Chapter 16
16
A VERY PARTICULAR SET OF SKILLS
Becca
‘Well, sure, won’t it be nice to have a wee baby in the family again after all these years? If God is good to me, I’ll live long enough to see it.’
My mother is the antithesis of Simon. She didn’t so much as blink as we told her the news. No, she said it would be ‘nice’ and I saw the tension leave my son’s body in an instant.
Of course, being my mother, she couldn’t get through her response without alluding to her own demise (‘It’s coming, Rebecca. One of these days. You may enjoy me now because this time next year I could be pushing up the daisies!’ is a frequent retort).
‘Of course you’ll live long enough to see it,’ I scold. ‘You’re going nowhere, Mum. Remember, I’ve told you that. You’re here for the duration.’
‘Aye, well. Maybe. We’ll see, won’t we?’ She winks at me and I know she is well aware how her teasing sets me on edge. Still, she can’t stop her cheeky side from escaping every now and again and today she must be feeling extra cheeky.
‘If you’re not careful, I’ll make sure you’re gone myself!’ I tease back.
She smiles. ‘Sure, you know I’m only joking, Rebecca. I’ve no plans on shuffling off this mortal coil any time soon. And sure, hasn’t this just given me the motivation I need to make sure to stick around. Hang on one moment!’ she says, getting up out of her chair and leaving the room.
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting that,’ Adam says.
‘Why? Did you think she’d cast you out? I told you that she loves the bones of you and there is nothing in the world that could change that. You need to start believing me, pet.’
I take his hand and give it a squeeze. ‘Besides, your granny has overseen enough crises in her life to be able to tell what’s a worry and what’s not. She practically carried me through my divorce with your dad. And then losing Grandad…’ Those last words still have the power to stop me in my tracks. Even if only for a moment. Even now, it doesn’t feel real that my father is gone. Adam squeezes my hand and it’s enough to bring me back into the here and now. ‘Anyway, as I was saying. It’s not a tragedy and nor is it a scandal like it would’ve been back in your granny’s day. Have faith in her!’
At that, my mother bustles her way back into her living room with two large shopping bags. I immediately recognise them and can’t help but smile. Sitting back down in her chair, she reaches into the first bag and pulls out a stack of patterns – glossy pages with images of cardigans, jumpers, hats and scarves on the front.
‘Rebecca, you go through those and pull out any of the baby ones for me. I’ll have to get started.’
I do as I’m told and as I’m thumbing my way through the pile, she reaches into the second bag and pulls out a selection of tiny woollen hats, mittens and a couple of blankets. ‘What is it they used to say on the TV ? Here’s one I made earlier? Well, here’s a few. I know the colours might not be to your choosing, but sure you let me know what colours you’d like, son, and I’ll get to work.’
She hands over the items, in a variety of colours from baby pink to dark purple, and smiles broadly like a child handing over their artwork after a day at school. Adam starts looking through them.
‘Granny, these are brilliant. Did you knit these yourself?’
My mother’s face clouds over. ‘Indeed I did not knit them myself, Adam. That’s not knitting. It’s crochet and it’s a whole other set of skills.’
I should probably have warned my son that his granny takes the art of crochet very, very seriously indeed. In fact, there’s a touch of the Liam Neeson in Taken menace about her when she starts to explain the difference between knitting and crochet to anyone who dares mistake the two.
It had always been this way – but since my father died, her fervour over crochet has ratcheted up several gears. There’s not a baby born in the parish who isn’t furnished with a full pram set almost as soon as it is ejected from the womb. And yes, I might be exaggerating – but only slightly.
I should have realised that the news she was to have a great-grandchild would only send this habit into turbo-charged orbit. I hope her crochet hooks can hold out to it.
As she explains the difference between crochet and knitting to Adam, I am incredibly grateful for the woman she is. I am grateful that the years have mellowed her enough to know that things happen in this world that can take us by surprise but that doesn’t mean they’re all bad. I’m glad she has realised that what Adam needs most of her is love and support, not a lecture or criticism. The milk has been spilled. There’s no use in crying over it.
To his absolute credit, Adam asks her questions and shows a genuine interest in her patterns. Before we leave, he has picked out a cardigan, hat and bootee set for her to work on in soft cream.
‘Sure, we can add pink or blue buttons when we know what flavour the baby is,’ my mother says with a smile. ‘And maybe a little ribbon! Oh, this has really given me something to look forward to. I’m going to start on a baby blanket straight away.’
From that point on, she is lost to us as she takes a ball of soft lemon yarn from her bag and starts to chain stitches with a speed I can only marvel at.
I’ve tried crocheting before but I know when I’m sunk. I do not have the dexterity, or the ability to keep count, needed to make anything I’d be happy to show anyone, let alone gift to them.
‘Granny’s pretty cool, isn’t she?’ Adam says on the way home.
‘She is,’ I admit. ‘But you might want to warn Jodie about all the cardigans, jumpers and blankets that will be coming her way.’
‘Jodie will love them,’ he replies with a nod. ‘She’s pretty cool too, Mum.’
In all our conversations about the pregnancy and what choices the pair were going to make, and in all our questions about the practicality of how things will pan out, we have not actually spoken all that much about what really matters at the end of the day.
And that, of course, is how my son really feels about this woman he will now be tied to, in one way or another, for the rest of his life. Even if their relationship founders, co-parenting is a bond that doesn’t go away.
Does it make it easier that I have known Jodie Cassidy from the moment she was born? That I have watched her grow up and find her feet as a confident young woman? That I have watched her friendship with both Adam and Saul flourish all those years? Of course it does. But it’s not about what I think about Jodie. How I love her. How I have viewed her as an extension of her mother and therefore automatically worthy of my love. It’s about how Adam feels.
‘She is pretty cool,’ I agree, face forward as we drive through the city.
‘She means a lot to me, Mum,’ he says, and I can hear the softness in his voice. There’s affection there, but also vulnerability. That damn lump is back in my throat.
‘I know we’re young and I know it’s going to be hard. We’re not stupid, no matter what Dad might think.’
‘Your dad doesn’t think you’re stupid. He’s just worried.’ Even as I say the words, I know I’m not being honest with Adam or myself. Perhaps Simon doesn’t think they’re stupid. But he does think they’re making a stupid decision. Maybe because parenthood never engulfed him the same way it did me. Yes, I resented at times that he missed so much because it meant that so much fell solely on my shoulders. But I also pitied him – because he missed out on so much that was wonderful, even when it was bloody hard. We’ll not even get into my feelings about how he is a much more hands-on, and better, father to the young Saskia and Theo.
‘You don’t need to defend him,’ Adam says, as if he’s reading my mind. ‘And it’s okay. It’s Dad. It’s how he reacts. He’ll come round in his own way, but even if he doesn’t, it won’t really matter. I have my own wee family unit to look out for now. And I know we are supported by you and Niamh and now Granny too. We’re doing all right as things go.’
The lump in my throat springs forth from my mouth as a sort of weird, alien sob of a sound.
‘I love you, son,’ I say, through my tears. ‘And you’re right, of course. You have our support and you’ve got this. Both of you. Just… just be kind to each other. Listen. Share your worries. And remember you are both so very, very loved and this baby will be loved too.’
He doesn’t reply. But that’s okay. I can see he is wiping his eyes and I hear him sniff. I know he gets it. I know we’re all doing all right – as things go.