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one.
“I’ve got something to tell you.”
“Mm,” says Bibi. “That was evident about ten minutes ago.” She looks pointedly at Eva’s bowl of soup, cold and untouched but for her nervous spoon-swirling through chunks of meat and potato. “You going to get around to it? Or do I need to drag out the lady petrol to loosen your tongue?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. White or red?”
“Bibi.” Eva puts the spoon down. All nerves in the hunch of her shoulders, the tremor in her voice. Like when she’d told them she was going back to uni, after Grace came home - Bibi had wondered, then, why she’d been so worried to break the news. Not yet old enough to understand the weight that she’d been carrying, still is. “Yeah, Eva, I’m listening.”
A deep breath. Meeting Bibi’s eyes, holding her gaze. “I applied to foster a kid. And I just got approved.”
Oh, Bibi thinks, and then: no wonder she’s been going out so much, and of course, only Eva, and well, that’s something. “Wow,” she says. “Raising the four of us wasn’t enough hell for you?”
She smiles, though, so Eva smiles back, shoves her lightly for good measure. “Just Becka, really,” she replies. “Grace was old enough to pull herself together, and if there’s a person alive who could’ve wrangled Urs it certainly wasn’t me.”
“And me?”
“You raised yourself,” Eva says. Proud, but sad, like she’s still guilty about it - the last thing that Bibi wants her to feel, ever. Eva’s still looking at Bibi; her voice is soft, but strong. “We’ve got a lot of spare room, now that Becka’s moved out. Thought it could be worthwhile. We were lucky to keep our home, after Mam and Dad - not everyone is. It would be a good thing to do. Don’t you think?”
Bibi looks at Eva and sees her loneliness; her struggles with the infertility diagnosis and that prick of a man leaving her over it; every ounce of earnest, devoted love she’s got within her. The kind of love that a struggling child deserves. “Yeah,” she says. Means it. “It would.”
two.
Bibi’s not an idiot, so she does plenty of reading on her lunch breaks after Eva drops the bombshell, and cleans up nice before the requisite home visit. Eva’s nervous, keeps picking at a loose thread on her sweater. Bibi pulls herself straighter to compensate and smiles through the whole thing. It’s not that different from the poker table - reading body language, keeping up the mask. If there’s someone in this house who’s been long-trained to keep uncertainty buried beneath her ribcage, it’s her.
The social worker keeps conversation casual while they walk her around the house, asking Bibi questions like she doesn’t already know the answers from long interviews with Eva. “You’re Ms Garvey’s younger sister? Bridget?”
“Ay, that’s me. Just call me Bibi.”
“You live with your sister, and you work at the Rec - what is it you do, again?”
“I teach archery. Run classes weekly, for the wains. Play some poker on the side - semi-pro, nothing big leagues, but it helps to pay the bills.”
Noncommittal noise from the social worker, who lingers over family pictures in the living room - Bibi carrying baby Becka on her back, running around the garden, pretending to be adventurers. “So you have experience working with children. Do you feel more prepared, then, to assist your sister with taking care of a child, full-time?”
Between you and me, Bibi wants to reply, I’m pissing myself at the thought; it’s no fucking picnic on the beach, what the fuck do you think? She looks at Eva, hovering at the social worker’s shoulder, brimming with nervous energy, and with hope. But I’d do anything for Eva. For her, I’d make it work. No matter what.
She says, instead, “I helped to raise our baby sister too - since our parents died when I was seven. If that’s another vote of confidence in my favour. Eva can tell you all about that.”
“There’s nobody I’d trust more than Bibi,” Eva adds. “I wouldn’t want to do this without her.” Her hand finds Bibi’s as they walk. She squeezes, once. Bibi squeezes back.
three.
A different social worker - warm and perpetually smiling, with a voice that could put rampaging bulls to sleep - brings Ruben into their lives. She guides him into the living room with a gentle hand on his shoulder; he’s got a backpack slung heavily over the other. It’s grubby, the straps fraying, twice his size. He holds it tight, to his chest, when he sits down on the couch - a lifeline. Bibi knows that grip. Remembers what her own hands held in the years after Mam and Dad died. Different lives, same story. Maybe.
“This is Eva Garvey, and you’ll be staying with her for a while, like we talked about,” Smiling Sedative Voice says. Eva squats so she’s at Ruben’s eye level, keeping carefully calculated distance between them - not too far, but not crowding his space. “Hi there, Ruben. It’s really good to meet you.”
Ruben doesn’t respond, and it’s clear neither of them were expecting him to; the social worker continues, unfazed. “Over there is Eva’s sister, Bridget, and she lives here with Eva. She’ll be taking care of you too.” He doesn’t turn to face her, but dark, tired eyes dart quickly towards Bibi, sharp and wary; Bibi manages a small wave that he doesn’t return. “Eva and Bridget are going to do their best for you while you’re staying with them. Whatever you need, you let them know, all right?”
This, at least, gets a little nod. A good sign. Eva smiles - warm, and soft; it glows, lights up her whole face. “How about we start with a walk around the house? Let’s see if you like it?”
Eva takes the lead; the social worker remains by Ruben’s side, just a step behind. Bibi trails distantly and roots around, relentlessly, for the right words to say. Trying to memorise the exact curve of Eva’s smile and the crinkles around her eyes, to copy them in the mirror. She wants to do this right. She has to. For Ruben’s sake; for Eva’s. For her own.
four.
Bibi’s not used to a quiet house. There were seven of them, after all, in the best days, and then five, after. Even when it was just her and Eva, the conversation flowed so easily - even their silences, rare as they were, were comfortable. This is new. It feels like a fog, wrapping around her, the sound of her own breathing amplified, rattling in her ears.
They can’t rush things, she knows that. Neither of them are trying to. Bibi, like Eva, was informed of Ruben’s circumstances - his parents’ passing, after a terrible car accident (she wonders if that’s why Eva was chosen for him, a morbid, awful point of connection). His only remaining family an uncle who just ‘doesn’t have the means right now’. A seven-year-old alone in the world, who buries himself in comic books and says “good morning” to Eva at breakfast, but not much else. Eva sits with him in the sunroom, answering emails on her laptop or reading a book of her own. Twice in three weeks, Bibi’s tried to join them, and felt like an outsider, encroaching on a peace and contentment that eludes her. Her palms sweat and she chokes on nothing, trying and trying and trying to look at him and see beyond a stranger that she just can’t understand.
