‘I didn’t have a good night, that’s all.’
‘So things are okay with Martin?’
She pauses for a moment before answering. ‘Things are fine.’
I don’t believe her, but I won’t press her right now. The truth is, nothing’s really been fine since Kirsty’s birthday party. I thought I’d cracked it – Julie with Martin back at home, Patricia with Sarah and her grandchildren. Clearly reuniting Kirsty with her family hadn’t gone to plan, but overall I’d been pretty proud of myself. Not bad for an eighty-six-year-old, I’d thought, engineering that little lot. It had given me hope of getting to the bottom of Dot’s whereabouts. And I’d heard Arthur’s voice in my head, then, saying that it was never too late and that everyone could make a difference. Something he’d said a lot, and that I’d always ignored.
But getting Julie’s marriage back on track hasn’t had the effect on her that I expected. Of course, I didn’t know her before. But where I’d thought she would seem carefree and happy, she still looks like someone weighed down with lead.
And Patricia’s disappeared, pretty much, which I suppose isn’t much of a surprise. She’s gone back to the busy life she had before, helping look after her granddaughters. Park trips and swimming and endless games of hide and seek. She hasn’t got much time for us, where before she had oceans of it. How silly of me, to overlook that.
And Kirsty. Well, she doesn’t need to call in here, now Olly lives with her, and she hasn’t. The fact that we’ve talked things over – my reasons for inviting her parents, her reason for leaving them behind – doesn’t mean we’ve found common ground, or a resolution.
When Julie brings me a cup of tea, I find myself asking a question I hadn’t expected to. ‘Shall we go to Patricia’s dance class tonight?’
She pulls a face. ‘Can’t. I’ve promised Martin we can get a curry and watch a film.’
I nod, trying not to show I’m disappointed. Because I’ve been foolish, haven’t I? It was when these women were alone, like me, that they had time to spend doing things with me. And now things are different, and they don’t have the time they did before. I tried to make them happy and I’ve done myself out of their friendship in the process. There’s only one thing for it, as far as I can see. I’ll have to throw myself back into the search for Dot, because then I’ll have something of my own to concentrate on. I’ll have something that’s taking up my time and energy. I’ll be the one to say I can’t, because I’m busy. If anyone asks, that is.
After Julie’s gone and I’m trying to get into a book I’m not particularly enjoying, Reg Bishop calls. I’m still not used to my mobile telephone ringing and it makes me jump, and then I find it and look at the screen and see his name, and I don’t want to answer but I know I have to.
‘Mabel,’ he says. ‘It’s Reg Bishop.’
Even his voice irritates me, and I want to say I know who it is because he saw me putting his number into my telephone, but I don’t.
‘Hello, Reg.’
‘I’m calling with regards to the little challenge you set me.’
I wish he’d just get on with it, but I see he’s going to make me play his little game, so I do. ‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes. I’ve had a poke around and I think I’ve found someone who might be useful to you. Her name is Catherine Emmett, née Milton, and she used to live next door to the Brightmores here in Broughton and says she kept in touch with the family for many years.’
It takes me a minute or so to place her, but then I do. Little Cathy Milton. Three years younger than us and always trying to join in with our games. I remember her with a skipping rope and a runny nose, her pink dress grass stained.
‘Is she still in Broughton?’ I ask.
‘Overbury.’
‘Could you give me her telephone number, or her address?’
He pauses. ‘I thought I could take you round there. Are you free tomorrow morning?’
Why is he involving himself like this? Is it some kind of power trip for him, or does he just have nothing better to do with his time? I need to stay on his good side, since he’s the only person who’s had any useful information so far, and going with him will at least save me getting the bus. So as much as it’s not what I want, I agree.
I decide to go for my walk, clear my head. I’ll get the last bit of daylight. I wrap myself up as if I’m going on an Arctic mission, but when I get outside I realise it’s milder than I expected. The wind must have dropped since this morning. It’s just grey and a bit damp.
I’m passing the little playground near the graveyard when I hear my name. When I turn, there’s Patricia, pushing one of her granddaughters on a swing while the other one sits on one end of the seesaw, trying to push up off the ground. I go over to the green metal fence.
‘Long time no see,’ she says, cheerily. ‘It’s been so crazy ever since these two descended.’
She looks tired, and I hope her daughter isn’t taking advantage of her good nature.
‘You mustn’t do too much,’ I say.
She looks puzzled. ‘Oh, you know me. I like keeping busy. And my girls certainly keep me busy, don’t you?’
The littlest one, the one on the swing, breaks into a grin as Patricia grabs the swing, holds it for a few seconds and then lets it go again.
‘Nanny’s happy, but Mummy’s sad.’
I’m not sure, at first, who said that, but then I see that the other girl has got off the seesaw and ambled over.
‘Why is Mummy sad?’ I ask.
‘Because of Geoff. He calls her every day to say sorry.’
I look from the girl’s solemn face to Patricia’s flushed one.
‘I’m not entirely sure what went on between them,’ Patricia says, looking at me. ‘They’re on the phone now. That’s why we came out for a bit of fresh air.’
‘And because I needed to show you that I can do the monkey bars,’ the older girl says.
She goes over to the climbing frame, clambers up some steps and then she’s hanging from a set of shiny metal bars, swinging from one to the next with ease, her stripy leggings bright against the lifeless day. One of her shoes falls off and her sister, still on the swing, starts laughing uncontrollably, and the older girl drops down and hops around a bit before picking the shoe up and hopping over to the bench to put it back on. All the time, Patricia is beaming, and I try to put myself in her shoes. A grandmother. Full of love for these small, irrepressible people, proud of their achievements and delighted to spend time with them. I can see it, of course I can. I’m not heartless, not a monster. I only hoped she might still have some time for me.
‘Would you like to come for a cup of tea one afternoon?’ I ask. ‘Perhaps when Julie’s there?’
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she says, but she doesn’t suggest a day and I feel like it wouldn’t be right to push, so I say goodbye and walk away, and when I’m almost out of earshot I hear her laugh and even though I know it’s probably a result of something one of the girls has said or done, I can’t help but feel like maybe she’s laughing at me. Old, and alone, and thinking we were friends.