‘So, do you have an actual date yet?’ I asked tentatively the following morning over coffee and toast.

Perhaps now wasn’t the time to suggest it was all too much too soon and they just wait a couple of years or longer, until Rosie was eighteen. I’d come up with this idea at 3.47 that morning, while unable to sleep, but in the cold light of day, I realised it wasn’t going to work as a suggestion.

‘You’re okay with this wedding and moving and everything, aren’t you, Mum?’ Emma said, sitting at the kitchen table. ‘I mean, it will have an impact on you too, I suppose?’

‘I suppose it will,’ I said, trying to hide the sarcasm in my voice and faking a smile, but feeling bereft. I’d slowly travelled from shock to worry throughout my sleepless night, but just before dawn had come to the conclusion that Emma and Rosie would be fine without me. Now I was at the stage of wondering how I would be without them… and for that matter where I would be. I was a couple of weeks away from my finals, had no life partner, was about to lose my daughter and granddaughter and my home. Yes, I suppose it might just have an impact on me, Emma.

I didn’t want to rain on her parade, so girded my loins, patted her hand and put on a brave face.

‘It’s wonderful,’ I continued, then repeated, ‘wonderful,’ before hiding my face in a sip of coffee. ‘Wonderful’ wasn’t a word I would use to describe this whirlwind of madness that had the potential to unsettle Rosie and leave me homeless, but I had to at least appear to be positive.

As much as I tried to be ‘delighted’ though, I couldn’t help but feel a little resentful. I knew she’d said I should go with Dan if that’s what I wanted, she also said they’d cope without me, but I didn’t hear it. Consequently, I’d pretty much given up my own life little more than twelve months earlier so I could be there for her. I didn’t exist as an independent being, I was an extension of my daughter’s needs and wants – and it was all my fault.

‘I’m taking Rosie to Scotland with me next weekend, and we’re going to spend it together with his kids – as a family. The children have only met a few times, be nice to have the whole weekend,’ Emma was saying now.

‘Great, I hope they all get on,’ I said, ashamed of my mixed feelings, but aware that it wouldn’t be hard to win over our feisty four-year-old in a weekend.

‘Oh, you know Rosie – buy her an ice cream and she’ll love them to bits,’ Emma laughed.

‘A relationship with a child isn’t built on ice cream, it’s built on love and trust and years of nappy changing and playing games and singing songs,’ I heard myself say. Aware I was sounding like a disgruntled nanny from the Victorian era, I stopped short of listing the up-all-night nursing a fever and not being able to attend lectures because the little one is poorly and Mum has her career. But Emma had seemed to conveniently forget the bond I’d shared with Rosie wrought from tears and sweat and love and endless hours of hide-and-seek – and let’s not forget Frozen on an endless loop! Okay, I’d just thought of a vague silver lining to this – I might never have to hear or sing another chorus of ‘Let It Go’, but that didn’t work because I loved duetting with Rosie – even if she did always have to be Elsa, the beautiful blonde one.

‘Dan seemed to win her over with ice cream and funny faces, so I’m sure we’ll be fine.’

That hurt. Dan may not have actually fathered a child, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t look after one. I was probably being over-sensitive, but the way she said it, it felt like she was implying that’s all he could do – and if he could win Rosie over, anyone could. But Dan wasn’t just about ice cream and funny faces: we’d spent a lot of time together, the three of us, when Emma was working. He would sit patiently with her while she drew pictures, watched TV with her and was always there to wipe away her tears if she fell over. Rosie thought the world of him and they’d had a lovely friendship. I knew I was being childish, but I suddenly felt like everything me and Dan had been to Rosie was being dismissed now Richard had come on the scene.

I didn’t want to fall out with Emma though – she was so happy, perhaps for the first time in a long while. I wasn’t going to rain on her parade, so I kept my thoughts to myself. I understood Emma didn’t want to stay single all her life and it would be good for Rosie to have a father figure. Now Dan had gone, the only male in Rosie’s life was Craig, her granddad, with his monosyllabic conversation and unhealthy obsession with ballcocks.