He barely looks at her, won’t speak to her, and it sits like a stone in her gut, every hour of the day - the low thrum of panic, of bewildered uncertainty. What am I doing wrong?
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Eva tells her. “These things take time. His entire world was uprooted and he’s living in a house with two people he literally just met. He needs more than three weeks to adjust. That’s all.”
“You’re doing all right.”
“You’re not me. It’s going to be different for both of us, and that’s normal. I know you know that.” She leans into Bibi, eyes closed, sighs. “I’m fucking scared too, you know. I’m still learning about him as much as he’s learning about us. Every day feels like a new mountain to climb. Knowing he doesn’t feel safe here, not really, not yet. But it’ll work out, Bibi. Promise.”
“How are you so certain?” Bibi asks, but knows the answer the moment she finishes the question. Eva laughs, low and quiet. “It always has,” she murmurs. “And we’re doing it together, so I know it will, again. Easy.”
five.
“Have you played Solitaire before?”
Ruben shrugs. She’s learned, over days of slow observation and careful trial and error, that it’s his ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I don’t mind finding out, I guess’ shrug, so Bibi drops into a comfortable position on the rug and slides her pack out of the box. He watches curiously, warily while Bibi gives the cards a swift shuffle and spreads them with a flourish. “Do you know the names of the suits?”
Ruben hesitates for a long moment. Bibi sits on her heels and practices patience, until he reaches out and taps the corresponding cards lightly. “Hearts, diamonds, spades, clubs.”
“That’s right.” She can’t help the smile spreading across her face. Hearing his voice feels like a breakthrough, every single time. “Thirteen cards in each suit - Ace to ten, then the Jack, Queen, and King. Fifty-two in a pack.” Bibi arranges the cards into neat columns, perfectly set up for a game of Solitaire. “When you play Solitaire, your goal is to stack all the cards in order, in their respective suits. You start with seven columns, each one with one more card than the column to its left. The topmost card in each column is face up. The rest are face down. The rest of the cards are up here. You flip them over one at a time.”
Ruben inches closer as she demonstrates; Bibi holds her position, and continues, keeping her tone casual, not wanting to scare him off. “You stack cards up here, in numerical order, from Ace to King. When you’ve put the whole deck in order, you win. You reveal cards by stacking the cards in play on top of each other - when you remove the top card from a column, you can turn over the card below. The rule is red on black and black on red - hearts and diamonds on spades and clubs, and vice versa. And you can only stack a card of a lower value on a higher one - black six on top of red seven, like this.”
Bibi moves a few more cards, and eventually, Ruben takes the initiative to point at the red Jack in the fourth column. “It can go on the Queen. Last column.”
“Well done,” Bibi praises, and moves the Jack. “Want to turn it over for me?”
Ruben does, revealing a five of hearts that he adds to the suit pile. Bibi grins, sitting back on her haunches. “You’re a natural. Want to keep playing? It’s a good game to play on your own. Doesn’t need any talking once you get used to it.”
Ruben smiles, a brief, little thing, shy and grateful. “Okay.”
Bibi gets herself another deck and sets up her own game. They while away an hour playing side by side, and she spends it warm, her chest aglow, some of Eva’s faithful certainty settling in the marrow of her bones, and staying.
six.
Waiting in the serpentine line at Tesco, Eva picks up a pack of the trading cards Bibi tossed into the cart alongside the groceries and squints at them, bewildered. “What are these? Did you put them in here?”
“Obviously. Who else?”
“Why do they say Duel Masters? What does that mean?”
“They’re trading cards,” Bibi says. She shoots Eva a disbelieving, slightly scornful look. “Ruben likes them. He lays them out all the time, in the living room, how have you not seen them?”
“I’ve seen them,” Eva replies, a little huffy. “But only the fronts, with the pictures of monsters and creatures and all the numbers at the top. I didn’t know what they were called.”
“God, you’re so old.” Bibi yelps as Eva lands a light punch on her shoulder. “Even I’ve heard of Duel Masters, and I’m twenty-five.”
“Yeah, because you’re surrounded by children all the time. I work with stuffy finance arseholes who brag about owning two yachts and never speak to their kids.”
“Touche.” Bibi takes the pack and puts it back in the cart, alongside the other four she swiped off the shelves. “He’s big on them, but he’s only got fifteen. I read up on it, and that’s not enough to play - not properly, anyway. Thought it’d be nice to get him some more, help him build a deck.”
“Good thinking. He’ll love that.” Eva’s got that soft smile on her face again; it stays there while she wraps an arm around Bibi’s shoulders. “You two have really connected recently.”
Bibi hums agreement. “Guess you were right, as usual. Just takes time and all that.” Ruben’s still quiet, still keeps mostly to himself, but he moves more noisily around the house, now. Looser limbs, more smiles, looking less over his shoulder. It feels like progress. Eva says, “I told you,” sounding more relieved than smug, like she needed to hear that, needed to tell herself that, too. Bibi presses closer. “You’re doing really well,” and she is, endlessly encouraging, so gentle with Ruben, helping him open up to the light. “Even if you don’t know what Duel Masters is.”
“Don’t make me punch you again, Bibi.”
“Just try it.”
seven.
Bibi notices Ruben coming out through the back door, down the steps into the garden, but doesn’t turn to him. Her bolt’s nocked and she’s primed to shoot - better to follow through and have it lodged safely in the target instead of risk a razor-sharp tip coming anywhere near him. She inhales, locks her stance, and focuses. It’s just any other shot. Nothing in the world except her, the bow, and the target. Prime. Aim. Release. The satisfying thud of the bullseye. Familiar exhilaration floods her veins, warms her voice, when she finally turns to Ruben. “Hiya. Thought you were busy with homework.”
Ruben shrugs; this one says “all done - bored now”. He points at the crossbow, still in Bibi’s hands. “What’s that?”
“It’s my crossbow.” Bibi kneels so he can take a closer look. “It’s a ranged weapon. We use it in archery. Lots of moving parts - you pop the bolt here, make sure it sits right. Look through this scope, check the wind, the angle - pull the trigger - hit a bullseye. Hopefully.”
