‘Please tell me,’ I say.
‘I’m trying to! It’s Dot, Mabel. Joan was wrong.’
Joan was wrong. About what? And then it hits me. Could she really mean that?
‘Dot’s alive, Mabel!’
‘No,’ I say. ‘No.’
My hands are trembling, and Julie’s face falls. And it’s not that I don’t want what she’s saying to be true, it’s that I’ve accepted the opposite, and I don’t think I can do it again, if this turns out to be a mistake.
‘Mabel,’ Julie says, coming over to me and taking both my hands in hers. ‘You’re so cold. It’s the shock, I expect. I promise you it’s true. Charles confirmed it. She’s living in Portsmouth. He remembered you the second I mentioned you, said he was sure Dot would be delighted to hear from you. He gave me her phone number, Mabel.’
She goes back to where she was sitting and roots in her handbag, then pulls out a slip of paper and passes it to me. On it, she’s written Dot’s name and a phone number. And I can’t believe it. That Dot’s alive, that she’s living less than two hours away, that this series of eleven numbers on this piece of tatty paper is a connection from me to her, if only I dare to use it. I don’t realise I’m crying until Julie hands me a tissue, and then I can’t stop. All the emotion of the past few months is coming out, now, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
‘Has something happened?’
I look up, and Erin’s in the room. She’s wearing leggings and a baggy T-shirt and her hair and face still bear the marks of recent sleep. She’s on Easter holidays, and it’s her last big chance to study before her exams, but as far as I can tell, there’s not much work going on. It’s all sleeping, and Hannah, and shifts at the supermarket to raise a bit of money for university. And I’ve never been a mother, thought I didn’t know the first thing about nurturing or guiding, but I keep wanting to tell her that there’s no use saving the money if she’s not also putting the work in to make sure she actually gets to go in the first place.
Julie looks to me for permission, and I nod.
‘I had a message from Dot’s brother. She’s alive and well.’
Erin’s mouth hangs open. ‘So that Joan, she was just…’
‘Wrong,’ I say. ‘Mixed up, or confused.'
‘Charles did say that Dot’s ex-husband died a few years back,’ Julie says. ‘So maybe that’s where the confusion came from.’
‘I can’t believe I just accepted what she said. But she seemed so sure.’
Erin comes over to me and leans her skinny frame over my armchair until she’s hugging me. It’s a little awkward, but comforting all the same.
‘I’m so happy for you,’ she says, pulling away. ‘So what next?’
I look from her to Julie. ‘I suppose I’ll telephone her, and then, if she’s happy to meet, perhaps we’ll go there?’
‘Road trip!’ Erin says, laughing.
I want to capture the essence of that moment. When I haven’t spoken to Dot yet, haven’t had the opportunity to be let down, or pushed away, or told that what I felt was really nothing in the grand scheme of a life. We’re all just so excited about the prospect of the woman I loved – love – still being in the world, of there still being a chance to connect with her. And I’m so grateful. To Charles, for answering that message. And to Julie and Erin, for caring so much about this quest, which has no bearing on their lives whatsoever.
‘I’d better go,’ Julie says, getting up and brushing down her trousers. I notice that she’s wearing odd socks, and a long T-shirt that has tiny holes at the collar and the slogan ‘Shh, I’m Sleeping’ on the front. She notices me noticing, and laughs.
‘I was still in bed when I got the message. Just threw on some trousers and came straight over. But I’ll see you later, Mabel, and we’ll talk about it all more then. Okay?’ She looks to Erin. ‘Are you around this morning? It’s a big shock, I just want to be sure she’s all right.’
‘Absolutely,’ Erin says. ‘No plans beyond making and eating toast. I’ll be right here, Mabel.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, swiping a hand through the air as if to dismiss any concerns.
But I’m not fine, not really. I’m in disarray. I’m undone.
I hear the click of the front door as Julie leaves, and then Erin goes off to get her toast, humming a tune that’s almost familiar. Must be one of those songs she plays over and over. I stand up and walk to the door of the front room. I can see into the kitchen from there. She’s still humming, and she dances from the toaster to the drawer where we keep the knives to the fridge for butter and jam. She is so alive, so present. And I realise I was wrong when I told Julie that Erin was me. She’s much more Dot.
The idea comes to me in a flash. I’ll put her in my will. Leave her the house. That way, she’ll never have to go back to her family, who want to crush and stifle her. She’ll be able to be here, fully herself. Or to sell the place and put the money towards something more to her taste. I can see her in one of those modern, airy flats, all light and floorboards. She turns, then, and sees me looking at her.
‘What?’ she asks. Her voice is gentle, kind.
‘Nothing.’
‘Can I get you anything, Mabel?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Nothing.’
When she brings in her plate of toast and a big glass of orange squash, I am sitting down again, looking at Dot’s telephone number.
‘Is it scary?’ she asks. ‘Calling her? Taking that step?’
I nod. Because there’s no point pretending it’s not. Reconnecting with someone – or trying to – after so many years have gone by is never going to be easy. But when you parted on uncertain terms and there are strong feelings involved and you don’t know quite where you stand, or stood, it’s something else.
‘Do you want me to do it?’ she asks.
I laugh. She is fearless, now, this girl who was so worried about telling her family who she is. She would do this for me, I know, but it wouldn’t be right. How would I react, if some young girl telephoned me, purporting to be a friend of Dot’s? We’re much too old to need a go-between.
‘I’ll do it,’ I say. ‘I’m just trying to work out what I’m going to say.’
She is quiet, the crunch of toast the only sound in the room for a minute or two. I look at the daffodils, watch a woman go by the window with her two children, one holding each hand, a weary look on her face.
When I say I’m ready, Erin nods and gets up to leave the room. I don’t have to ask her for privacy, and I’m grateful for that. I hear her on the stairs, and I get my mobile telephone from the drawer and enter the numbers, ever so carefully. It wouldn’t do to make a misstep now, to connect to the wrong person. It feels so important, somehow, that I get this right.
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.