Rosie had now come into the kitchen for more toast and asked for ‘an espwesssssso’, which made us smile, and I made her some warm milk with chocolate sprinkles.

‘There you are, Madam. I hope it’s to your liking,’ I said, placing a small cup and saucer in front of her and sitting down.

‘Is that weaaaally espwesssso, Nana?’ she lisped, looking at me like I was in court and she was cross-examining me.

‘Yes, that’s what they drink in all the fine coffee houses of Europe.’

‘You cwazy bitch!’ She rolled her eyes and Emma and I looked at each other over our coffee steam. We both knew where she’d heard that expression.

‘Don’t worry, she won’t be going into the hairdresser’s much longer,’ I said pointedly, before Emma could say anything.

‘Oh, Mum, don’t be like that.’

‘Like what?’ I feigned surprise. ‘I was just saying, you two won’t be around here for much longer, so there won’t be any bad influences.’

‘I never said anything about bad influences.’ She sipped her coffee, then carefully placed the mug back on the table. ‘Mum, are you okay with all this? I know it can’t be easy for you. I was saying to Richard on the phone last night that I didn’t want to upset you with all the changes.’

I was hurt and angry to think Emma had been discussing me with Richard. I knew I was being unreasonable, it was inevitable that she would talk to him, but it changed the dynamic of our relationship, which was painful for me.

‘I’m not some infirm ninety-five-year-old granny who has to be “discussed”, I’m not “the family problem”,’ I snapped.

‘Mum… I never said you were, you’re overreacting…’

‘I’m sorry,’ I huffed. ‘Yes, there are a lot of changes, but I can cope. I’m perfectly capable of accepting and adapting to new situations, whatever you or Richard might think.’

I picked up my mug and plate of toast crumbs and stacked them in the dishwasher, realising she was absolutely right – I wasn’t remotely ready to accept this.

‘Don’t be so defensive, I just mentioned to Richard that I feel bad leaving you here on your own.’

‘I’m fine, I’m not some arthritic old lady with three cats and a heart condition,’ I said, almost slamming the dishwasher shut. ‘I’m a forty-six-year-old student, not some pensioner. Jesus, Emma!’

‘Mummy, Nana just used a swear called Jesus,’ Rosie politely informed her mother, as she delicately picked up her ‘espresso’ cup and sipped daintily. I usually loved Rosie’s commentary and I’d have laughed if I wasn’t on the verge of tears.

‘Sorry, Rosie, Nana shouldn’t say things like that,’ I patted her arm. ‘But, Emma, I have to be honest – I feel like you’re doing this without considering anyone else…’

She put down her mug with an eye roll, the implication being that my overreaction was just what she’d warned Richard about.

‘And yes, I’m overreacting,’ I said. ‘Damn right I am!’ I added, hoping to God the swear police was too busy with her fancy coffee to remark on this. Emma needed to know exactly how I felt for once. ‘This is a big life event for you, but it’s also a big family event with huge implications for Rosie… and for me – yet if I say anything, I get the feeling you think I’m just being obstructive or annoying, and now I’m being defensive, apparently,’ I said. Defensively.

A rather heated exchange followed, throughout which we both smiled through gritted teeth and did what we always did when we said anything mildly controversial in Rosie’s hearing: we changed the names to protect the innocent. Rosie had quite the gob on her for such a little one and, apart from reprimanding me and her mother if we argued or swore, had been known to share all kinds of intimate and embarrassing information later with whoever cared to listen. Aged just three, she’d once informed a stranger in Tesco that ‘Nanny and Granddad don’t love each other anymore because Nanny goes to sleep in Dam’s bed’, as well as passing on the news that ‘Mummy has a moustache’ to her crèche teacher. My personal favourite, ‘Nana wears very BIG pants’, was announced to a group of my fellow students at uni and accompanied by a visual demonstration with her little arms spread as wide as physically possible to give some indication as to the enormity of what one might laughingly call lingerie.

