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.
‘Sheispretty 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.
17
AND PEGGY…
‘Now, you be a really good boy while your mum is away,’ I say. ‘Don’t be making a mess or making a nuisance of yourself. I’ll be back on Sunday night and I’ll make it up to you then. I promise. I love you so much!’
‘Mum, he’s a dog. He’ll be fine. I’ll look after him.’ Adam is highly amused at my pep talk for Daniel before I leave for my weekend retreat with Laura and Niamh. He doesn’t seem to realise how much I’ve come to value Daniel’s company since my boys upped and left for university. Yes, Daniel has always been a much-loved family pet, but since he’s become the only person I’ve spoken to some days, and he’s the only creature who has cuddled up beside me at bedtime for a very, very long time, he has become my de facto third child.
Just as I’ve been lost without my boys, Daniel has been lost without them too. Gone are the boys who have loved him since he was a puppy and who were always on hand to play catch or tug of war with him. Instead he was left with a middle-aged woman with limited upper-body strength who can’t throw a ball for toffee. Still, he has come to rely on me and I like to think we’ve come to a special understanding as we take our daily walk together. To give him his dues, he’s a great listener – and he’s intuitive too. He always seems to know when I need an extra cuddle, or when I need to be nudged off the sofa and forced out into the cold.
I’m not ashamed to admit that, as I get ready to leave him for two whole nights, I am experiencing the kind of guilt I used to when the boys were small and work took me away for a night.
It’s a guilt I also have about leaving my mum. Who will she call if she has a fall? Or needs something from the shops? Or if Mrs Bishop, her elderly neighbour, runs out of gas again? I carry this worry with me, knowing that my only brother lives a good ninety minutes away and is about as useful in a Mum-related crisis as a chocolate teapot anyway.
I kiss Daniel on the end of his nose and enjoy the feel of his warm fur against my face. I do love this dog, even if he can drive me to distraction at times.
When I’m finally ready to release my furry child from my embrace, I stand to hug my human child. ‘You be careful too. Don’t make a mess or get into any trouble.’
He gives me a cheeky soft smile. ‘I think that ship has sailed, Mum.’
‘Fair point,’ I laugh. ‘Try not to get into any more trouble, then.’
