The Last List of Mabel Beaumont(15)

‘I did not.’

‘Your husband got in touch…’

‘My husband is dead,’ I tell him.

‘Yes, I thought he would be. Let me explain, Mrs Beaumont.’

‘I think you’d better.’

‘You see, your husband contacted us a while ago to set up a care package for after he’d… gone. He would call every couple of months with an update on his health, and we haven’t heard from him for a while so we thought the time had perhaps come. But there should have been a phone call first. I can see how this would come as a bit of a shock. I apologise.’

Arthur. A care package. So he knew, or at least suspected, that he didn’t have long. And he didn’t say a word. I put a hand to my throat and Julie looks a bit panicked and steps forward with her arms out, presumably in case I collapse, but I just wave her inside. She’s clearly not a threat. I won’t leave her shivering while I sort this out.

‘I don’t need this. And we can’t afford it,’ I say.

‘Ah, he did say you might have a few thoughts about it, but I can assure you he’s paid upfront for the first three months.’

The first three months. Up to the end of February, pretty much. I think of him, coming up with this idea, fine-tuning the details and making the arrangements, and I feel as if my heart’s grown, suddenly, and it’s blocking my windpipe, and I can’t breathe. Why didn’t he say? All those nights we lay side by side, neither of us good sleepers in the past few years. There were so many opportunities to tell me.

‘Is that everything?’ he asks. ‘It’s just, I have a few things to be getting on with. If you have any other questions, I’m sure Julie can help.’

I look at Julie. We’re still in the hallway and she’s got a puffy sort of coat on. She won’t be able to get past me until I step back.

‘Thank you,’ I say, and I pass the telephone back to her, then turn and walk into the front room.

‘I’m sorry this is a shock, and I’m sorry you’ve lost your husband, but let’s make the best of it, eh?’

‘How often are you coming?’

I expect her to say once a week. Twice, perhaps.

‘Every day, for a couple of hours.’

‘Every day! That’ll be costing a fortune!’ What I don’t say is that I don’t know whether I like her, yet.

She shrugs. ‘Did Arthur deal with the finances, Mabel? Perhaps he’s had money set aside for this for a long time, just in case. And I have to say, as someone whose husband’s just walked out on her for a younger model, I think you got pretty lucky with yours.’

What a thing to say. She knows nothing about my marriage. And she never will. That will explain the sad eyes, though, I suppose. There’s a floral scent in the room that wasn’t there before, which I suppose must be her perfume. It’s nice, light.

‘Will it always be you?’ I ask.

She does that laugh again, puts a hand on the sofa for support. ‘Oh Mabel, you’re classic, you are. Yes, it’s always going to be me. I think we’re going to get along just fine, don’t you?’

I don’t. But I don’t say so. We sit down, me in my armchair by the window and her on the sofa with Olly. She reaches across to pet him and I think about warning her, but he does it for me, pulling away and letting out a soft little growl.

‘Who’s this bundle of fur, then?’

‘That’s Olly. He doesn’t really like… most people.’

‘Not even you?’

‘Not even me. He liked Arthur.’

‘I see. Right then, let’s talk through what I can do for you. Do you need any help with washing and dressing?’

I shudder at the thought. Arthur once said he’d rather be dead than rely on someone for help with intimate tasks. And he got his way, didn’t he?

‘No.’

‘Okay, how about with sorting out and taking any medication?’

‘No.’

‘Making meals? Putting a wash on? Doing a bit of a dust and hoover round?’

‘No.’

‘Company?’

‘Company?’

‘Yes, company. Having a chat, sharing a cuppa or a sandwich.’

‘Arthur and I always shared a teacake at eleven o’clock.’

I don’t know why I’m telling her.

‘Well,’ she says, ‘perhaps you and I could do something similar. Or if you want to keep that as a special thing for just the two of you, we could make up our own tradition.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like… maybe we could have a hot chocolate and a biscuit? Something decadent like that? Or I could make us some scones to have with butter and jam? It’s up to you, Mabel. But we can do whatever you like to make life a little brighter, a little easier. And we can change it around as we go, too. If you find you do want help with some of the other things I mentioned, after all, we can do that.’

I can see why she’s in this job. There’s something soothing about her voice. But she can’t go around eating scones and jam with everyone she looks after, can she?

‘Are you any good with computers?’ I ask. ‘I’m not useless like some old people. Arthur always said we had to keep up. He bought an iPad when they first came out and we both used it. It’s just, I’d like to look for someone I’ve lost touch with, and I don’t know how to go about it.’