The Last List of Mabel Beaumont(33)

It’s some scribbled notes, back and forth, between the two of them.

I’m going to ask Dot to marry me. What do you think she’ll say, Arthur?

You’re a lucky man, Bill. She’ll say yes, I’m sure of it.

What about you, and Mabel?

Do you think I stand a chance? You know her best.

She can be hard to read, but I’d say so. There’s no one else.





There’s no one else. How sure he was. And how wrong. How long before Bill died did they write this? It can’t have been long, but there’s no date. They had it all planned out. We made a great little foursome, and they wanted to keep it going. I don’t blame them; I did too. How different would things have been if we hadn’t lost Bill? Would we have stayed in that group, married and stuck together our whole lives? Would they have had children? And would we? And then I look back at Arthur’s first words. ‘You’re a lucky man.’ And it makes me feel a bit like a consolation prize.

I close the little book and rest it on the arm of my chair, not quite ready to put it away again, after so many years hidden away under the bed. And when I reach into the box again, I pull out another little book, one that’s so familiar but that I couldn’t have described if you’d asked me to. It’s my address book, the one Bill bought me for my eighteenth birthday. Pink and white roses on the cover. I flick through, and under B, there it is. Dot Brightmore, and an address in Hammersmith, west London. Now I see it written down, I feel I can remember writing it on a plain white envelope and slipping the letter inside.

I think of the trips I’ve made to London over the years. Seeing the sights with Arthur. The occasional theatre outing. I’ve never been to this area, know nothing about it. I can’t begin to try to picture her there. Will we really go there, like Julie said? As simple as that?

When weeks had passed and she hadn’t responded to my letters, I had talked to Arthur about the possibility of going there to see her.

‘Just turning up?’ he’d asked.

‘Why not?’

‘Well, because she left without saying goodbye, without coming to our wedding, and now she hasn’t replied to the letters you’ve sent her, so I’d say she’s giving us a pretty clear message, wouldn’t you?’

I’d thought about that long and hard. Did she not want us any more? Or was it just too painful to see us get married and start our lives together when her fairy tale had fallen apart with Bill’s death? Did she need a fresh start, a clean break? Had she forgotten what we’d all meant to one another? Or was it our wedding in particular that was a problem for her? In the end, I didn’t go, and I stopped talking about her so much. When she came up in conversation, it was usually in conjunction with Bill, with the four of us, and it was as if she stopped being her own entity altogether.

And now, more than sixty years later, am I going to go there with these women I’ve met who seem so fearless? I know I won’t find her there, that nobody really stays put for that long in London, or really anywhere, but we might find a clue, something to lead us closer to her. Am I ready for that? Have I forgiven her, for disappearing?

By the time Julie bustles in, singing an Abba song, I’ve made my mind up.

‘I’ve found it,’ I tell her.

‘Dot’s London address?’

‘Yes.’ I hold up the address book as if it’s some kind of proof.

She squeals. I can’t get over how invested in this she seems. What does it matter to her? Is it just human curiosity? It seems like more than that.

‘Let’s have a look. Hmm, I’ll bring the Tube map up in a bit and plan the route. When would you like to go?’

I’m thrown. I knew she’d suggest going there, but I was thinking about it as something we’d do at some point in the future, and now she’s asking me when, and I don’t know what to say.

‘Next week?’ she asks. ‘I could take a day off.’

‘Perhaps,’ I say. ‘Let me think about it.’

She laughs. ‘You’ve had sixty-odd years, Mabel. Let’s not waste any more!’

And it’s ridiculous, I know, but I’m not sure I’m ready.

When Kirsty turns up for Olly, Julie opens the door to her and the first thing she mentions is the address.

‘Have you looked at it on Google Streetview?’ Kirsty asks.

I don’t know what that is, but once Kirsty’s got Dotty out of the buggy she gets her telephone out and taps in the address Julie shows her and before I know it she’s holding up the screen to me and I’m looking at a row of shops.

‘Must be a flat above a shop,’ she says.

I think hard, try to remember whether Dot’s mum said anything about this sister of hers and where she lived, or whether Dot ever mentioned her aunt and uncle who lived in London, but there’s nothing. Is my memory failing me, or is it just that there are so many years, so many trivial conversations and ordinary days piled up now that it’s impossible to store them all?

‘Are you going?’ Kirsty asks.

‘That’s the plan, although Mabel’s stalling a bit,’ Julie says, touching my shoulder affectionately to show she means no harm. ‘Cup of tea, Kirsty?’

‘Oh, yes please, if you’re making one.’