Page 6 of The Pieces of Us
I squeeze her fingers. ‘I know.’
‘Hiya.’
I hadn’t noticed Ruby’s boyfriend approaching. ‘Hey, Sean.’
He makes eye contact for a split-second then looks away, rubbing the prickly regrowth on his chin as he shuffles from one foot to the other.
Beneath the awkward limbs and baggy clothes, he’s a nice, polite boy with impressive guitar skills.
Most importantly he has never, to my knowledge, made my daughter cry.
‘D’you want a hand with these?’
‘That would be great,’ Lisa says brightly. She points to a large box. ‘You can start with that one.’
‘We’ll get this done, and then you can come and chat to Min,’ I tell her. Piece by piece , I think.
Lisa sends Charlie out for fish suppers for all of us, a treat for our hard work.
I try to persuade Lena to stay and eat, but she needs to get home to make her husband’s dinner.
Today was a good one, she tells me with a smile, handing over Minnie’s care diary.
Every day, whoever is responsible for her makes a detailed record of when she sleeps, what she eats, how cooperative she is with her medication, whether anything happens that’s a cause for concern.
Minnie insists on paying for the fish suppers, pressing three twenties into Charlie’s hand like it’s a clandestine drug deal.
Every now and then, she insists that I get her pension from the post office in cash.
‘For emergencies,’ she says firmly. I watch her bustle around the kitchen, arranging cutlery and condiments on the table, a rare burst of energy.
For a few minutes, I let myself time-travel.
She’s forty-five-year-old Minnie and we’re blissfully unaware of what lies ahead of us.
She’s my strong, capable mother who’s as sharp as a pin and queen of the one-liner.
Over the last few years, my expectations have exponentially lowered to the point where the fish supper holy trinity of tomato ketchup, mayonnaise and tartare sauce in the centre of my table is cause for celebration.
Sean and Ruby sit on the worktop, but we’re still a chair short. Luckily Nana’s red-velvet heirloom just fits into the congested space.
‘Jesus, that’s a throne!’ Sean laughs, then quickly looks at me to make sure he’s not spoken out of turn.
I feel like I know him as well as it’s possible to know your sixteen-year-old daughter’s boyfriend.
I often come home from work and find them both giggling in the kitchen, making ridiculously large sandwiches.
Or slouched on the sofa, watching old episodes of The Simpsons , their bodies as close as possible.
Sean never overstays his welcome. He occasionally has a couple of beers with his mates when they’re gaming but no more than that because his dad drinks too much, according to Ruby.
He’s a good boy . I decide that tonight is not about sixteen boxes I don’t have room for.
It’s only about fish and chips in the kitchen.
I give Sean a quick smile, aware of my daughter’s eyes on me.
Minnie settles into the velvet chair, beaming at us.
‘This belonged to my mother,’ she announces, then turns to me.
‘You used to sit here on her lap. You’d sing songs together for hours.
’ Her gaze drifts away and she starts humming to herself.
I can’t make out the tune, but it sounds vaguely familiar.
The rest of us chat among ourselves while she softly works her way through her repertoire of old Scottish songs.
Charlie arrives, the hit of vinegar reminding me how hungry I am.
Lisa and I work methodically, unwrapping and distributing the hot parcels, using mugs for milk or Irn-Bru because I don’t have enough glasses.
Finally we eat, making appreciative noises, chatting about nothing important.
I watch my daughter drown her chips in gravy until they’re practically floating in a brown sea.
I craved the stuff when I was pregnant with her, frequently getting up in the middle of the night for a mug of Bisto.
I eat my fish and let myself think about the inexplicable, pre-destined ways that mothers are linked to their children.
Against all odds, it’s the most comfortable I’ve felt for weeks.
‘I’m here for you,’ Lisa whispers into my ear as we hug goodbye. ‘I’ll pop round tomorrow.’
‘Thanks,’ I tell her. ‘Both of you.’
Charlie smiles. ‘Always available for hire.’
I like him, this unassuming man who has gradually, quietly, become an important person in my best friend’s life.
‘Look after each other,’ I say, and he draws Lisa to his side with a strong arm.
The pang of envy I feel dissipates before they’ve reached the van.
The thought of trying to juggle a relationship on top of everything else in my life is almost laughable.
Whenever I have the luxury of a few minutes to let myself dream, I’m alone in a minimally decorated house with huge windows and a view of the sea.
Maybe I could make room for a small well-trained dog.
Ruby will visit, of course, but I hope she has a home of her own and big dreams to fulfil.
I triple-lock the front door and tuck the key on top of the door frame. There’s no way Minnie can get out, but I’m not taking any chances.
She’s watching television with Ruby and Sean, laughing when they do.
I leave them to The Simpsons and tidy up the kitchen.
By the time the table is clear and the plates are washed, Sean has gone and Ruby has triple-locked the door again after him.
I find Ruby and Minnie both asleep in the living room, their heads tilted and almost touching, their faces so close together I can’t tell which one of them is snoring softly.
I sit on the floor at their feet and stare at whatever is on the television until my own eyelids start to drop.