“Can I see?”
“Sure. Stand over there. Got to make sure you won’t get hurt, even if my aim’s off.” Bibi waits until Ruben’s trotted obediently out of the danger zone before loading another bolt and taking aim. Thud it goes into the target. Not far off her first shot at all, and Ruben looks awed. “That’s cool,” he says. “Is this what you do at work?”
“Sort of. I spend more time teaching kids how to shoot than doing my own shooting, though. That’s why I do it at home.”
He looks so fascinated. Bibi’s used to that look, sees it on the faces of the wains at the Rec all the time, but it’s different with Ruben - makes her heart soar, higher than it ever has. “Can you teach me too?”
“Ah, not right now. It’s not safe, at your age. When you’re older, alright?”
She realises, a second too late, the implications of her words, thoughtlessly thrown out. Ruben’s a short-term placement - isn’t meant to stay with them longer than a year, probably less. Tusla’s working on reuniting him with his uncle, getting him back to his family. Which is the right thing to do, Bibi knows, because she can imagine being in his shoes, in a different world - if Eva hadn’t been able to convince the authorities of her suitability as a guardian, if they’d been split up until she’d been approved to bring them home. She’d never have wanted to stay, forever, with anyone else - would always have wanted to go home to Eva, to her sisters, to the house where she lived for seven happy years with Mam and Dad.
But Eva fought for us, says a dark, stubborn voice in her mind. That man didn’t fight for Ruben.
Bibi shakes it off. Sternly tells herself to think before she speaks, not to make Ruben false promises. “It’s not safe,” she repeats. “But you can keep watching, if you want. Or if you want to do something else, that works too.”
Ruben asks - another success, another step; it took so long for him to be willing to ask for things. “Will you play Duel Masters with me?”
“Sure. Just let me put this away. I’ll see you inside, yeah?”
eight.
When the weather clears - and after they’ve established that Ruben can swim - Eva suggests a trip to the Forty Foot. “What’s that?” Ruben asks, and Eva’s eyes widen. “You’ve never been to the Forty Foot, Ruben?”
He shakes his head. Bibi rolls her eyes. “Eva, not everyone’s mad parents subscribed to the tradition of jumping off a cliff into the freezing sea on Christmas Day.”
Ruben looks very alarmed. “Are we doing that?”
“No, kiddo. Don’t let Bibi scare you,” Eva throws her a dark look. “We’re just going to have a nice, normal swim. The water’s warmer this time of year. It’s lovely, and we’ll bring a picnic - see if you like it, yeah?”
“Do you all really jump into the water at Christmas?” Ruben asks in the car, Eva in the driver’s seat while Bibi holds on to the basket in the back and helps Ruben belt up. She laughs. “Yes, we do. It’s more fun than it sounds. We’ve always done it as a family, since I was five years old. I still remember that first time - Dad was sitting with Grace by the water, watching and waving while Mam held my hand and we leapt in. It must have been three degrees. Or less. I’ll never forget that feeling. Since then, we’ve gone every single year.”
“All of you? And your Mam and Dad?”
Bibi tenses, jaw pulled tight, an instinct left over from every time she thought about their parents in the years after they died. Eva’s voice stays calm and neutral - like she’s been rehearsing this conversation, an inevitability, for a while. “No. Our Mam and Dad passed away eighteen years ago. It’s just the five of us now.”
Ruben goes quiet at that, retreats into himself in that heartbreakingly familiar way and stares out of the window. Bibi’s torn between glaring at Eva through the rear view mirror, and reaching over to put an arm around Ruben; eventually, doesn’t do either. Jesus, did she have to bring that up right now? What is she thinking?
Ruben doesn’t speak again until they’ve arrived and spread out the picnic blanket at a quiet spot, with a perfect view of the crashing waves. Eva’s off changing into her swimsuit, leaving Ruben with Bibi. “Did your Mam and Dad die in an accident? Like mine?”
“Yeah,” Bibi replies, after she works her throat for a minute, and finally finds her voice. “They were driving home, after visiting friends. Someone else on the road wasn’t - they didn’t - they crashed.” They didn’t suffer - she remembers someone telling her that, she can’t recall who. No, they died on impact, and it was just the five of them who had to live with the pain, the agony. “I was your age when it happened. Asleep. I found out in the morning.” From Urs, she doesn’t say, even though it’s seared into her memory. Urs’ face crumpled, streaked with tears, collapsing into Grace’s arms in the living room. Bibi hadn’t cried just then. She’d gotten Becka from her bed, dug out some chocolate, let her nibble happily in her lap until Eva had come home from university. Wrapped her arms around her biggest sister - her rock, her sun - and then, only then, did the crack open up in her chest. The same wound they all carry, that will never fully heal.
Ruben leans his little head on her shoulder and stays there, so still; Bibi lets him. “‘m sorry,” he says, jerkily, haltingly, like he’s parroting it, learned it from sympathetic authority figures rolling it off their tongues when they told him the worst news of his life. Bibi hums, runs a gentle hand through his hair, and they sit and look at the sea, together.
nine.
Two days after their outing, Eva and Ruben fall ill. Which Bibi fucking knew would happen, with their insistence on spending hours in the water, under the blazing sun, eating too many snacks, not drying off properly, mingling with dozens of people on the shore, God knows how germy - “I told you not to play chicken with that other family, the two girls were clearly nursing colds,” Bibi says, staring daggers at Eva while she tops up her thermos of warm water. “What if the social worker comes over for a surprise spot-check? What’s she going to say, finding Ruben sniffling away in his bed?”
Eva mumbles something garbled and incomprehensible. Viruses always hit her hard - much harder, certainly, than Ruben, who’s actually alright except for his runny nose and low fever. All she’s needed to do is make him chicken soup, pour out his medication, and tuck him in. Eva, apparently, needs Bibi helping her to call in sick, checking her temperature, applying a cold strip from the freezer to her forehead, and other assorted activities to take care of the invalid. “Eat and take your pills. Don’t go falling asleep before that.”
“Stop ordering me around, I’m older than you,” Eva grumbles. “Don’t you have work today?”
“No. Lucky you. Will you sit up and eat? I spent ages on this soup.”
