‘And he doesn’t have kids,’ Patricia goes on, ‘and so I think he’s just finding it all a bit… much, you know. The girls are tireless, believe me. It’s non-stop. Plus, there’s an ex sniffing round…’
‘No!’ Julie says.
‘He swears it’s all over with her but I think Sarah is a bit worried.’
‘I think they’ll be back with you before you know it,’ Julie says, giving Patricia’s arm a pat, and I see that Patricia looks hopeful at that.
‘Got it!’ Kirsty says. ‘This would make a great profile photo.’ She waves the telephone at each of us in turn. ‘Wouldn’t it? Mind if I just crop this other woman out?’
‘No.’ Julie snatches the telephone out of Kirsty’s hand and her voice is sharper than I’ve ever heard it.
We all turn to her and she doesn’t know where to look.
‘I’m not ready for this,’ she says, slipping her telephone in the pocket of her jeans. ‘Another time, maybe.’
And then she leaves the room, goes into the kitchen where I hear her banging about, getting a chopping board out, then a tap running. Making lunch.
Kirsty looks sheepish. ‘I didn’t mean to upset her.’
‘I’m sure it’s not you,’ Patricia says. ‘She’ll be all right.’
‘She wants her husband back,’ I say. ‘That’s what it is. She’s not really interested in finding someone new.’
It’s too quiet so I reach for the remote and put the television on. It’s Top of the Morning and that Michael Silver’s talking to a glossy woman about winter coats. There are models who sashay in and out, looking moody. I think of my long, belted coat in pea green and wonder whether it’s time for an upgrade. It’s seen me through two winters, or is it three? Arthur helped me choose it in Marks and Spencer in Overbury, asking me to do a twirl in the changing room so he could see it from all angles. He was good with shopping, for a man. Happy to wait and hold the bags and tell me how things looked. When he didn’t like something, he wouldn’t say anything negative. He’d say it didn’t show me off to my full potential.
‘Do you mind?’ Patricia asks, taking the remote control from my hand and turning the television off. ‘I can’t bear that show.’
Can’t bear Top of the Morning? It’s a staple in this house. But before I can react, Julie’s back in the front room doorway.
‘I’m sorry I stormed out like that,’ she says. ‘I do want to do the profile, for the online dating. But can I choose the photo?’
‘Of course,’ Kirsty says, holding her hands up as if in surrender. ‘It’s all up to you.’
That feeling comes back, of Kirsty not being quite who she seems. Of having something hidden away from view. But then, don’t we all?
‘Where are you from, Kirsty?’ I ask.
She looks surprised by the change of subject, but doesn’t stall. ‘I grew up near Cheltenham.’
‘And are your family still there? Do you and Ben and Dotty go up to visit them much?’
She shifts uncomfortably and Patricia flashes me a quick warning look that I pretend not to notice.
‘We’re not really… close,’ she says.
‘Here,’ Julie says, handing her telephone to Kirsty. ‘This one.’
‘That’s lovely,’ Kirsty says, smiling. Her teeth are perfect. ‘Right, let’s do this.’
Half an hour later Julie’s all set up and we’re passing around her telephone to say yes or no to a seemingly endless list of middle-aged men. It’s quite fun but part of me wants to ask Kirsty whether she’s planning to take Olly for a walk today. He’s in the corner of the room, lying on the carpet because there’s no seat spare, and he looks up hopefully every now and again before resting his head back on his paws. At one point, Julie laughs so loudly at one man’s profile information, about fishing for both fish and ladies, that Olly gets up and trudges through to the back room.
What would Arthur make of all this? He probably wouldn’t know what to think, would he? All those years of barely socialising with anyone but him, and now, mere weeks after he passed, a houseful of women. Online dating. Jokes about fishing. Camaraderie. It’s all so unexpected. And sometimes it’s too much.
‘I’m feeling a bit tired,’ I say.
They all turn to me as one.
‘Gosh,’ Kirsty says, ‘we’ve rather taken over, haven’t we? It’s about time I took Olly out. Dotty won’t nap forever.’
I’d forgotten about the buggy, pushed into the back room so Dotty could get a bit of peace.
‘It’s time I was getting on, too,’ Patricia says. ‘Things to do.’
She’s always vague about what it is she does, and I suspect it’s not much, when you take away the playgroup she helps at and the dancing lessons once a week. I make a mental note to talk to her more about Sarah next time. She’d be much happier with her family surrounding her again. Maybe that’s something I can help with.
‘And,’ Julie says, looking at her watch, ‘I was due to leave ten minutes ago. I lost track of time. Is there anything you need, Mabel, before I go? I’ve made you a sandwich and it’s on a plate in the kitchen covered with clingfilm.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say.
And just like that, they’re all bustling out the door. Kirsty negotiating the buggy and Patricia holding the dog lead for her until they’ve got outside. I watch them through the window from my armchair. Julie’s got the car but she doesn’t get in it straight away. They gather around it, Kirsty pushing the buggy gently back and forth, presumably to stop Dotty from waking. Still talking, still looking at profiles on Julie’s telephone, laughing. And inexplicably, given that I just suggested they all go, I wish they were back in here and I was a part of it.
They look a bit of an unusual bunch. Kirsty a young mum, thirty-two I think she said, well-spoken and always immaculate and for some reason the only human my dog seems to want to tolerate right now. Julie nearing fifty, bold and just a little brash but with a world of insecurity behind the front she puts up. And then Patricia, who announced the other day that she was seventy and I couldn’t believe it, what with those legs up to her armpits and that elegant way she has of walking. Must be all the dancing.
I don’t know much about women’s friendship groups, but I know they’re usually dictated by age. There’s something refreshing about this lot, how all that’s been thrown to the wind, and it just works.
I must drift off to sleep because next thing I know there’s a knock on the door and I feel startled and a bit cold and there’s a stale taste in my mouth. I get up slowly and make my way to the door, and it’s Kirsty, bringing Olly back.
She hands the lead over with a smile, but it’s not bright like it usually is.
‘Everything all right?’ I ask.
Would she come in, if I asked her? Would she stay for another cup of tea and tell me what’s troubling her? But no, I can see Dotty’s awake and she looks like she’s on the verge of crying.
‘You asked about my family, before,’ she says. ‘Ben’s never met them. We don’t see them. They haven’t met Dotty.’