I know she wants me to take her. She’s been on every step of this journey with me, but I need to do this by myself. There will be time, after, for introductions, I hope. There will be time for me to show her this gaggle of women who I love like family.
‘On my own, if you don’t mind,’ I say.
She nods, clearly disappointed. And I want to thank her, but there’ll be time for that later, too. I get out of the car, slide the door shut, walk up the path and stand on the doorstep. This piece of wood is all that separates us. I look at my watch. Dot said eleven and it’s five to. What is she doing, inside? Rushing about, making sure things are ready? Frozen, in a chair? Or standing on the other side of this door, her heart beating wildly, the way it did the day we kissed?
I knock, take a step back. When I turn to the car, Kirsty gives me a little wave, and I imagine them all in there, picking over the Michael Silver news. I could go back there and join in. It would be so easy. But just as I’m thinking it, there’s a sound. A chain being pulled back, a door opening. And there she is. Dot Brightmore. A smile on her face so wide, and her eyes full of sparkle. She looks entirely different, and just the same. And I love her. God, I love her. I want to reach out and pull her into my arms and tell her that I was wrong, and I was stupid, and I’m here, now, and I know we’re old women and I’m five minutes early but I hope it’s not too late.
‘Mabel,’ she says. ‘It’s really you.’
We stand there, stuck, and then she turns and leads me inside. Her house is like a treasure box. All mismatched furniture and photos and shiny things. I just know she has chosen everything here herself, because she loved it, not caring what went with what or what other people would think. In the living room, she gestures for me to sit down and I choose a hot-pink armchair. She sits down on the edge of a floral chaise longue, and we start to talk.
For half an hour, we swap life stories. She tells me about her sons and grandchildren, and I notice the way her face changes when she says their names, as if those simple words are bursting with the essence of them and the joy they’ve brought her. If we had found a way to be together, she wouldn’t have had this, I remind myself. We talk about jobs we’ve done, where we’ve travelled. Not far, in my case. She has been to places I can’t imagine – Morocco, Brazil, Canada. She was always the bold one. But when I hold my life up for her to see, I’m not ashamed of it. It’s been small but special, in its way. Isn’t everyone’s?
‘I’m sorry you lost Arthur,’ she says.
She looks at me, slow and steady. And that’s what takes us back to the 1950s, to that awful and wonderful time.
‘My friends,’ I say.
‘What?’
‘I really want to keep talking, but some friends brought me here, and they’re sitting outside in the car, and I feel like I shouldn’t make them wait too long. One of them has a baby, and…’
Dot laughs. ‘Well, you should bring them in,’ she says.
I want it to just be me and her, but it isn’t practical. I needed these women to hold my hand on this trip, so inviting them in is the least I can do. I open the front door and wave them over with my arm, and I watch, Dot standing behind and to the side of me, as they get out of the car.
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.