The Last List of Mabel Beaumont(18)

‘What kind of things?’

‘Well, about me liking girls for a start.’

I’m not sure what she means at first. Liking girls? And then when it hits me, my face flushes. I’m not used to talking about this kind of thing, about people’s preferences. Because sex is lurking under the surface of those conversations, and sex was such a secret when I was her age that my mother never once alluded to it, other than to tell me there might be some pain on my wedding night.

‘I see.’

‘My mum’s religious, says it isn’t God’s way. And I mean, I haven’t actually told her, about me, but I’ve listened to the things she’s said over the years and…’ She mimes a shudder.

I don’t say anything, don’t know what to say.

‘Well,’ she says, ‘I have to get to work.’

I smile at her, but I don’t know what she makes of it. She walks away, pulling headphones out of her bright red rucksack and putting them on. It’s a different world, the one she’s growing up in. The one she’ll inherit. She’s got options I didn’t even know to want. An education, a career. And it should be easier, shouldn’t it, but I’m not sure it is. Perhaps there’s no easy way through that transition to adulthood, no matter when you live it.

‘Hello Dad, hello Mother, hello Bill,’ I say, standing and going over to the fence.

Olly sniffs around a bit, nosing cigarette ends out of the way.

‘I thought I’d be lonely without Arthur but he’s set up this carer to come in for me every day. Julie, her name is. I might get her to walk up here with me sometime, because I’m not feeling so steady on my feet, and the last thing I need is to fall over and break my hip. That happened to my friend Enid and she never got out of her chair again. It’s a fool’s game, getting old. You missed all that, didn’t you? Not one of you made it past sixty-six, and I’ve got twenty years on that. I wake up in the morning these days and I have to do an assessment of my whole body, try to work out what hurts and how much and whether it was hurting the day before. And then it takes me ten minutes to get up and going.

‘I think Olly’s pretty fed up with me. I’m not taking proper care of him. It’s too much for me, really. I think I’ll need to see if someone can take him off my hands…’

Olly is sitting by my feet, good as gold, and he lets out a little whimper at that point, as if he understands.

‘Remember Dot?’ I ask, changing the subject. ‘Of course you do. I’m going to try to find her. I know, I know, she could be long gone. But I think I need to chance it. It’s something I should have done years ago. Anyway, I’d better get this one home and fed. I’ll be back soon.’

I take a step back and a memory flashes up. Bill, up in a tree, wobbling the branch he was sitting on to scare me. Waving. Was Arthur with him? Probably. They were thick as thieves for years. And yes, if I look again, beyond Bill, I can see him there, laughing and twisting side to side to keep his balance. I’ll go across the graveyard to his plot, let him know I’m thinking about him.

It takes me a few minutes to find it. The headstone hasn’t gone up yet.

‘I found the note you left,’ I say. ‘The list. I think you want me to find Dot. That’s what I’m going to try to do, anyway. I’m not sure why you’d want that, but maybe it will become clear as I’m doing it. I don’t know. I wish you’d stayed around long enough to tell me, Arthur. I wish you’d stayed.’

I know I’ll break down if I stay any longer, so I blow him a kiss and turn away, walk home without looking back. As I walk, I indulge myself in a memory. Arthur and me, somewhere in our sixties, sitting on our bench watching the sun set on a bitter, winter day like this one. Must have been a weekend. We had mugs of tea by our feet, and the steam was mingling with the puffs of air that came out when we spoke.

‘Christmas is coming,’ he said. ‘Anything you’d like?’

There were things I wanted. But nothing I could reveal to him.

‘I don’t need anything.’

‘It’s not a case of need, is it, when it comes to Christmas? We could go to Overbury, choose you some new earrings or a dress.’

‘What about you?’ I asked.

He paused for a little while, and in the space, I listed in my head the things I knew he wanted, or had wanted. A son, a daughter. A wife who didn’t shrink away from his touch.

‘I wouldn’t mind a new radio for the shed,’ he said.

Since he’d retired, he’d started spending a fair bit of time out there, fixing things. The neighbours had found out about it, somehow, and people often brought him things to glue and mend. He seemed to enjoy it.

‘A radio,’ I repeated.

And I wondered, was marriage always like this, with so many truths hidden beneath the conversation you were having? So much hiding, and pretending.

I’m almost home when I hear a shriek and look up to see a beautiful young woman with a buggy standing in front of me, her hands covering her mouth. I notice her nails, navy blue and perfectly shaped. She looks like she’s stepped out of an advert, all flawless skin and designer handbag.

‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Your dog!’ she says.

I look down at Olly, who looks back up at me, and we’re each as bemused as the other.