The Last List of Mabel Beaumont(66)

‘What are you doing back here?’

It’s Julie. I didn’t hear her approaching.

‘I was just going to put the kettle on,’ I say, picking it up and taking it over to the sink.

‘Let me,’ she says, taking it from me.

I do let her, because I find it a bit heavy, now, when it’s full.

‘What have you done to upset Dotty?’ she asks, smiling.

‘Me? I haven’t done anything!’

‘I was joking, Mabel.’

‘She’s having a change,’ I say. ‘She was, she’d… soiled herself.’

‘That’s babies for you,’ she says.

I wonder what she knows of babies, whether she’s been around them much. Or whether she’s as clueless as me about the whole thing.

When we go back to the front room, Dotty’s dressed again and the little bag is neatly tied. The smell lingers.

‘Would you watch her while I take this outside and wash my hands?’ Kirsty asks, holding the bag up.

Her voice is a bit different, I think. The edges softened, like her original accent – the one her parents have – is creeping back in. Just a little.

‘Course,’ Julie says.

She goes over and sits on the floor by Dotty, who’s on all fours, rocking.

‘Can she crawl now?’ I ask, a bit scared she’ll get away from us when we’re supposed to be looking after her.

‘Not yet. She’s trying. Chances are she’ll go backwards before she gets it right.’

Backwards. How does she know something like that?

When Kirsty comes back in, she picks up her mug of tea and takes a long slug.

‘That’s perfect,’ she says. ‘I made three cups this morning and didn’t drink any of them.’

Julie laughs, but I feel sorry for her. If there’s no time to drink a cup of tea, what else is Kirsty missing out on? And how does she remember who she is in the middle of it all?

‘I’ve started going to a mums’ yoga class, did I tell you?’

We shake our heads.

‘Tuesday evenings. Ben gets home from work and I shoot out of the door to get to the community centre in time. I always get there all stressed, my heart hammering, and think I’m probably doing myself more harm than good. But it’s nice to meet other mums.’

She looks at us and realises what she’s said, puts a hand to her mouth. ‘It’s not that there’s anything wrong with people who aren’t mums,’ she says.

Julie bats the air with a hand. ‘We understand. You need to be around other women your age, and especially other mums.’

‘How do you know so much about babies?’ I ask.

Julie turns to me. ‘Me?’

‘Yes. It’s just, I know you didn’t have any but you seem to know a lot.’

‘Oh, you know, my friends had them, and I have a niece.’

This is news. I remember how she’s shied away from talking about siblings before.

‘A niece? How old?’

She looks wistful, and also like she wishes she could bite the words back. Or just that word, perhaps. Just ‘niece’.

‘Twenty. She’s away at university now, but I spent a lot of time with her when she was little.’

I store this away with the other things I know about her. Now isn’t the time to delve. Julie obviously agrees, because she neatly changes the subject.

‘How are things with your parents, Kirsty? Have you seen them since…?’

She doesn’t need to say ‘since the party’. We all remember what happened there.

‘We’ve talked on the phone a couple of times,’ Kirsty says. ‘We’re trying to find common ground.’

That’s an improvement from the last time I talked to her. I wonder whether Julie’s noticed, about the change to her way of speaking. I’ll ask her later, when we’re alone.

‘Ben wants us to get married,’ she says. ‘And I’ve always put him off, because I wasn’t ready for them to meet. I’m still not, in a way. But I’m getting there. I’ve said maybe next year.’

Julie makes a noise that’s a kind of squeal. ‘Imagine Dotty, toddling around. She could be a flower girl, or a ring bearer.’

Kirsty smiles widely. ‘I’d have to find a role for Olly, too. Anyway, I’d better go. Get this one fed before yoga later. I’ve made a friend there, Estelle – she’s pregnant with her first and she has about a thousand questions for me every week, about everything from labour to sleep routines.’

She stops talking, seeing the way Julie’s face has fallen. I heard it too, that name. It’s not one you hear often.

‘What?’ Kirsty asks.

‘Did you say Estelle?’ Julie asks, and there’s a cool undertone to her voice.

‘Yes. Gorgeous name, isn’t it?’

‘Is she tall, with red hair?’

‘Yes! Do you know her?’

‘No, but my husband does.’

Kirsty puts a hand to her mouth, then, realising.

‘It doesn’t mean…’ I start to say.

‘I’ll find out what it means,’ Julie says, and she’s putting her shoes on and going out of the door, and it’s the fastest I’ve ever seen her move.