Eva mutters something, clearly rude, but at least she does as she’s told. “Is Ruben alright?”
“Ay. Kids are fucking tanks, he’ll be up and running long before you. Don’t worry about it. You just focus on getting better.”
“Saint Bridget,” Eva smirks. Bibi considers jabbing a sick woman in the ribs, but masterfully holds back. “Shut up.”
Eva takes Bibi’s hand in hers and squeezes. “Thank you, though. For taking care of him. And me, too.” Her tone tells Bibi that she doesn’t just mean right now, just for this. Bibi’s never needed thanks for any of it, but it’s nice to hear, regardless. “Yeah, yeah. Finish your food and rest. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“Alright,” says Eva, but her grip lingers, for another long moment, before she finally lets go.
ten.
It’s nine in the evening, which finds Bibi in the kitchen, packing lunch for an upcoming day at work - two classes, back to back, and covering Bonnar for his shift at the pool, so she needs it to be invigorating. It means she doesn’t pay attention to the laughing and yelling going on upstairs - whatever game Eva and Ruben are playing, she’ll join them after she has pasta salad ready for tomorrow’s lunch.
This course of action is interrupted by Eva, who runs into the kitchen while Bibi’s chopping peppers. Cheeks dusted red from light exertion, her eyes glimmering with laughter and excitement. “Move your feet, I’ve only got a second,” she orders. She doesn’t wait for a response - the moment Bibi edges out of the way, she bundles herself straight into the empty cabinet under the island and slams the door. Bibi snorts. Is she twelve? Bibi can think of a hundred better hiding places in a house this size, not to mention nobody’s dusted that cabinet in weeks. Eejit.
As expected, Ruben follows on Eva’s heels just seconds later, looking all around the kitchen. “Have you seen Eva? We’re playing Hide and Seek! I’m winning!”
“Haven’t seen her, sorry,” Bibi replies loudly, while she points at the exact cabinet where Eva’s hiding. Ruben grins, gives her a cheeky thumbs-up, and rounds the island to fling open the doors. “Found you!”
“Bridget Garvey, you’re a grass,” Eva says accusingly, all grumpy as she pulls herself out of the cramped, dusty space. Bibi shrugs, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You clearly showed him somehow.”
“Well, you never said I couldn’t.”
“It’s Hide and Seek! It was implied!”
“Don’t blame me if you’re bad at hiding,” Bibi says. “By the way, you’ve got cobwebs in your hair.”
“What? Shite!” Eva yelps, and immediately looks horrified, swinging around to stare wide-eyed at Ruben. “I mean - pretend you didn’t hear that, Ruben.”
His smile is so wide. They both watch, amused, as Eva frantically tries to comb the cobwebs and dust bunnies out of her hair, and complains that she’s going to find Ruben next, just he waits. Just another night in the Garvey household - a memory that Bibi wants to carry with her. Held tenderly in her chest. A contentment she could live in for the rest of her life.
eleven.
Bibi gets home from Saturday classes at the Rec to find Eva and Ruben at the dining table, heads bent over papers and books. “We have twelve sweets here,” she hears, drifting through the doorway into the hall - Eva’s voice, patient, soothing, confident. “And seven sweets here. How do we find out how many sweets we have in total? We can add seven to twelve - and we write the equation down in these boxes…”
Bibi watches Ruben’s pencil move carefully over the page, his eyes tracking Eva’s finger, circling around text and pictures on his assignment. It reminds her of being twelve years old, sitting with Becka at that very same spot, trying to explain shapes and weights while Becka kicked restlessly under the table. Sometimes, Eva would help - in between shifts at the grocery store and the bank where she was temping. Her voice, thin with exhaustion, dark circles under her eyes, while she drew clock faces to teach Becka the difference between the hour and minute hands. Bibi remembers all the times she crept into the kitchen for a snack, to find Becka working away while Eva slept beside her, arms folded on the table, head pillowed against them. She’d get Becka to bed after checking her work, and Eva, too, sometimes, when she could wake long enough to stumble upstairs; other times, she’d end up on the couch. Bibi would pull the spare duvet from the airing cupboard and lay it over her, and then tuck herself in to sleep.
It hits her, then, bruised and sweet, a revelation - that it’s the first time Eva’s getting to be a mum, of sorts. Not just Mam, not trying, desperately, agonisingly, to fill the shoes of a woman whose face Bibi forgets so often these days, unless she stares at the black-and-white photographs lined along the staircase, hands shaking while she tries and fails to etch it deeper into her memory. Ruben scribbles something at the bottom of his paper and Eva beams, wide and genuine. Bibi saw that same smile on her face, growing up, but only when one of them was looking straight at her. Not when she was worrying about the bills, the house, her jobs.
She fought for us, Bibi thinks, and understands, for the first time, what that really means.
Eva makes a startled sound when Bibi comes over to wrap her arms around her shoulders, resting her chin atop Eva’s head. “Oh, hi there. I didn’t know you were home.”
“Mm. Just got back. You two doing homework?”
“Eva’s helping me with Maths,” Ruben says. “After this, we’re going to have ice cream.”
“Well, count me in, then.” She feels Eva’s judgemental side-eye as she settles into a chair beside Ruben. “Was that a Maths pun?”
“I can’t help being funny, Eva.”
Eva snorts. “Only people who help get ice cream. Them’s the rules.”
“I play poker, I can help with Maths homework, you cow. Come on, Ru, show me the next question, let’s see what I can do.”
twelve.
“Alright?” Bibi deposits herself onto the couch with a sigh, glad to get off her feet after six hours of teaching wee brats not to shoot out someone’s eye with their starter crossbows. Ruben’s seated to the side, legs pulled to his chest and arms around his knees. He’s even quieter than usual, and it’s been months now of him coming out of his shell and holding regular conversations with them, so Bibi knows something’s up. Coming through the garden and seeing Eva pacing through the grass, having some sort of stressed conference over the phone, gave that away, too. “What’s going on, Ru? Something happened with Eva?”
He retreats into his oversized hoodie, shrinks into the cushions. Bibi just waits, head tipped back, eyes closed for a quick nap she sorely needs. Golden rule, after all, they don’t push him. It’s worked a treat so far. She’s not going to mess that up now.
