The Last List of Mabel Beaumont(59)

‘I abandoned my family Christmas, too,’ Erin says.

And it’s kind of her, it’s an offering.

‘Why?’ Kirsty asks.

‘Homophobia,’ Erin says, simply, and the laughter is gone from the room as quickly as it came.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Kirsty says. ‘And you’re…’

‘Gay. Yes.’

‘Shit.’

‘Luckily, Mabel took me in with open arms and a Scrabble board.’

‘Oh, I’m rubbish at Scrabble. Have you eaten?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I have a roast dinner for one and not much else in the fridge. And the shops are closed,’ I add, unnecessarily.

Kirsty wrinkles her nose and then her face lights up.

‘I’ll go back to mine,’ she says. ‘They always have a post-lunch walk and there was enough there to feed about fifty. I’ll bring it here.’

So that’s how we come to be sitting around my dining table, the three of us, with turkey and roast potatoes and stuffing and all the trimmings. She’s even brought us a couple of bottles of prosecco, and a Christmas pudding for afters.

‘I was dreading this day,’ I say, lifting my glass.

‘Me too,’ Kirsty says.

‘And me,’ Erin says.

‘Why do we do it to ourselves? All that stress and worry, over one day?’

‘It’s so stupid,’ Kirsty says. ‘I spent all morning in the kitchen, didn’t see my daughter at all, and it’s her first Christmas.’

She looks a bit tearful at that, and I know she’ll go home soon, make it up with Ben and put her baby to bed. But that’s all right. That’s what she should do. And in the meantime, she’s here, and she’s turned my day around.

‘At least you’re getting to enjoy the food you cooked,’ Erin says. ‘Which is incredible, by the way.’

Kirsty reddens a little. ‘This, just here, not this morning, this is the best Christmas I’ve had in ages,’ she says.

And I hope Arthur isn’t looking down on me right now, because I agree with her.

When the telephone rings, I go into the front room to answer it.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Mabel, it’s Julie. Happy Christmas.’

‘Oh, happy Christmas, Julie.’

‘I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re all right on your…’

She breaks off, and I know she’s heard the raucous laughter in the background.

‘Have you got the TV on, Mabel?’

‘No, it’s… I’ve got some visitors.’

‘Who?’

‘Erin, my friend from the supermarket who came to Patricia’s class that time, and Kirsty.’

‘I’m coming over,’ she says, and hangs up.

The others laugh when I relay the conversation to them.

‘Is she coming over because she’s cross with us or because she doesn’t want to miss out?’ Kirsty asks.

I shrug. I suspect the latter. Though I’m hoping that doesn’t mean that her Christmas with Martin hasn’t gone well. She’s on the doorstep ten minutes later.

‘Martin’s asleep on the sofa, and I’d worked my way through most of a tub of Celebrations. It sounded like there was much more fun to be had over here,’ she says, going through to the front room where Erin and Kirsty are giggling about something to do with shoes that I lost track of a good ten minutes ago. She’s huffy, Julie. Like we’ve deliberately left her out.

‘Olly’s back,’ Julie says, reaching down to stroke him. He growls.

‘No, he’s not back, he’s just visiting, with Kirsty,’ I say. ‘Sit down. Do you want a glass of prosecco?’

‘Prosecco, is it? Are you allowed to mix alcohol with your medication?’

‘It’s Christmas Day,’ I say. ‘And I’ve only had one. These two have had a bit more than that, as you can probably see.’

Kirsty’s grinning, more relaxed and happy than I’ve ever seen her. And the worry that surrounded Erin when she arrived has disappeared, at least temporarily. Now I just need to get Julie to calm down. I go to the kitchen and she follows.

‘Is something wrong?’ I ask.

She sighs, deep and loud. ‘It’s Martin. I wanted today to be really special but it’s like we’ve slipped straight back into our old roles. Which basically means me doing all the cooking and clearing up and him snoring on the sofa. I thought we’d have learned something, from being apart. But instead we’re just pretending he never left me for someone else and going back to our old ways. And I’ve realised, while he’s been gone, that I wasn’t that happy with them.’

I pour her a drink and pass it to her, watching the tiny bubbles make their way to the top of the glass and then burst.

‘You have to tell him,’ I say.

I’m a fine one to talk, all those years I wanted to tell Arthur how I really felt. All those years with the words stuck in my throat. And now, him dead, and me still not being totally honest.

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Tell him what you just told me. Tell him the truth.’

She nods, looks glum.

‘You’re not going to do that, are you?’