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My mother takes a sharp, sudden breath in through her nose and puffs it back out through her mouth. I bet right now she’s thinking about having a drag on a cigarette. But she hasn’t smoked a single cigarette since the day of Nana’s diagnosis.
‘How sick?’ Mam asks after a brief silence.
‘Very,’ I say, and I surprise myself with how easily the admission slips past my lips as if I’ve finally accepted what I can’t change. Maybe I’ll even be able to talk about my sick baby soon. Especially with Nate. I’ve postponed telling people about the pregnancy because I didn’t want their pity, no matter how well meaning.
I saw the way Nate looked at me in the hospital when they broke the bad news. His eyes clouded over, and I could see his desperation to fix everything. I knew that was just the beginning. Nine months is a long time. Nate would put all his energy intofixingme and when he couldn’t he would feel like a failure. I couldn’t bear it. It’s not Nate’s fault our baby is sick. It’s not mine. But it is my fault that my broken heart is hurting Nate so badly.
‘Holly, having your first baby is never easy,’ my mother says quietly. ‘It’s a scary time even when the little one is perfectly healthy. Knowing that your baby is sick, well, it must be terrifying. But don’t push away the one person you need the most.’
‘I need Nana,’ I say, unable to fight back my emotion any more. ‘I need her, Mam. I need her so much. I can’t lose my baby and Nana at the same time.’
I drag the back of my hand under my nose and sniffle. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’ I snort, trying to compose myself.
My mother doesn’t move. I’m not sure if she’s even breathing. Maybe she’s holding her breath because if she lets it out, her heart will come tumbling out with it.
‘I know you love your grandmother, Holly. We all do.’ My mother takes the manuscript from my knees and places it on her lap. It’s the first time she’s touched it, and I can see tears gather in the corners of her eyes. She presses both her hands firmly onto each of my knees. ‘Holly, listen to me,’ she says calmly, much more calmly than I know she’s feeling. ‘You need to take a little break. Stand. Go for a walk. Grab yourself a glass of water or something.’
I try to smile through my tears. I’m not thirsty, and I’m too tired to walk around, but I know my mother is trying to offer supportive advice.
‘Maybe a coffee,’ I say, dragging my fingers under my eyes.
‘Coffee. Good idea,’ Mam says. ‘Just take a moment to yourself. You’ll feel better for it, trust me.’
I gaze at the closed door of Nana’s hospital room, and I’m reluctant to leave the hallway.
‘Mam?’ I say.
‘Hmm.’
‘Do you ever wish Nana talked about when she was young more?’ I ask.
My mother smiles and her face brightens despite her sad eyes. ‘Your grandmother told you stories about the farm all the time when you were little.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘About fluffy chicks and stinky pigs. She never really—’
My mother cuts me off. ‘Holly there is a time and place for everything.’
‘I know, and I know now isn’t really the time to bring this up but maybe Nana is like me, maybe she was never very good at talking about her problems.’
‘Holly, love,’ my mother says, shaking her head. ‘Nana’s memories aren’t a problem. They’re a treasure. Her treasure.’ Mam’s eyes drop to the manuscript in her hands.
‘But why now, why not before?’ I ask.
‘Oh Holly, can’t you see? You said it yourself, no one wants their memories to be a problem. Don’t make mistakes you’ll regret. Talk to Nate.’ I can hear my mother drag a tear-soaked breath in and puff it back out, and I finally realise that she needs some time alone with the paper in her hands. I stand.
‘Coffee,’ I say. ‘I won’t be long. I have my mobile if you need me.’
Mam smiles and I slowly walk away.
TWENTY
ANNIE
Sketch allows his car to roll to a natural stop just feet away from the front porch of my house. He fishes his watch out of his inside jacket pocket. ‘Look at that,’ he says, pointing at the face. ‘We’re fifteen minutes early.’
‘Thank you for a lovely day.’ I smile as thoughts of Sketch’s lips on mine dance through my head.
‘I’m looking forward to tomorrow already,’ Sketch says with a cheeky wink. ‘Here,’ he adds, fishing his hand around deeper in his watch pocket. ‘This is for you.’
