Page 61 of Everything's Grand

I open my mouth to ask how on earth they think being tied to the rules and regulations will offer them more independence. But Ruairi lifts his finger to silence me and I swear I have never wanted to tell him, or anyone, to stick his finger up his hole as much as I do in this minute. Still, I stay quiet.

‘It took a bit of time, and a bit of organising, but we have secured them both accommodation in a supported living facility.They will share a two-bed bungalow in a very lovely little cul-de-sac, with direct access to support staff. There are onsite nurses and access to physio and OT services.’

‘They even have a hairdresser in once a week, and bingo!’ Mrs Bishop says.

‘And art classes, social events, a gentle exercise programme, day trips, support with catering, depending on their wishes and needs,’ Diarmuid chimes in.

‘But how are we paying for it?’ I ask, aware that once again Nelly the fucking elephant is back in the room.

‘Savings, money stashed away. Selling the house,’ Ruairi says, and I want to cry.

‘It’s too big for me, love,’ my mum says.

‘I’ve set money aside too,’ Ruairi says. ‘I’ve been setting it aside for a while.’

‘I’m selling up too,’ Mrs Bishop says. ‘And I have a few bob stashed away.’

‘Not to mention you made some money from your TikTok going viral,’ Lizzy adds with a laugh.

‘It sounds to me like you have it all figured out,’ I say. ‘So you don’t need me after all.’

Maybe I should be relieved, but I’m not. I’m hurt. Does my mother not trust me to look after her?

‘Can Becca and I talk alone?’ my mother asks, and the others nod and one by one leave us – just two Burnside women together in a hospital ward looking at each other.

‘Darling,’ my mother says. ‘I will always need you. I love you. I want us to do fun things together. I want us to enjoy life. You deserve to enjoy life. With your lovely Conal. With Clara. With whatever adventure you and your friends go on. And I want to enjoy life too.’

She stops for a moment, tired, her mouth dry. Lifting herglass, I bring her straw to her mouth and she takes a drink before resting a moment longer.

‘I want to have fun too. With Emily. I want to keeping living.’

I think of how I watched them just last week caring for each other. How they have their jokes in the car as we drive to Asda – the utter ridiculousness of them having a TikTok account.

I think of how brighter, more relaxed, happier my mother has been since she started embracing life again. The dullness that had taken the colour of her life when my father died is gone. Of course she wants to live her life, with her bestie in tow.

Isn’t that what every woman wants?

EPILOGUE

BECCA

Carole King is playing on the record player in the corner of the room. Laura is sipping from a glass of wine, its smooth, dry taste making her entire body relax.

There are crisps in bowls. Yes, multiple flavours in multiple bowls. Jodie is nursing baby Clara in the armchair by the window, while I am sitting holding my mother’s hand on the sofa. Roisin Burnside is home from hospital and will be moving in to her fancy new accommodation as soon as it is ready. To my delight this means I get to look after Mum at home for a while. And then I get to move on with building whatever kind of wonderful life lies ahead for Conal and me.

Robyn, who has been surprisingly receptive to today’s events, walks back in from the kitchen along with Abby. Laura, it seems, was right – the two have connected. Already I can see a little trace of hero worship budding between my goddaughter and her mother’s friend. It’s exactly what Laura had hoped for, and it’s an added bonus that Robyn will now think her mother is class for having such a cool friend.

As Jodie finishes feeding Clara, she asks Deirdre if she wouldlike to hold the baby and maybe try to help get her wind up. An auntie many times over, Deirdre is an old hand in soothing tummy pains in tiny tots – and the action soothes a pain inside Deirdre too. For once I don’t fight for my turn at a cuddle. There will be plenty more of those to come.

Niamh – my amazing Niamh – is standing in front of the fire, posing as if she is about to perform a poem, or give a speech in a great debate. In her hand she holds a stick – one that is not actually a dildo, which she did suggest but swears that she was only joking. Instead it’s a ruler she secreted away from the school supply closet and which we spent an hour embellishing before we started the afternoon properly – each of us adding a colour or a gem that signifies our stories.

Satin ribbons of various colours are wound around it; some golden embroidery thread is braided and stuck down. Some gemstones – very kindly donated by Fiadh and her unending craft supplies cupboard – have been attached with the aid of a hot glue gun and a lot of patience.

Niamh has very kindly added some googly eyes to it, because in her own words, ‘what is life without a bit of silliness?’ She’s not wrong.

‘Right,’ Niamh calls in her best teacher voice. ‘Have we all had our break, and has anyone who needed to have a wee had a wee?’

We chorus back ‘Yes, Miss!’ and descend into giggles.

‘Okay then! So who is going next?’

She raises the stick in her hand. Our ‘talking stick’ at this, our first intergenerational women’s circle. We have all been sharing our ideas of womanhood and girlhood. There have been some tears. A lot of laughter. Some very righteous anger. But most of all there has been a real sense of connection and respect. Of shared experiences.

‘I think I’m going next,’ Grace says, raising her hand. I admire her opening up so much to us all. We’re relatively new to her inner circle. She brought her own best friend, Daisy, along to make sure she had a pal to keep her company – and already we have been laughing and joking with the two women as if we have always spent our Saturdays together drinking wine, sharing stories and eating fancy crisps.

Niamh hands over the stick and Grace takes it. ‘It all started when I wanted to give women a voice,’ she says.