The Last List of Mabel Beaumont(38)

‘I’m so sorry, Mabel,’ Julie says. ‘Men are bastards.’

A man sitting across the carriage from us looks up, and Julie holds his gaze until he turns away.

‘One of those things,’ I say, wondering whether I’ll ever feel able to tell them the full story. The one I’ve never told anyone. Not even him. Not even myself.

We’re quiet, and I know all three of us are looking back at our own pasts. The men who’ve been part of all that has led us here.

‘Were you in love with Sarah’s father?’ I ask.

Patricia looks at me. ‘It was such a whirlwind thing. He made me feel like I was the only woman in the world. You know the kind of thing. Flowers arriving daily, a trip to Venice for our second date.’

Julie’s mouth is hanging open. ‘We don’t know the kind of thing at all, do we, Mabel?’

Patricia laughs, and I am surprised anew by her beauty. I also note that she didn’t answer the original question.

‘I’ve never been to Venice,’ I say.

‘Oh,’ Patricia says, ‘it’s beautiful. And if you’re there with someone you love, well, it’s pretty damn near perfect.’

‘So you did love him?’ Julie asks.

‘Oh yes, I loved him.’

Her eyes have changed, and I know she’s back there, reliving it. And then it’s like she snaps back into focus, and she’s with us again.

Julie makes a sudden movement, clutching Patty’s arm. ‘Was he a Beatle, Patty?’

She laughs. We all do. ‘No, Julie. I’m not quite that old.’

After a beat of silence, she speaks again. ‘When I found out I was pregnant, I was so happy. I thought it was just the start of things for him and me, that we’d be a family. I was so young and na?ve. It turned out he already had a family. A wife and two kids he’d never thought to mention.’

Julie shakes her head. I wonder whether she’s thinking about her own situation, casting Patricia in the role of Estelle. Seeing that it’s not always the other woman who’s the villain of the piece.

‘So you raised her alone?’ Julie asks.

‘I did.’

‘It’s no wonder you miss her so much,’ Julie says. ‘If it was just the two of you, for all those years.’

‘Yes, all her childhood it was just the two of us. She lived at home right up until she met Mark when she was in her late twenties. And then she came back, after she had the girls and Mark walked out on them. I wasn’t sure, at first, about having little ones around all the time again, but it was wonderful. They keep you young, children, don’t they?’

Julie and I must both look a little blank, because she laughs.

‘Of course, I forget sometimes that neither of you have had them. It’s such a huge disruption, having kids in the house, but it’s like nothing else. It’s all stories and dancing, painting and running about. Nothing’s out of bounds.’

For a minute or two, I try to picture it. The way it would have been for us, Arthur and me. He wouldn’t have had those affairs, I don’t think. Perhaps it would have made me a bit… what? Lighter? More playful? I see myself, young again, with a baby in my arms. The house in disarray, toys everywhere. Then a little older, with a little girl holding my hand at the side of the road. But it’s make-believe. It’s not something I ever had, or even wanted. Going over how it might have changed things is a pointless exercise.

‘How are they getting on?’ Julie asks. Her voice is steady but there’s a catch in it, and I wonder whether she’s been delving into her own memories, seeing how things might have been in different circumstances.

‘I’m not sure,’ Patricia replies. ‘The other day, she sounded quite stressed. Said that Geoff was finding it hard to adjust to having them there. And it’s awful but, after we’d hung up, I found myself hoping that it might all go wrong, because then they’d come back.’

It’s a big admission and we let it settle. I look out of the window as we whizz through a station too fast to read the sign. I don’t know what to say to reassure her that I understand. That I, too, have hoped for awful things to happen to bring me what I want most.

Patricia gets her telephone out and finds pictures of her granddaughters to show us. They’re angelic looking, with shiny dark hair and dimples. Matching yellow sundresses.

‘That was last May. We took them to Greece.’

There’s another one, on the beach. Both girls dressed in stripy swimming costumes, the younger one wielding a bucket and spade while the older one does a cartwheel in the background. I can feel the energy coming off them, even from this still image caught on a mobile telephone screen. I can almost hear the laughter.

It seems clear to me that these girls belong with Patricia. Not instead of their mother, of course, but as well as. She transforms when she speaks of them, and I can see more clearly the young woman she once was. The model. Confident and happy.

‘Perhaps they will come back,’ I say, and she lifts her eyes to meet mine. ‘Perhaps they’ll miss you too much to stay away.’

She looks hopeful for a moment, then changes the subject. ‘Anyway, what’s the plan with Dot? What’s the next step?’

I think again of that shop, that shabby-looking flat. It would sound silly to say so, but I feel like Dot was too big to be contained in a place like that. I can’t see how she would fit there for long.