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baby home where I’d stay throughout my ‘crisis pregnancy.’ Every time Eleanor said ‘crisis pregnancy’, and she said it often, I felt like a statistic to be shunted out of sight, out of mind. Everyone agreed that we were too young to be parents. Jake was nineteen and I would have just turned eighteen when our baby was born.
    Sara remained implacably opposed to adoption but my father, not being a man to disguise his feelings, was on Eleanor’s side. My untimely pregnancy was interfering with his Big Plan, as he called it. My parent’s house was sold and we were moving to Australia. I’d argued, wept and fiercely resisted this decision but Eighties Ireland was in recession and Eoin was determined to make a new beginning.
    In the weeks that followed there were meetings, discussions, angry scenes and decisions made. Jake and I were in the eye of the storm, right at its heart where we belonged, but no one was listening to us.
    My parents were arguing when we entered the house one night, unaware that we could overhear every bitter word.
    ‘I’m not letting her hold us back.’ Eoin’s voice was flinty with determination. ‘She was careless enough to get herself knocked up by some guy she hardly knew and now we’re supposed to deal with the consequences.’
    ‘She’s our only child, Eoin.’ Sara sounded distraught. ‘We need to be here to support her. Otherwise, she’ll be bullied by that dreadful woman and our grandchild will be adopted.’
    ‘Adoption is the best solution,’ my father shouted. ‘At this stage in my life, I’m not prepared to cope with a baby. And neither are you. As for Nadine, what does she know about parenting? Zilch, that’s what!’
    I heard the snap of his fingers, a pistol shot in the immediate silence that followed this statement.
    ‘But that’s why she needs our support.’ Sara’s anger spilled over into sobs. ‘I want to be with her when her baby is born.’
    ‘Where are you supposed to live? Our house is sold. In six week’s time we’re supposed to be flying to Australia. Nadine comes with us. I’m not delaying our departure date.’
    ‘She wants to be with Jake. This is also his child.’
    ‘And he’ll walk out on her the first chance he gets. If she won’t have the baby adopted and she won’t come with us then she can make her own bed and lie in it. You and I go together as planned or I go alone. Make up your mind, Sara. We’ve come too far to allow this mess to change our plans.’
    Unable to listen any longer, I gripped Jake’s hand. We left the house as silently as we’d entered it.
    This argument changed everything. It strengthened our resolve. Instead of seeing a problem that needed a solution we were able to visualise a baby. Our baby. We became fiercely protective of this life we’d so wantonly created. This gave us the courage to stand up to Eleanor. No adoption. She insisted on a quiet, swift wedding. Ali moved in my womb as I exchanged wedding vows with Jake, a butterfly patter, almost imagined. New life kicking into action while my old life disappeared.
    A week later my father left for Australia where a job in construction was waiting for him. Sara would stay with me until her first grandchild was born. Gentle Rosanna took care of us all in Sea Aster. Ali was two months old when I embraced my mother for the last time. The farewell at the airport. The sense of unreality as I watched her disappear through the departure gates. I waved goodbye and held Ali high in my arms for her to see. Then she was gone, heading towards a new life that was extinguished eighteen months later when she was killed in a road accident.
    I flew with Jake to Australia, travelled through day and night when I received that shattering phone call from my father. Sara was on life support. Dark bruises on her forehead and hands were the only external marks I could see but, internally, all was lost. Hearing, said the hospital chaplain, was the last sense to go. I’d time to