crazy,’ I tell him, but I take my feet off the chair opposite mine so he can sit down.

‘I am.’

I stare at him. ‘Are you for real?’

He bites his lip. ‘Maybe I’m being an idiot. And I stand by what I said about you being hard to read. But I decided this was worth making a massive fool of myself for.’

I’m still staring at him. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’

‘I didn’t think you should be doing this on your own.’

‘Ah. A damsel in distress, huh?’

Asim laughs, and I remember how the sound filled my mother’s tiny home the first time we met, how it felt strange and gratifying at the same time. ‘I definitely don’t see you as a damsel in distress. A friend in need, perhaps?’

I grin at him. ‘You’re my friend?’

‘I am. I’m a friend who has holidays to take from work, who’s never been to Ireland, and who also happens to have a bit of a thing for ferry boats.’

‘You have a thing for ferry boats?’ I tease.

‘Hey, no judgement please.’

I hold my hands up, palms facing him. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘So … I’ll keep you company. We’ll get to Belfast. And you can decide whether you want me to continue the trip with you.

If you do, great. If not, I’ll head to the Titanic museum.

Jump on an open-top bus. Do the tourist thing.

’ He takes a swig of coffee. ‘I’m doing this for me, really.

I haven’t had time off work for ages. It’s not about you at all. ’

I laugh. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

He grins. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ I tell him.