“I think the social worker called,” he finally says, his voice so small; Bibi opens her eyes, turns to meet his gaze. “Because of the fight. At school.”
Alarm bells go off in her head, but she ignores them. Panicking and saying the first thing that comes to mind isn’t going to help. “You got in a fight?”
Shrug. This one, Bibi can’t read. She glances out of the window at Eva, who’s pushing hair out of her face, snapping something neither of them can hear down the line. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Bibi shrugs in return. Fair enough. She taps her fingers against her knee, carefully sifting through her words, her thoughts, for the right thing to say. “You want to hear me talk about the fights I got into at school, then?”
Ruben’s answering glance is wary, but brimming with curiosity. He says, slowly, “I guess. Okay.”
Bibi interlaces her fingers, slides them behind her head, and looks up at the ceiling, rather than at him. “Well, it was sort of a different time. Maybe not that different to yours, compared to Eva’s time, or our Mam and Dad’s, but still. You didn’t get a lot of kids who knew they were gay, or were willing to talk about it. And even fewer kids who tolerated gay people, and didn’t want to beat them up behind the sheds.”
“Did you beat up gay kids behind the sheds?”
Bibi snort-laughs, turns to Ruben with a grin. “Is that a serious question?”
He shrugs again, his lips upturned, just the tiniest bit. Another laugh rises in Bibi’s throat, impossible to suppress. “Mm, I found out last year that one of the jerks who called me a dyke every time we did PE married his fiancé in Mallorca, so technically, I did beat up a gay kid.”
Ruben’s wide-eyed, clearly awed. “Was he bigger than you?”
“He was taller,” Bibi muses. “Most people were. But skinny. He went down like a sack of spuds when I got him in the shins.” The jerkwad had punched her in the chest after that, and she’d given him a black eye before some older kids pulled them apart; Bibi doesn’t tell Ruben that. He chuckles, but it fades quickly back into silence; he shifts closer to Bibi and lets her put an arm around him. “Did you tell Eva?”
“No.” Eva’s never found out about any of the fights Bibi got into at school, or if she has, she’s never said a word. “She was working three jobs and taking care of four sisters. I didn’t want her to worry. I took care of myself, and as long as the teachers didn’t find out - which they didn’t - she didn’t either.”
Ruben plays with a loose thread on his shirt, not meeting Bibi’s eyes. “So she won’t be mad if I don’t tell her what happened?”
“It would be hard for Eva to be mad at you about anything,” Bibi says frankly. “But she’d still want to know. ‘Cause she cares. She’ll have your back, no matter what.”
“Do you wish you had told her back then?”
“I think so. She would probably have tried to fight anyone who called me a dyke, which would have been fun to watch.”
Ruben laughs, properly this time, and wraps his arms around Bibi, his face pressed against her side. “Will you stay here while I tell her?”
“Of course.” She catches Eva’s eye through the window, sees Eva’s shoulders relax, rolling back, and the relief on her face when Bibi gives her a nod and thumbs-up. “We’ll talk to her together, yeah? No pressure.”
thirteen.
Ruben comes home from school one afternoon with his hoodie zipped up to his neck, a suspicious bulge in the fabric. He waits until the front door’s fully shut before he unzips the hoodie, and the bulge reveals itself to be the tiniest, fluffiest little tabby kitten on earth, spilling clumsily into his cupped palms, mewing its head off. Eva takes one look at the mewling creature and falls head over heels in love.
“You’re such a melt,” Bibi says, after their afternoon plans get scuppered in favour of hunting down a bevy of pet supplies. “I think Ruben could’ve brought home a whole litter and you would’ve let him keep them all.”
“If they were this cute? Yes. One hundred percent.” Eva drops a kiss against a furry little forehead and coos happily at the kitten before setting it in its brand-new basket. “Sweet little thing. How could anyone have abandoned it? Imagine what would’ve happened if nobody had seen it in the skip? Thank God Ruben got her out before the bin men came.”
Speak of the devil - they hear Ruben racing in from the kitchen, skidding to a halt beside the basket. “Homework finished,” he declares breathlessly, with only eyes for the kitten - clearly, they’re going to have to check it later and make sure he hasn’t rushed through his answers. Bibi feels indulgent about it, though, when she watches Ruben stroke the kitten, listens to it purr as he cuddles it against his chest. “So cute,” he whispers. “She’s so small! I love her so much. Hi, Mimi, hi! Thank you for letting me keep her, Eva,” he adds shyly. Eva beams, ruffles his hair. “Of course. Is that what you’re naming her, then? Mimi?”
“Yes! Like Mimi Tasogare!”
“Duel Masters,” Bibi supplies, for a confused Eva’s benefit; Eva laughs and rolls her eyes. “Should have known. Alright. Welcome to the family, Mimi.”
Mimi is the sole focus of Eva and Ruben’s attentions for the rest of the evening. Bibi ends up sitting against the couch, watching them sprawled on the rug, dangling one of several cat toys Eva bought at the store. They squeal with delight every time Mimi reaches a tiny paw to bat at it, eyes huge, all plaintive meows. The sky darkens outside, and the living room is bathed in warm electric light. The world seems to narrow onto them - her family, Bibi realises. Which feels silly to say, since she and Eva have been family ever since she drew her first breath, but - not like this. Not the two of them, standing as equals, shoulder to shoulder, raising a child, together. Their child. Bibi doesn’t know when she started thinking of Ruben as theirs, but it feels inevitable, irrevocable, despite the nagging knowledge and fear at the back of her mind, that it can’t last forever. She wants it to. More than anything she’s wanted in her life, even getting her parents back. She brims with it, the ache prickling her skin - please, please - I’d give anything, anything, please -
fourteen.
She knows the moment Eva gets a call on Friday morning, even before she picks up. Some sixth sense that has her throat going dry, the dread a clenching ache in her stomach. Eva pale when she hangs up, trying and failing to keep her voice steady when she tells Bibi that they’ve got an appointment with Tusla. An update on Ruben’s ‘situation’. Can they meet with the Garveys this afternoon?