‘So, can you please tell the Wicked Stepmother exactly what’s going to happen and when?’ I asked Emma now, with gritted teeth. ‘Is Snow White definitely going to live in the Highlands with her Prince? Has a decision been made, and can we all be told yet when the happy day will be?’

Emma shook her head. ‘I don’t know, and I, er, Snow White is sorry she upset the Wicked Stepmother.’ Then she lifted her palm off the table in a ‘not now’ gesture, glancing over at Rosie. ‘Rosie, as you’ve finished, you can go and watch some TV while Nana and I finish our coffee,’ she said, stretching her mouth into a smile, panic in her eyes.

‘No, thanks, Mummy. I’d like to stay here and talk about Snow White’s wedding.’ With that, she rested her little chin on both hands and waited for the next comment, looking from one to the other like she was at a tennis match. If the situation hadn’t been so horrific and I hadn’t felt that life as I knew it was hanging in the balance, I would have been hysterical. ‘So, Nana, what are you going as?’

‘I’m sorry, darling?’

‘Jesus, I mean the bruddy wedding!’ She threw her hands up in frustration.

‘That’s enough, Rosie – that’s very rude,’ Emma frowned. ‘You mustn’t say swear words.’

‘But Nana said a swear called…’ Her little chubby index finger was pointing directly at me.

‘That’s enough,’ Emma repeated, with a warning look, and Rosie looked at me with an ‘Oh God, she’s at it again’ face, and I tried not to catch her eye.

We all sipped in the silence. I didn’t know what to say, but Rosie did.

‘Mummy’s going to the wedding as Snow White and I’m having a unicorn costume, aren’t I, Mummy?’ she said, turning to Emma.

‘Not for the wedding, sweetie,’ Emma replied, no doubt relieved her four-year-old had stopped swearing like a trucker.

‘I AM, I’m going to the wedding in a unicorn!’

Rosie was now threatening tears and as this subject really wasn’t the top of anyone’s agenda (except Rosie’s, of course), there was no room on the current agenda to explore this. Given that I wasn’t even aware the wedding had been discussed at ‘costume’ level, I just sat and looked at Emma and waited for the relevant information.

‘I’m having a unicorn bedroom,’ Rosie continued. ‘Richard told me I can. Hey, Nana, don’t be sad! You can come for sleepovers in my unicorn bedroom… yes, you can,’ she nodded vigorously as she reached for my arm and gazed into my face.

‘Lovely, darling, I shall look forward to that,’ I said, unable to imagine her waking up in that bedroom without me there to make her breakfast, help her choose her outfit for the day. I swallowed back tears, thinking how the two of us had been quite the team.

After a reasonable interval, I continued my conversation with Emma, still smiling through gritted teeth.

‘So, have you and… the Prince named the day?’

At this, Rosie leaned into her mother and whispered conspiratorially, but loudly, ‘Nana means Richard…’ This was accompanied by more vigorous nodding, like she was imparting something quite revelatory. She then turned to me, ‘July… Mummy’s getting married in July, Nana – but don’t be sad – you’re invited too. Of course you are!’

It was now my turn to roll my eyes, torn between bursting into laughter, panic or tears; I opted for all three.

‘It’s okay, Nana. You can go as a mermaid if you like?’

Emma passed me a box of tissues and assured a slightly alarmed Rosie that, ‘Nana’s okay. They’re happy tears, darling.’

‘The twenty-first,’ Emma blurted. ‘That’s the day.’

I nodded and attempted a smile for Rosie’s sake, but felt like shouting, so that’s something else no one has bothered to tell me. And, no, they bloody aren’t happy tears! These are tears of hurt and abandonment and panic at the prospect of you both leaving for another country – after planning a wedding in a ridiculous time frame.

But I didn’t. I wiped my eyes, dampened down my own feelings and, slipping into my mum safety net, asked: ‘So, what kind of wedding cake would you like?’