Postscript(79)

‘Don’t,’ Ginika warns. ‘I knew this was a mistake.’

‘It’s not, I won’t do anything,’ I say firmly. ‘Just tell me, does he know? Does he know about Jewel?’

She shakes her head. ‘I couldn’t, didn’t want him to get into trouble. Didn’t want to fuck up his life. Conor’s nice, you know? I found out I was pregnant, then that I was sick. I dropped out of school. I couldn’t tell him.’

‘I understand, Ginika, it’s OK.’

‘Really?’ she seems surprised. Relieved. ‘I thought you’d judge me.’

‘Who am I to be the judge of anyone?’

‘You just, you know …’

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Your house, your life, you’re so perfect.’

‘Ginika,’ I look at her in surprise. ‘I am far from perfect.’

‘Not what it looks like from here.’

‘Well, thank you, but … I’m very fucked up.’

She actually laughs. And then I join in too. The two of us, emotional and delirious, share this moment.

‘So why are we here?’ I ask gently. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ she shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Maybe after, maybe when I’m, you know … whatever. Maybe he can know then. Maybe he’ll want to know, maybe he won’t. But I’ll be gone and whatever happens, happens.’ She looks at me. ‘No one knows he’s her da. I thought I should tell someone. I trust you.’

‘Fuck,’ I say, breathing out.

She looks at me in surprise, and laughs again. ‘I’ve never heard you swear before and you’ve done it twice.’

‘OK,’ I try to get a handle on the situation. ‘Let’s think. Seeing as we’re talking, can we really talk now?’

She braces herself. ‘Sure, but can we get out of here first?’

We settle in Ginika’s basement flat and I discreetly survey the connected bedroom and kitchen, the single bed and cot. A pink lamp beside the bed, pink cushions and duvet cover, pink fairy lights twisted around the rail of the headboard. I didn’t have Ginika down as a pink girl. It is young and feminine and makes who Ginika and Jewel are and their situation all the more sorrowful. I peek out through the drawn curtains and see a long garden with grass that hasn’t seen a lawnmower in years. It makes a great place to hide the sodden ripped mattress, old stove, and rusty broken bicycle and car parts that previous tenants or even the landlords themselves have discarded.

‘It’s not exactly a palace,’ Ginika says, self-consciously, watching me take it in.

It’s not for Ginika’s lack of trying, it’s the lack of maintenance that’s responsible for the decay, the mould and musty smell. There’s more in this home for Jewel than for Ginika, another giveaway sign of her character. Every sacrifice has been for her daughter. Ginika places Jewel in a high chair and reaches for one of the many baby food jars on the open shelf.

‘Can I feed her?’ I ask.

‘Sure, but watch out, she’ll grab the spoon.’

As warned, Jewel reaches for the incoming spoon of food. We struggle over it, Jewel’s pudgy grip stronger than I thought, while food splashes around. Finally, I win. I’ll be faster next time.

‘So,’ Ginika says nervously, twisting her fingers around each other, waiting for me to pick up where we left off in the car park.

So focused on this impossible task of feeding feisty Jewel, who despite already ingesting three rice cakes is eating faster than I can reload my spoon, I’m reminded of why we came here.

‘I have avoided this conversation for a long time, probably too long, because I felt it was absolutely none of my business. But now it’s different. As your friend – and I consider you my friend, Ginika – I wouldn’t be doing a good job if I didn’t share with you what I think, or at least hear what you think. I don’t want to put ideas in your head, or confuse your thought process or—’

‘Jesus, quit with the disclaimers, I get it,’ she interrupts, rolling her eyes. ‘Go on, spit it out. You think Conor should get custody of Jewel.’

‘No, actually,’ I say, surprised. ‘Well, it’s not that I don’t think that, but I had something else in mind. Someone else. I wondered if you’d considered Denise.’

‘Denise!’ her eyes widen and she thinks for a moment. ‘Denise,’ she says softly. ‘You like Dee Nee, don’t you, baby?’

Jewel has her mouth wide open and is leaning forward to the filled spoon I paused in the air while I spoke. I grin and feed her and quickly follow it up with another, giving Ginika some time to think.

‘Actually, Denise and Tom,’ I add.

‘Aren’t they split up?’

‘It won’t last.’ I wonder how much to share or how much Denise has already shared with her. ‘They really want a baby, but they’re struggling. To conceive, I mean.’

‘Oh,’ she seems interested, focused.

‘That’s probably all I should say about it, it’s up to you to discuss with them. And your social worker, and foster family, and whoever else you’d need to speak with. I just want you to know that it’s a possibility, it’s worth thinking about. And at least Denise doesn’t have a country accent,’ I add, with a smile.