Bibi holds out desperate, irrational hope until the social worker sits down at their dining table, hands folded in front of him, his tone calm and measured, like he isn’t saying things that steal Bibi’s breath from her lungs. Like he isn’t currently the person Bibi hates most in the entire fucking world, even though she knows she shouldn’t feel that way. “His uncle has sorted out some things.” The uncle that they’ve learned more about now, from late-night conversations with Ruben, saying things that’d had Eva stiffening, fingers tightening against her knee, trying to pretend she didn’t feel anger simmering beneath her skin. “He’s ready to give Ruben a home, and take care of him.”
Eva, fucking liar, lying through her teeth, no wonder she works in fucking finance - “I understand - we. We understand,” no, Bibi thinks, we fucking don’t. “Thank you for letting us know - you’ll update us on the next steps? Will you pick him up, or do we bring him somewhere - “
Bibi doesn’t hear the rest of it, the roaring in her ears drowning it out; Eva’s mouth moves, saying words she doesn’t mean, she can’t mean any of this bullshit - Bibi trembles, a string pulled taut and about to snap. He’s an architect! He earns five figures and owns a home! If he gave a shit he’d have been ‘ready’ eight months ago! She wants to scream it. Wants to grab the social worker by the collar and dare him to take Ruben away, to a man he barely knows, a man who never cared a whit about his dead sister and why would he ever care about her orphaned son when he could be thinking about stocks and profits or being at the bottom of a bottle - he’s not his fucking family. We’ve built a family. We’ve bled and sweated and cried for it, Eva has carved out her heart for it, you won’t take him from us. You won’t take my family from me -
No words come.
Two other social workers arrive a week later, drive all the way to the front door. One of them helps Ruben into the car, the other carries his backpack - new, only slightly worn from bringing it to school, to the park, to their outings - he holds it close, it has pictures of his parents, pictures of Mimi, granola bars Eva packed for him, just in case, a full deck of trading cards, old comics he brought with him, new comics they’ve bought him since - Bibi sees it in his arms, on his lap, as the car door slams -
They watch until the car is out of sight. Eva turns away once it does and heads slowly back into the house, one foot in front of the other until she makes it past the doorway, down the hall, into the kitchen. Staggers to a stop in front of the fridge, where a cat-shaped magnet Ruben made in art class holds a picture of the three of them at the Forty Foot, smiling amidst the waves. A noise, low and aching, scrapes its way out of her throat. Bibi wraps her arms around Eva - her rock. Her sun - and holds her, holds her, holds her, while her sobs come ragged and ugly and loud. Like they’ll never stop coming. Like the world has torn an open wound in her side, and left her there to bleed.
fifteen.
Bibi hates the pricks at her latest poker tourney who grinned when she took her seat, who made snide comments about little girls and parlour games. She hates the couple who complained to the Rec last Tuesday about ‘a homosexual running a class, for children, we’re just not sure that’s appropriate’. She hates the bastard at Tesco who cut the line and leered down the cashier’s top until Bibi told him to fuck off and find a ditch to die in. She hates the stupid, feckless cunt who horned at Eva when she didn’t put the car in drive the millisecond the light turned green. She hates the fucking wanker who barged past her on the bus and couldn’t be arsed to shout even a word of apology.
She hates Mimi and the way she mews, sad and restless, when Bibi fills her water bowl - “he hasn’t been here for three weeks, fucking deal with it, you’re a fucking cat.” She hates Tusla and the Garda and every single social worker in Ireland. She hates that man who thinks he has any claim over a child he only met at holidays, who shares his blood but doesn’t know a thing about his hobbies, his interests, his life. She wants to hate Eva, but that feels like asking the sun to rise in the West, or hell to fucking freeze over. No - what she hates is hearing Eva cry, quiet, in the garden when she thinks Bibi isn’t listening. She hates the lines on Eva’s face and the bags under her eyes, the bent curve of her shoulders when she walks. She hates the memory of Eva burying her face in her hands at breakfast and whispering maybe I was wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried fostering, shouldn’t have pretended I had the strength for it. Maybe I’m too selfish for this.
She hates herself for not having the right words to ease Eva’s pain. She hates herself for her silence, for not fighting, for not screaming, for letting them take him, for letting him into her heart, for the way he’ll never leave it.
Bibi hates a quiet house.
Bibi fucking hates a quiet house.
sixteen.
It’s two fucking AM on an unassuming night when Eva shakes her awake - literally, Bibi almost falls out of bed and brains herself. For fuck’s sake, is she trying to give Bibi a heart attack? “Jesus Christ, what, is there a fucking fire,” she snaps, before she properly turns over to look at Eva. Falls silent when she sees Eva’s face. Impulse control dulled by lethargy, still dazed from sleep, she reaches up to cup Eva’s cheek, alarmed by the tears she can feel under her thumb. “Shit. What is it? Eva? What happened?”
“Ruben,” she whispers. Her voice breaks on his name. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything, what’s going on. They called us, they just told us to come, I don’t - I need you,” she doesn’t get to finish; Bibi’s already darting to her closet, fishing for a jacket to throw over her sleep shirt. “Can you drive? Do you know where we’re going?” She takes Eva’s hand after she sees her jerky nod, drags them downstairs, all the way to the car, barely remembering to lock the front door behind them. “Okay. Let’s go, right now.”
They see him first, when they arrive - zeroing in, everyone else in the hospital fading into unimportance. Eva ignores the social worker standing by the door, the ward nurse on duty, and stumbles straight to his bed. His arms stretch out for her before she makes the last few steps, and she sweeps him into her embrace, clinging tight. Bibi watches, stock still, for a minute, only moving when it looks like the social worker might try to separate them. She strides over, puts herself right between him and the bed. “Stay away from them,” she snarls. “Don’t touch her, or Ruben. At least not until you tell us why the hell he has a black eye.”
The fucking nerve of this man, the patronising, saccharine neutrality on his face, in his tone - “please, Ms Garvey, if you’ll just calm down” - Bibi digs her nails into her palm so she doesn’t curl her fingers into a fist that she doesn’t know where she’ll put. “No. It is the first time in six weeks I’ve laid eyes on our child and it’s in a hospital at two in the morning while he’s got a fucking black eye. Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!”
“Bibi,” she hears. Feels Eva coming round and sliding a hand in hers, before she sees Eva’s face, familiar eyes, red-rimmed, meeting hers. “Hey. Ruben’s right here.” She squeezes Bibi’s hand, tight, doesn’t let go. “I know you’re upset, I am too, but we’re scaring him. We don’t want to do that. Right?”
