‘Did you remember to take poo bags?’ I ask.
‘I did.’
She doesn’t say anything else about walking Olly and it’s not long before they say they have to go.
‘That pie will be ready in twenty minutes,’ Julie says. ‘It will do you three or four portions, I think. You could put on some peas to go with it. I saw some in the freezer.’
It’s as if she thinks I’ve never made myself a meal before. And why has she been rooting around in the freezer?
‘I’m perfectly capable of making my own dinner,’ I say.
‘I know you are, but sometimes it’s nice not to have to. I’ll be back tomorrow and we can start looking for that address, okay?’
I know I should thank her, thank both of them, but I feel a bit overcome with emotion and I don’t want them to see that.
‘Watch the door, it’s sticking a bit,’ I say, instead. ‘Maybe you could look at that for me, too.’
14
Patricia said ten o’clock and it’s dead on when the doorbell goes. She’s standing on the doorstep with that young woman I ran into on the street once, the one who loved Olly. The perfect one. What did Patricia say her neighbour’s name was? Kirsty?
‘Hello!’ the young woman says. ‘I’m Kirsty, and we’ve met before, haven’t we?’
Patricia looks surprised. She was all ready to do the introductions.
‘Come in,’ I say to them both. ‘Where’s the baby?’
Kirsty laughs. ‘Oh, at home with Daddy for once. I feel strange without the buggy to lean on, almost like I’ve forgotten how to walk. Do you have children, Mabel?’
It’s such an innocent question, but such a barbed one, too. All my life, I’ve hated it. Because when the answer is yes, people can follow it up with questions about names and ages, about how many and whether they’re boys or girls. But if the answer is no, it leads to an awkward silence no matter who’s doing the asking. I’ve gone through phases over the years. Saying no but… as if that might change in the future, though I knew it wouldn’t. Saying I was still mulling it over, and then, once it was clearly too late, that I’d never quite been able to make up my mind. Because society doesn’t like women who have made up their mind and who don’t want children, does it? That’s something I learned pretty quickly.
We are standing in the narrow hallway, awkward.
‘Come through,’ I say. ‘And no, no children.’
‘Oh,’ Kirsty says, and her flawless skin goes a bit pink and I know she wishes she had the baby with her as a distraction.
Luckily, Olly ambles in.
‘Olly!’ she calls, like he’s a friend she last saw in 1976. Which is probably before she was born, come to think of it. She crouches down and he does a little hop skip towards her and I’m astonished, just like last time, at his reaction to her.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I ask, and then Patricia insists on making it, so I just stand there watching this stranger bonding with my usually standoffish dog. There’s something about her I can’t put my finger on. Cut-glass accent, clothes that look like they’ve been made for her. Today, she’s in slim black trousers to the ankle and a sea-green jumper you can just tell cost more than my entire wardrobe. She’s got money, that’s obvious. Patricia has, too, but she’s American and that throws me off.
‘Patty said the walking was getting to be too much,’ Kirsty says, standing up. ‘I’d be happy to swing by and pick him up any time you like. Dotty only sleeps in the buggy so I’m always walking the streets.’ She laughs, and it sounds slightly hysterical. Sleep-deprived, I imagine.
I glance towards the kitchen, where Patricia is humming and the kettle is boiling.
‘Can you take him?’ I ask. ‘For good, I mean?’
She looks a bit panicked, and it’s only then that I realise how composed she usually looks. She’s slightly too knowing to be in her twenties, I think, but she can’t be far into her thirties. What was I like at her age? It feels too far back to remember, and yet, those days with Dot, which are further back still, are fresh and clear in my mind.
‘Take him? Adopt him, you mean?’
‘He was my husband’s. He doesn’t even like me, and I’m finding it all too much. And you just seem to have this natural way with him. And besides, Patricia said…’
‘What did I say?’ Patricia asks, coming through with a tray.
‘That I’m looking for a dog, apparently,’ Kirsty says.
I can’t quite tell whether she’s annoyed, can’t work out the relationship between them. How close they are, how long they’ve known one another.
‘Let me take him for a few walks first,’ Kirsty says. ‘We can get to know one another. See how we get on.’
It’s not what I’d hoped for. I’d hoped she would take him today, now. It would have been painful but quick, like ripping off the metaphorical plaster. This way I’ll be dwelling on it for weeks. But it’s not as if I have anyone else offering to take him, so I’m not really in a position to argue.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Whatever you think.’
We sit down to drink our tea and Olly trots straight over to her, lets her make a fuss of him, and I can see her falling in love with him right in front of me. She’ll take him, I’m sure she will. It’s just a matter of when.
‘Mabel’s looking for an old friend,’ Patricia says into the silence I hadn’t noticed, given that I’m so accustomed to it.
This again. I feel like it’s turning into some kind of community outreach project.
‘Oh yes?’ Kirsty asks, sipping at her tea.
‘Dot, isn’t it?’
Patricia knows it’s Dot. She’s trying to engage me in the conversation.
‘That’s right,’ I say.
‘Oh, you mentioned your friend Dot that time we met on the street. How long is it since you saw her?’ Kirsty asks. She has her hand curled around her coffee mug and I notice her rings flashing. Nothing on her wedding finger, though.
I think back. ‘Sixty-two years.’
‘Wow, and what’s made you want to look for her now?’
‘Well, my husband died…’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
Everyone is sorry. I’ve got used to batting it away now. It’s just a barrier to conversation.
‘It’s all right, Kirsty. He was eighty-nine, so it was hardly shocking.’
‘Still, hard to adjust to, I’d imagine. Especially if you haven’t had children, and it’s been just the two of you. How long were you married?’
‘Sixty-two years.’
She looks at me a little strangely, and I suppose it’s because I’ve given the same answer to her last two questions.
‘That’s a hell of a long time,’ Patricia interrupts.
‘Yes. Anyway, he died and it made me think about her, and the fun we used to have, before I was with him. There’s no one else in my life, now, no family, no husband, no real friends to speak of. So why not now, I suppose.’
There is quiet, and I sense that they’re feeling sorry for me. It has that effect, when you tell people you don’t have anyone. But it’s the truth.