Page 56 of The Pieces of Us

‘I didn’t sleep at all last night,’ she moans. ‘I’m enormous. I can’t get comfortable. Ever . I’m so heavy I can’t even turn over in bed. And look at this.’ She lifts up her baggy pyjama top. ‘The worst has happened. I finally have an outie .’

I look at her belly button and laugh. ‘Well, it’s been threatening to pop out for months. Don’t worry, it’ll go back in after the baby’s born.’

‘I can’t handle an outie,’ Ruby groans. ‘Not on top of everything else.’

‘Not long to go, pet.’

‘I’ve still got three weeks, and every day feels like a month,’ she grumbles. She stands up from the table with considerable effort and shuffles to the fridge. ‘Where’s the orange juice?’

‘Oh, crap. I forgot to pick some up earlier.’

She bursts into tears.

‘Oh, Rubes.’ I quickly slice her toastie in half and put it in front of her, rub her shoulders and let her have a mini meltdown about orange juice.

‘It’s not just that,’ she says between sobs. ‘I’m having a baby.’

I stare at her. ‘Right now?’

‘ No ,’ she wails. ‘Not right now. Oh, forget it.’

I drag my chair closer to hers and sit down. ‘Eat your toastie. You’ll feel better. I swear. Cheese does that. And how you’re feeling is totally normal. I promise. It’s overwhelming and scary. I remember all those feelings.’

As happens so often now, my mind goes to Beth.

How she must have felt as her teenage body changed in unexpected and uncomfortable and sometimes painful ways, as she went through hours of labour knowing her baby would be going straight into someone else’s arms. How she lived with the knowledge that not only was the pregnancy unplanned, but it was also the result of the darkest of acts disguised as love.

I shut the thought down and focus on Ruby’s apprehensive face as she takes a tiny bite of her toastie, trying to find a way to distract her.

‘Did you know there’s a rare South American orchid that looks like a monkey?’

She laughs. ‘ Mum .’

‘I need to get ready to pick up Gran from respite.’

‘Can I come with you?’

‘She’d love that,’ I say.

Creegan House, Minnie’s respite care home for one weekend a month, is a sprawling red-brick building surrounded by tall, slim poplar trees.

This is only her second visit, since her care assessment was finally completed and I was told what support would be funded.

Another assessment will be carried out when we reach the nursing home stage; the sale proceeds from her house are safe in her bank account to help ensure she moves into the best possible place.

Ruby and I link arms and walk up the wide driveway.

‘Is it normal to feel like my insides are going to fall out of my arse?’ she whispers.

‘Yes. Completely normal. Just squeeze your bum cheeks together.’

‘Funny,’ she mutters.

We find Minnie in her favourite place, the craft corner of the Sunshine Room.

‘Hey, Min. What are you making today?’

She looks up at us. I can’t read her expression, which is happening more frequently. Anything between resignation and happiness is a relief; the smallest flash of recognition is a bonus.

Minnie smiles. ‘Hello there. Do you like crafts?’

‘I do, but I’m no expert. Want to show me what you’re doing?’

She holds up a bright red feather. ‘I’m going to stick this thing to that thing.’

‘Well, you go ahead. We’ll watch, if that’s OK?’

She turns to Ruby. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m all right, Gran. How are you?’

I can tell the word ‘Gran’ throws her off course a little, but her only response is to make a circle in the air with her feather. ‘I’m wonderful, Beth. I have my feather.’

Ruby and I share a smile. We stay for half an hour of tea and cake and fabulous feathered creations, then get Minnie’s things together to go home.

‘She’s doing great,’ the manager Patricia tells us when we walk through reception, and I smile gratefully and squeeze Ruby’s hand.

‘Wait.’ She stops before we reach the exit. ‘Something’s wrong.’

My mind hasn’t left the care home yet; it takes me a moment to catch up. I see the alarm on her face; I see her hands clutch her bump; I see the liquid forming a puddle on the floor between her grubby Converse.

Sean and his mum arrive with pale faces and panicky eyes. By this time Ruby’s on her way to a delivery room.

‘It’s all happening so quickly,’ she gasps. ‘And it’s fucking agony.’ She glares at me as if I personally invented the process of childbirth.

Before I can reply, her eyes fill with tears. ‘Don’t leave me,’ she begs.

‘Never,’ I tell her. ‘Although … you can only have one person in the delivery room with you. Do you want to speak to Sean about it? I’ll do whatever you want, Rubes.’

She gulps. ‘I just want you.’

There’s no argument from Sean, who reacts as if he’s just been spared a death sentence. ‘We’ll wait here,’ he says quickly. ‘We’ll be here the whole time, as long as it takes. But it’s the right decision – you should be in there with her.’

‘Let us know if you need anything,’ Leanne says.

‘We’re about to become grandmothers.’

Her expression is one I’ve never seen on her face before. She’s beaming.

For the next seven hours my daughter only releases my hand to bring the gas and air mouthpiece to her lips. ‘Does this stuff even work? It still hurts.’ She flops back on to the bed and resumes her vice-like grip. I have five crescent-moon ridges where her nails are piercing my skin.

‘And it’s making my lips so dry,’ she whines.

‘How long to go? I can’t fucking bear this.

’ Another contraction hits and her face knots in anguish, bringing back to me every twist and stretch and infinite ache my body endured all those years ago as if it was yesterday.

The obscure, devastating pain of Ruby making her way into the world.

Sixteen years later, I’m watching her go through the same thing.

‘I wish I could take your pain away,’ I whisper.

I daub Vaseline on to her lips, push sweaty strands of hair gently away from her eyes, cup her chin in my hand.

I do this, on repeat, until my granddaughter arrives with the new day, slippery and screaming.

‘Oh wow. Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow,’ Ruby sobs. ‘She’s here, Mum. She’s actually here.’

‘You did it, Ruby. I’m so proud of you.’ I stare at the tiny new addition to our family. She has jet-black hair and long fingers. ‘She’s amazing, sweetheart. Let me go and get Sean.’

‘No … wait.’ Ruby holds on to my wrist. ‘Wait a minute. I want it to be just the three of us.’

We sit in silence, admiring the view.

‘I’ve decided on her name, Mum,’ Ruby says. ‘Say hello to Elizabeth Mary McAllister.’