Bibi inhales, the deep, long way Urs once told her was supposed to settle her heartbeat. She keeps her gaze locked on Eva’s, which helps. “Yeah,” she finally manages, at a normal volume, though she keeps her words edged with flint. “I just want to know what’s going on. Now.” She wants to hear it from them, even though she can already guess, can put the pieces together, because she’s not fucking stupid. She wants them to tell her they’ve called the Garda and that man, that drunken monster, is going to see nothing but the inside of a jail cell for years, at least. That when the hospital sees fit to discharge Ruben, he’s coming home with them. That nobody is tearing her family apart, ever again.
Eva asks all the right questions, like she always does - is his uncle in custody? Does Ruben have any other injuries? What do we do next? Bibi lets her handle it. She sits with Ruben on the bed, lets him snuggle close, a warm and welcome weight. “Sorry I shouted, Ru. Did I scare you?”
He shakes his head. “You’re not scary. You’re always so smiley and nice, and you tell bad jokes. You couldn’t scare anybody.”
Bibi pretends at outrage. “Hey. I’m not smiley, I’m terrifying. I used to beat people up, remember? And I can yell the pants off all the teachers at your school. You take that back.”
Ruben sticks out his tongue at her. Laughs, after that, soft and sleepy, curling up against her chest. “Are we gonna go home?”
“Mm. When they let you out.”
“You promise?”
Bibi breathes through it - the swell and ache in her heart, the fire in her veins. Her voice doesn’t shake when she answers. “Yes. I promise.”
seventeen.
Neither of them are surprised when the front door opens and Ruben flies straight to Mimi’s basket with single-minded focus, not even stopping to remove his shoes or his backpack. He gathers her into his arms, laughing at the press of her wet nose against his cheek. “Mimi! I missed you so so so much!” He lifts her high, staring in wonder. “Eva, she got so big!”
“She did,” Eva says fondly, stroking the top of Mimi’s head, her purr rumbling, so much louder than when she first came into their house. “And she missed you too. She was so sad you weren’t around to feed her, Ruben; one time, she scratched Bibi when she tried to fill her bowl instead. Clearly wasn’t happy that it wasn’t her favourite boy doing the job.”
“Little monster,” Bibi grumbles, to Ruben’s continuing laughter. “No more scratching,” he says solemnly, bringing Mimi back to eye-level to stare her down. “Say sorry to Bibi.” He meows in hilariously accurate mimicry, then beams at Bibi. “She said sorry.”
Bibi’s grin feels like it might split her face. “Very well, I forgive her.” She settles down by the basket, lets Ruben sit up against her, Eva on her other side, resting her chin on Bibi’s shoulder. “We missed you too, you know,” she says, unable to keep the ache out of her voice. “Every single day.”
Ruben inhales shakily. “I didn’t want to go,” he admits. “Wanted to stay here with you. But they said I had to, so I listened.”
“We know.” He reaches for Bibi’s hand and she laces his small fingers in hers. “We should have made them listen to you, and what you really wanted. We’re sorry too.”
“We won’t let you go again,” Eva adds, fierce, certain, unshakeable. “This is your home now. You’re home.”
Ruben nods. He puts Mimi back into her basket so he can gather them into a hug. “Love you,” he whispers, two simple words that stitch wounds in Bibi’s heart she hadn’t realised were there. She might be crying, and she doesn’t care if she is. “Love you too. So, so much.”
eighteen.
Bibi turns off the lights in Ruben’s room after she finishes his bedtime story and shuts the door behind her, after one last look at his sleeping form, huddled under his duvet. It’s been a week since they brought him home, but she reckons it’s going to take a lot longer before her mind lets go of the clinging terror that he’ll disappear, that she’ll turn her back and he’ll be gone, just like that, all over again. She knows that she just has to keep telling herself - he’s right here, he’s not going anywhere - until she believes it, but it’s going to take a while.
She pads down to the living room, where she left Eva half an hour ago. She’s tapping away at her laptop, which sits smack in the middle of twenty or so brochures scattered over the coffee table. She shifts to make room for Bibi, just enough, their knees brushing. “Is he asleep?”
“Mm. Out like a light.” She picks up one of the brochures and examines it critically. Adoption Assessment: What You Need to Know, it says, bright green text on white. Not unlike the other titles in eyeline - From Foster Carer to Adoptive Parent; Domestic Adoption in Ireland; Children’s Rights Under the Irish Constitution, everything they’ve dug up in the past week. Bibi carefully replaces the brochure where it lay. “So we’re really doing this, huh?”
“It’s going to be hard,” Eva replies, without taking her eyes off her screen. “They’re keen to make this a long-term situation first, which would help our chances, but all the online forums say the same thing - it’s still rare to be approved, when you’re not related.”
“But he’s going to live here for the foreseeable future, right? That’s what they said on the phone?”
“Yes.” Eva’s voice goes harder, steelier. “I’m making sure of it. I’m not accepting anything else. They won’t take him from us again.”
Us. Bibi’s eyes settle on Eva, studying her, tracing every inch of her features - the calm sternness of her eyes, the determined set of her jaw. She’s known that face, always. Loved the woman it belongs to, though not always like this. She’s the person Bibi wants to spend her life with - the most important person in the world (bar Ruben, of course). Despite everything, all the one-in-a-million chances that have needed to come together for these exact circumstances, Bibi can’t imagine a world where they don’t end up here - partners in life, in love, in raising their child. When she looks at Eva, it feels like the answer to a question she hadn’t realised she’d been asking. Like it was always there, just waiting for her to catch up.
She lets her heart take over, do what it calls her to do. She cups Eva’s chin in one hand, turns her face, insistent, so they’re only a breath apart. “I’m going to kiss you now,” she says, and marvels at how her voice doesn’t waver, not for a moment. The words come so easy - nothing else in her life has ever come easy, but this does. “Full disclosure. Tell me to fuck off now, and I will.”
The surprise on Eva’s face lasts a mere second, before it dissolves into understanding, and warmth, and a devotion so fierce, so intense, it sends a shiver down Bibi’s spine. Those familiar crinkles around her eyes when she smiles - Bibi sees them, brand new, all over again. “Okay,” she replies, soft and sincere. “And if I don’t?”
