The Last List of Mabel Beaumont(83)
Kirsty, stretching and yawning.
‘So beautiful!’ Dot says.
Julie, laughing uproariously at something someone has said, her whole body shaking.
‘She looks like fun,’ Dot says.
Patty, stepping out neatly with Dotty’s car seat in the crook of her elbow.
‘You don’t see elegance like that very often,’ Dot says.
And Erin, bounding out of the front seat and up the path, like an excited puppy.
‘Ah, youth,’ Dot says.
I introduce them all, and Dot lets out a little cry when I tell her that she almost shares a name with Dotty, who is, at that moment, crawling around her hallway in search of something inappropriate to put in her mouth.
‘Welcome,’ Dot says. ‘What a pleasure. Shall I put the kettle on?’
40
On the way back, I feel calmer, more able to join in with the chatter.
‘She’s just how I imagined,’ Kirsty says, clapping her hands together and then quickly putting them back on the steering wheel after Erin lurches across to grab it.
‘Is she?’ Julie asks. ‘I don’t know what I expected, really. But what about you, Mabel? What was it like, seeing her again after all these years?’
How to answer that? It was like a miracle, like finding a four-leaf clover or seeing an eclipse. And at the same time it was like nothing much, like being with your best friend. Comfortable, and easy.
‘It felt a bit like time travel,’ I say.
‘Did you get to the bottom of things, before we came in?’ Erin asks. ‘Why she left and how she felt and all of that?’
I shake my head. ‘No, that will have to wait for another day.’
There is going to be another day, though. I was a little scared to ask, having been the one to track her down. I thought that if she wanted to get together again, she would say. And luckily, she did. She’s coming to see me, in a week. Staying for a few days. We left it open-ended. The thought of her in my house makes my throat catch and my heart thud.
We are jubilant all the way home. We have succeeded. And though I feel like I have a lot to live for, if I died now, I’d be quite content. But with highs come lows. I’ve learned that. So after they drop me off at my house and I let myself in, I feel as flat as a pancake. Erin’s gone off to do a shift at the supermarket. Alone doesn’t always mean lonely, but sometimes it does. I’m agitated, knowing that Dot is out there, that she’s practically nearby, and I’m here, on my own, where I’ve been for so long.
I go over to the sideboard, pull out my spiral notebook, and flick through until I find the list I made. I haven’t consulted it for a long time.
1. Get in touch with friends and family
2. Contact the funeral parlour
3. Go to the supermarket
4. Clean the house
5. Find D
6. Help Julie get her husband back
7. Help Patricia get her daughter back
8. Make sure Kirsty is safe Reunite Kirsty with her family
9. Keep an eye on Erin
I get a biro and put a tick by every item, laughing at how I got some of it so wrong. I tap number nine, thinking. And then I get the iPad and search for local solicitors. Ten minutes later, I’ve got an appointment to discuss my will. So what now? I make a cup of tea and sit on the edge of my armchair, drinking it while it’s still too hot, thinking about what you do when you’ve finished your to-do list.
I’m surprised when I hear a knock at the door. I peer out of the window and see that it’s Julie. She’s got an expression I can’t quite gauge. Part worry, part sadness. She sees me looking and smiles, gestures to the door. She only lets herself in when I’m expecting her.
‘I didn’t think I’d see you again today,’ I say.
‘No, I know. I went home and I couldn’t settle to anything. Can I take you somewhere that’s important to me?’
I open my mouth to say something like, ‘As long as it’s not too far,’ and then I shut it again. Think.
‘Yes,’ I say.
Because I’m still here, still alive, and I want to do things. Look at what I’ve already done, what I’ve changed. And I have no idea what might be next. We get in her car and the sun is shining in our eyes. She puts on sunglasses and I close my eyes, wondering where we’ll be when I open them. We don’t travel far. When I hear the click of the handbrake going on, I look, and we’re by the church. She doesn’t say anything, just leads me up into the grounds, past where my family are buried and over to a corner not far from Arthur. She stops in front of a black marble headstone, and I read it.
Samantha Willis
9 June 1970 – 11 June 2022
Daughter, mother, sister, wife and friend
Your desire to have the last word was extreme
I smile at the final line, then put a hand to my mouth. I look at Julie, and she is standing with her hands behind her back and her head bowed. I wait.
‘My big sister,’ she says, after a couple of long minutes have passed.
I do a quick calculation. This woman, Julie’s sister, died two days after her fifty-second birthday. Last year. She died last year.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
It’s such a tiny thing, that apology. And yet I remember people saying it after Arthur – the postman, the vicar, the dog groomer – and it being a small comfort. So I say it anyway.