‘I’ve been to her old family home, just around the corner, here. And I’ve been to an address I had for her in London, but no joy. I’m just looking for advice, or anything you might know about the family.’
He holds a finger up as if telling me to wait and goes back to the kitchen. I want to get up and walk out, hate feeling like this, like I have to acquiesce to him. I wish I’d said no to a cup of tea now. I feel all hot and itchy and like I don’t want to be inside my skin. To calm myself down, I stand and have a look around the room. There’s something strange about it but I can’t put my finger on it. It’s not the television in the corner or the wobbly-looking bookshelf. Not the oil painting of a poppy field above the sofa, or the sofa itself, old and sagging as it is.
‘I was friendly with your brother, Bill,’ he says, putting the mugs down on the coffee table without coasters. They’re too full, and mine sloshes over the top and down the side but he doesn’t make any move to clean it up. I don’t like hearing Bill’s name in his mouth, or the fact that he tagged Bill’s name on after ‘your brother’, as if I might have forgotten it.
‘I remember,’ I say.
‘I’m sure there’s a lot you remember.’
‘Look,’ I say, finding the courage to meet his gaze, ‘do you think you can help me, or not?’
He’s a bit taken aback. No doubt because the twenty-two-year-old me would never have stood up to him, but it’s not her he’s sitting in his living room with, pretending to be civil. It’s me, older and braver. I know how precious time is, now, know I don’t have a lot of it to waste. Know for sure I don’t want to spend any more of it than necessary sitting in this stuffy room with this bitter old man. And that’s when I realise what it is, about the room. There are no photographs. No wedding portrait, no kids, no grandchildren. No knick-knacks, either. It could be anyone’s living room. It could be a set.
‘I’ll see what I can do, what I can find out,’ he says. ‘Here, write your name and telephone number down for me, maybe your address, too.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, standing up and gathering my things. I do as he says, listing my contact details. My tea is still half full but I can’t stomach it.
On the doorstep, I ask him one last thing. ‘Did you ever marry?’
He looks down at the carpet. ‘No, I… well, I suppose I never met the right woman.’
I nod, and he looks up, meets my gaze.
‘Well,’ I say. ‘Goodbye, then.’
All the way home, I’m grateful for the fresh air, despite the cold and the biting wind. I let myself in at home and Olly comes over to me and growls. He’s angry that I went out without him.
‘Kirsty will be here later,’ I say, and I check he’s got plenty of food and drink in his trays.
In the half hour before Julie’s due, I make myself a sandwich and watch the end of Top of the Morning, listen to that Michael Silver going on about catering for a crowd at Christmas. I wish that was a problem I had. But then, perhaps it could be freeing, spending Christmas alone. No presents, no pressure. Just a day like any other, but with a few treats here and there. I’m still mulling it over when Julie arrives. She’s got that spring in her step she’s had ever since our night out.
‘How’s that husband of yours?’ I ask.
She smiles a bit dreamily. Looks like a teenager. ‘Do you know? I think we might work things out.’
The day after our drinks, she told me that he came back with her, spent the night. And since then, they’ve been out a couple of times. He’s told her it was never serious with that Estelle.
‘You can forgive him, then, for the cheating?’
Julie sits down on the arm of the sofa. ‘It’ll take time, of course. But I think so. I think it was some kind of midlife crisis.’
She’s talking about it like it’s already in the past, like they’re already back together. Good.
‘You forgave your Arthur, didn’t you? Three times, was it? I have to say, I’ll be absolutely clear that this is a one-time only thing. I don’t think I could forgive it again.’
What do I say? That I didn’t really blame Arthur for seeking love elsewhere, when he wasn’t getting any from me? It would lead to so many questions. I just smile and nod, and soon she’s up and buzzing about, getting things done.
‘Julie,’ I say, next time she comes into the room. ‘Can you think of a way I can get hold of Kirsty’s telephone for a few minutes when she comes to take Olly out?’
She frowns. ‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘It’s her birthday next week. I thought we could organise a little party for her as a surprise. I want to get the numbers of some of the friends she’s mentioned to me.’
Julie’s eyes light up. ‘Great idea! We’ll need the phone and the password, though. Let me think.’
When the knock comes, Julie hasn’t come back to me with anything, so I think it will have to wait until another day. But I’ve just opened the door when Julie appears behind me.
‘Hi Kirsty, any chance I could borrow your phone for a few minutes? I’ve run out of data and the Wi-Fi here’s a bit iffy, and I promised Mabel I’d do some work with her on the Dot search. You don’t need it while you’re out walking, do you?’
Kirsty doesn’t seem suspicious. She hands it over while Olly runs at her legs, desperate for his walk.
‘See you in a bit,’ she calls over her shoulder as she pushes the buggy down the path. ‘Password is 6082.’
Julie rubs her hands together. ‘Well, that was easy. So what are the names of these friends, then?’
‘Leave it with me,’ I say. ‘Weren’t you going to empty the bins?’
She looks a bit disappointed but goes off to the kitchen all the same. I tap in the password Kirsty told us and manage to find my way to her list of contacts after a bit of trial and error. There’s a number listed under ‘Home’ but it’s our local area code so it’s probably the house she shares with Ben rather than her parents’ house. Ah, here it is. Mum. I scribble the number down on the spiral notebook. It will have to be a text message, I think. If I call her, she’ll wonder why an old woman is organising her daughter’s birthday party. I go to the sideboard and open the top drawer, pull out the telephone I rarely use. Go into messages. It takes me ages to type the message but I get there in the end.
Hello, this is a friend of Kirsty’s. I’m putting together a party for her birthday next week and we’d love you to come.
I send it before I can change my mind. I’ll think about where we can have the party later. There isn’t really enough room here. Patricia’s would be ideal. I haven’t been but Julie says it’s enormous, and it’s right next door to Kirsty’s house so handy for getting her there. When my telephone beeps, it makes me jump.
Hello, thanks for the invite. Are you sure she wants us there?
My stomach churns a bit at that. I don’t know how long it is since they saw each other, whether they’re properly estranged or just not the kind of family who live in each other’s pockets. Julie puts her head in, then, brings me a cup of tea, sits down.