The Last List of Mabel Beaumont(81)

There is ringing, one ring, two, three. Then it stops, but there’s no voice at first. Just a bit of scrabbling around. Then I hear it. Her.

‘Hello?’

I feel a lump start to form in the back of my throat and I think for a minute I’m not going to be able to get the words out.

‘Dot,’ I say, my voice a croak. ‘Hello, Dot. It’s Mabel. Mabel Beaumont.’

She is quiet for so long that I think something must have happened to the line, or that she’s cut me off. I take the telephone away from my ear and look at it, but it’s still connected, the seconds timing the call still ticking past.

‘Mabel,’ she says, clear as a bell. ‘Our Charles said I might be hearing from you. It’s been a while.’

A while. I close my eyes and see the years flash past me. My wedding, my parents’ deaths, house moves. Day after day after day at work in various typing pools and offices, holidays in Wales and Cornwall and, once or twice, France. Day trips and walks in the woods and sitting in this room with Arthur, our books on our laps and mugs of tea steaming on the coffee table.

‘It has,’ I say. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

‘What, for all these years?’

She is teasing, like she always did, and I splutter a laugh.

‘No, no, not for years. For a few months. Since Arthur died.’

There’s a sharp intake of breath. ‘You and Arthur, you were together all this time, until a few months ago?’

I nod, before remembering she can’t see me. ‘That’s right,’ I say.

‘Well, now you’ve found me, Mabel. Shall we see each other in the flesh?’

It’s then that I think hearing her voice would have been enough, if that’s all that was on offer. The sweet cadence of it, the lilt. The fun that’s caught in between the words, the promise of mischief. But that’s not all, because she’s talking about meeting up, and I want that more than anything.

‘Let’s,’ I say. ‘Just name the day, Dot. I’ll come to you.’





39





We all go in the end. Erin wanted to come but doesn’t have a car, so Julie offered to drive, but then two days ago her car broke down in the middle of a roundabout in Overbury and needs new brake pads. Julie said she was just pleased she didn’t go through the windscreen when the brakes failed her, which we all agreed was a blessing. So then we talked to Patty, and she said she felt like she wanted to be a part of it, since she’d been with us on the trip to London, but that she’d never fit us all in her Fiat 500. That’s when Kirsty stepped in. She drives a huge people carrier thing, more van than car, and it’s that we’re all strapped into, excited chatter buzzing.

I’m not part of it. I feel sick. I’ve got Dotty in her car seat next to me and Kirsty keeps making cooing noises any time she seems like she’s about to cry. I offer her a finger at one point, and she takes it, grabs it tight. It gets a bit uncomfortable after a while, the way my wrist is bent, but I daren’t pull it back in case it sets her off. I’m terrified of Kirsty changing her mind, deciding it’s too much. So I wriggle my finger around a bit, get settled.

Erin’s in the passenger seat, and I can hear her telling Kirsty about these tickets she’s buying for her and Hannah to see Fleetwood Mac, and I idly wonder if it’s the Fleetwood Mac I’ve heard of or something different altogether. Kirsty’s making excited squealing sounds but breaking off every so often to listen to the satellite navigation system. Julie’s on my other side, but she’s got her neck craned and is talking to Patty, on her own in the back row, about Harry, the man from her dancing class who Patty’s recently started going out with. Or seeing, or whatever it is you say.

We’ve been driving for about twenty minutes when an almighty stench arises from somewhere.

‘What in god’s name is that?’ I ask, pulling my finger from Dotty to hold my nose.

She starts screaming, then.

‘I think she needs a change, Kirsty love,’ Julie says.

There are services up ahead so Kirsty pulls off and we park and I pace around a bit while Julie helps Kirsty get the baby sorted.

‘How are you feeling?’ It’s Patty, and her face is a picture of concern.

I stop walking. I know there’s no colour in my face. Kirsty put a bit of makeup on me for this, but I suspect if I looked in a mirror now, I’d see a clown staring back at me. What will Dot think?

‘What if none of it was as important to her as it was to me?’ I ask.

Patty reaches across and takes hold of both of my hands. ‘If that’s the case, we’ll deal with it. But remember, you’re the one who got married.’

They all know the full story, now. I think about what she’s saying. It’s true. I got married. Dot might have thought that meant I saw what happened between us as a mistake. God, what if she’s gone through her life thinking that?

‘I couldn’t see another way,’ I say.

‘I know,’ Patty says. ‘I know.’

She doesn’t let go of my hands, and we stand there like that until Julie calls out that we’re ready to hit the road again.

‘Have you ever been in love?’ I ask, as we walk back over to the car.

Patty sighs. ‘Only with Sarah’s dad.’