‘Have you got what you need?’ she asks, jerking her head in the direction of Kirsty’s telephone.
‘Yes, all sorted. Do you think Patricia would mind if we had the party at hers?’
She shrugs. ‘I suppose we can only ask.’
I look at her properly for the first time since she arrived. She’s got a bit of sparkle since Martin’s been back on the scene, but behind it, she’s still sad. I’d thought this new development would have erased that. Maybe it’s just that he’s not fully committed yet. He’s not back. I’ll wait until he is and see how she looks then.
When Kirsty returns, she asks if she can come in for a bit. She leaves the buggy on the doorstep and lifts Dotty out of it, and I take Olly off her hands. Julie goes off to make more tea.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
She looks so serious I think for a second she’s going to tell me something awful. I think about the message I sent to her mum, wonder if it’s had some knock-on effect. But no, it can’t have done. She hasn’t had her telephone with her.
‘I’ve loved walking Olly these past few weeks,’ she says.
Ah, so she’s going to say she can’t do it any longer. It’s not the end of the world. I want to stop her from looking like she’s about to cry.
‘It’s fine,’ I say.
‘What is?’
‘If you can’t do it any more.’
‘Oh, it’s not that. I was going to say I’d love to take him, if you’re still looking for that. I’ve fallen in love with him. And I’ve talked to Ben. But I can only imagine how hard it must be to give him up.’
She has Dotty on her lap, facing her, and while she speaks, she is playing. Holding a finger up for Dotty to grab, then pulling it away. Doing little claps for Dotty to copy. Does she know she’s doing this, or is it completely automatic? Even in the middle of a conversation, she is mothering. It’s astonishing to me.
‘He’ll be better off with you,’ I say, surprised to hear my voice wobbling. ‘He’ll love being part of a family. Just… could you give me a couple of days, to get used to it?’
She makes a face at Dotty, crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out, and the baby laughs, and then Kirsty pulls her in for a tight cuddle.
‘Of course,’ she says to me. ‘Take as long as you need.’
It’s not until she and Julie have both gone that I go back to my telephone, to Kirsty’s mum’s message. I stare at it.
Hello, thanks for the invite. Are you sure she wants us there?
I hate lying, always have. But this is for the greater good, isn’t it? Families belong together. Kirsty might be surprised at first, but she’ll thank me in the end. I’m sure of it. I type a response.
Of course. Still sorting out the details but it will be next Tuesday afternoon. Hope you’re free.
The reply comes within a minute.
We’ll be there.
I wonder who ‘we’ is. Both parents, presumably. Maybe the sister Kirsty mentioned, too? I picture them hugging, exclaiming over Dotty, seeing what a good job Kirsty is making of motherhood. And I think, I may not have long left but at least I’m doing some good. Righting some wrongs. After all those years of thinking nothing I could do would make a difference. Would Arthur be proud of me? I’d like to think he would.
22
When Patricia and Julie are in the kitchen chatting one afternoon, I spot Patricia’s phone lying on the arm of the sofa and when I touch it, there’s no password. On a whim, I reach for it, listening out for signs of either of them coming in here, and go to her contacts. Find Sarah. I jot down the number and put the telephone back where I found it, my heart thudding. What am I doing?
‘Martin’s coming for Christmas,’ Julie says, bustling in.
It’s as if she couldn’t wait another second. I turn a few pages of my notebook to hide the numbers I’ve just scribbled down.
‘That sounds like good progress,’ Patricia says.
‘Is it just the two of you?’ I ask.
‘Yes, like always. I’m hoping he’ll come over the night before so we can wake up together, but we haven’t sorted out the details yet.’
I see, suddenly, the potential for her to get hurt again. It’s been a little while now and he hasn’t moved back in, or even mentioned it, as far as I know. What if he’s stringing them both along?
‘Why is he messing about?’ I ask. ‘Why doesn’t he just move back in?’
Julie looks a bit hurt. ‘It’s not as simple as that, is it? We need to build the trust up again, take things slowly. We’re dating. He says it’s a bit like when we first met. Exciting. No arguments about whose turn it is to take the bin out.’ She elbows Patricia gently. ‘The answer is always his, by the way. Anyway, let’s get on with the party stuff. Did you hear back from the friends you invited?’
She looks at me, expectant.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I think it will just be us.’
I get a churning feeling in my stomach every time I think about being at the party and Kirsty’s family turning up. I wish I could share the load with Julie and Patricia, get their perspective on it. But I’m worried they’d say I’ve gone too far. I’m worried they’d be right.
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Julie says. ‘Well, we’ll make sure it’s a lovely afternoon, won’t we?’
‘Yes, and I’ve asked some of the other mums at the playgroup,’ Patricia says.
Patricia offered her house as a venue the minute we mentioned the party, so we didn’t even have to ask her. When she asks for my notebook so she can make a list, my heart rate increases a bit. But she won’t start turning pages, I’m sure. I hand it over and she writes ‘Kirsty’s party’ in small, neat letters and underlines it twice. We talk about food and decorations. Patricia’s going to make a cake. I’m only half-listening to some of it. I’m thinking about what Patricia said, about Geoff’s ex hanging around, about how much Patricia misses those little girls. When Julie goes upstairs to change my bedsheets and Patricia takes the mugs through to the kitchen to wash up, I quickly type out a message.
Are you sure you can trust Geoff? I’d keep a close eye on him if I were you. From a well-wisher.
I send it, breath held. I know – I hope, even – this message could send the relationship into a downward spiral it will never recover from. But I don’t know Geoff. I know Patricia, and I know how much she loves her daughter and granddaughters. How much she wants them back.
‘Was that Reg Bishop any help, in the end?’ Julie says, coming back into the room. ‘What is it with you and that phone, Mabel? I didn’t see you use it once for the first few weeks I was here, and now you seem to be attached to it like a teenager.’
I put it beside me on the sofa, but I can’t help stealing glances at it every couple of minutes, trying to see whether there’s been a reply.
‘Reg Bishop was just the same as he always was. Smug and self-satisfied.’
‘Tell us how you really feel, Mabel,’ she says, laughing. ‘So what’s next, do you think?’
I say the words that I’ve been thinking for weeks. Ever since we started this, really. The ones I hoped never to say. The ones I’m sure she’s thought about, too.