Bibi doesn’t answer. Not in words, at least. The moments she leans in, Eva abandons the laptop, curves one arm around Bibi’s waist to pull her close, exhales into the kiss before she deepens it. Bibi tangles her fingers in Eva’s hair, settles comfortably in her lap - they’ll be here for a while, if she has anything to say about it. Eva smiles, nips gently at Bibi’s bottom lip, before pulling away, just enough to catch a breath, to press their foreheads together. Bibi whispers, rough, the greatest truth she’ll ever speak, “I love you.”
Eva laughs softly; Bibi almost pokes her in the ribs, this arsehole, before Eva catches her hand and brings it to her lips, brushing them against Bibi’s knuckles. “Bridget Garvey,” she murmurs. “My heart. The love of my life.”
Fuck, Bibi thinks. She doesn’t burst out crying, like an idiot, and frankly, she wants a fucking medal for that. Later, though. After Eva brings her mouth back against hers, and doesn’t stop kissing her for a long, long time.
nineteen.
Bibi’s really glad they brought Ruben home in time to celebrate his birthday, so they could give him the party he fucking deserves. They don’t have time to plan a massive shebang, but the house is well-equipped for banners and balloons and fairy lights, and the whole family can be there - Gracie, Becka on her term break, Urs and Donal and their brood. Ruben turns eight surrounded by people who love him, who lavish him with hugs and presents, and when he blows out his candles he tells Eva and Bibi, beaming, that he didn’t make a wish, because he has everything he wants.
Bibi teases him about it later, when everyone else has headed home and they’re comfortably sprawled in the living room, looking through his haul. “I thought you wanted that huge Daredevil action figure that we saw in the games store on Friday. And ten more packs of trading cards. And a top-of-the-line racing bike.”
“You did buy me more trading cards,” Ruben says, eyebrows arched. Bibi snorts. “Okay, then I’m going to take that as a sign that we don’t need to get any more ever.” Ruben pouts and tries, unsuccessfully, to tickle her; Bibi’s in the midst of launching her own tickle attack when Eva pokes her head into the living room and says, disapproving, “I thought you two were cleaning up the mountain of wrapping paper before bed, like I asked.”
“You weren’t around to help.”
“Because I was doing the dishes, if you would prefer to take that chore instead.” Eva joins them on the rug, her hand finding Bibi’s easily. The warmth from their linked fingers buoys Bibi’s words. “Don’t be a square. Cleaning up can wait. We have one more present anyway, don’t we? A very special one.”
Ruben’s eyes light up. “Is it a bike?!”
Eva pulls a bemused face and ruffles his hair. “Sorry, Ru, not the bike. You might still like it, though. We hope.” She hands him his last gift, carefully hidden until now. Ruben undoes the ribbon, bursting with curiosity, and tears into the blue paper to find a laminated document - the official copy from Tusla that Eva’s going to put on the mantelpiece. There are a lot of long words, but he reads well enough to get the gist. His eyes wide when he looks back up at them. “It says - I can live here forever?”
“For as long as you want,” Eva agrees. “Tusla approved our long-term placement, so you get to stay. Nobody can force you to leave again. We - oof,” Ruben cuts her off, barreling into her for a hug, his fingers curled in the fabric of her shirt. “Alright. I guess that means it’s a good gift, huh?”
Ruben nods, his eyes watering when he meets Bibi’s gaze; he turns away after a moment, burying his face against Eva’s neck so they don’t see him sniffling. Bibi wraps them both in her arms, and holds her family tight. “Happy birthday, Ruben.” The first of many, Bibi silently promises. For all the years they get to share - like Ruben said. Forever.
twenty.
Bibi awakens to a series of kisses, drifting from her shoulderblade, to her neck, then her cheek. A very nice way to start the morning, until Eva starts murmuring into the shell of her ear. “It’s only six AM, and your son is already trying to burn down our kitchen. For my sake, and the mortgage, will you go and deal with it?”
Good try, Bibi thinks, but it’s currently five degrees outside, and she’s not leaving the cozy warmth of this bed until she’s dragged out of it. “You’re the one who taught him how to use the waffle-maker,” she yawns. “He’s your son to deal with right now.”
Eva groans, disgruntled. “How do you know he’s making waffles?”
“I’ve got a nose, eejit,” Bibi replies sleepily, grasping ineffectively for more of the duvet. Eva’s such a heat-stealer, her feet always freezing fucking cold even at the height of summer, and worse still at this time of year. “I don’t know why you’re worried; I don’t smell smoke. He’s fine. When I was nine I made my own breakfast too. Cooked eggs on the stove and what have you, and never set the house on fire.”
“You promised me back then that you only made toast. Or ate cereal.”
“Oops,” Bibi murmurs. She turns to give Eva a quick peck, and one more for good measure, before she starts mumbling about sneaky lying sisters. “Leave him, it’s good that he’s learning independence. He’s smart enough not to burn himself, and you have a smoke alarm installed for a reason.”
“But - “ Bibi silences her with a kiss, satisfied when Eva relaxes into her embrace and makes no move to get up. “He’s probably trying to surprise you, and do something nice,” she whispers. “Don’t ruin it.”
Even in the low light, Bibi can see Eva flush, smile flickering on her lips. “Do you think?”
She doesn’t think, really, she knows - Ruben making Eva breakfast in bed is the first part of a whole day of surprises that they planned together, a special treat for Eva’s first birthday with all three of them, as a family. And until he makes it up here with waffles and orange juice, all Bibi wants is to hold her, stay under the covers, share lazy kisses that light her up inside, every single time. Their legs tangled, Eva’s hand resting against her back, perfectly positioned for Bibi to press her lips to Eva’s jaw. “Happy birthday, Eva.”
Eva hums, content. “The happiest.”
“Yeah? You’ve just woken up, and you’re already convinced of that?”
She feels Eva’s kiss against her forehead, her fingertips running gently up her spine. “You’re here,” she murmurs. “Ruben is here. That’s more than enough for me. Every day.”
“You’re such a melt.”
Eva puts her feet flat against Bibi’s shins and chuckles when she yelps. “You love me, you cow.”
More than anything, Bibi thinks. All my life, and then beyond it. Until the stars burn out. I love you.