‘Oh, you know, my friends had them, and I have a niece.’
This is news. I remember how she’s shied away from talking about siblings before.
‘A niece? How old?’
She looks wistful, and also like she wishes she could bite the words back. Or just that word, perhaps. Just ‘niece’.
‘Twenty. She’s away at university now, but I spent a lot of time with her when she was little.’
I store this away with the other things I know about her. Now isn’t the time to delve. Julie obviously agrees, because she neatly changes the subject.
‘How are things with your parents, Kirsty? Have you seen them since…?’
She doesn’t need to say ‘since the party’. We all remember what happened there.
‘We’ve talked on the phone a couple of times,’ Kirsty says. ‘We’re trying to find common ground.’
That’s an improvement from the last time I talked to her. I wonder whether Julie’s noticed, about the change to her way of speaking. I’ll ask her later, when we’re alone.
‘Ben wants us to get married,’ she says. ‘And I’ve always put him off, because I wasn’t ready for them to meet. I’m still not, in a way. But I’m getting there. I’ve said maybe next year.’
Julie makes a noise that’s a kind of squeal. ‘Imagine Dotty, toddling around. She could be a flower girl, or a ring bearer.’
Kirsty smiles widely. ‘I’d have to find a role for Olly, too. Anyway, I’d better go. Get this one fed before yoga later. I’ve made a friend there, Estelle – she’s pregnant with her first and she has about a thousand questions for me every week, about everything from labour to sleep routines.’
She stops talking, seeing the way Julie’s face has fallen. I heard it too, that name. It’s not one you hear often.
‘What?’ Kirsty asks.
‘Did you say Estelle?’ Julie asks, and there’s a cool undertone to her voice.
‘Yes. Gorgeous name, isn’t it?’
‘Is she tall, with red hair?’
‘Yes! Do you know her?’
‘No, but my husband does.’
Kirsty puts a hand to her mouth, then, realising.
‘It doesn’t mean…’ I start to say.
‘I’ll find out what it means,’ Julie says, and she’s putting her shoes on and going out of the door, and it’s the fastest I’ve ever seen her move.
‘Shit,’ Kirsty says, when she’s gone. ‘I didn’t mean to…’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ I say. ‘How could you know? And besides, we don’t know for sure.’
‘It doesn’t look good though, does it?’
She’s right, it doesn’t. I see her out, Olly slipping out from my hand when I try to give him a gentle pat on the head. And when I go back inside, it feels strange, the quiet, after the bustle. I put the television on to distract myself from wondering what’s happening in Julie’s house right now. I hope we’re wrong. But I have a feeling we’re not.
32
‘The house just feels so empty.’
Patty looks bereft, and I know it’s down to me. That’s why I suggested Julie and I come here to try to cheer her up a bit. I baked scones, and Julie bought jam and clotted cream, and we’re eating them in the conservatory. And it should be lovely, but it’s all a bit flat.
‘Dare I ask how things are with Martin?’ Patty asks. ‘I saw Kirsty yesterday, she told me about Estelle’s pregnancy.’
I asked that same question this morning, and Julie winced then, just like she is now.
‘He claims he didn’t know about the pregnancy,’ Julie says. ‘When he moved back in, I mean. He said it was over between them, that it had just been a fling.’
‘And now?’
‘She told him a couple of weeks ago. Said she was going to have the baby with or without him, and he’s been trying to decide what to do. And how to tell me.’
The pain is etched on her face, and I imagine she’s barely slept. There’s a beat of silence, then another. Then something beeps in the kitchen, the washing machine or the dishwasher, and it snaps us back into focus.
‘What are you going to do?’ Patty asks.
‘I’m going to tell him to do the right thing. To go back to her, be a family. I know that’s what he wants, deep down. He’s just a coward.’
How painful this must be, not only to lose him to another woman, but to lose him to someone who is capable of giving him the thing that she wasn’t. I’m proud of her for the decision she’s made, though. It seems to me that he’s best placed there, if she’s having his baby and there are still feelings there. I got it wrong. I got it so wrong. For Julie, engineering that meeting in the pub. For Patty, bringing Sarah home under false pretences. And for Kirsty, forcing a reunion with her parents. I couldn’t have got it more wrong if I’d tried.
‘We’ll be there, you know,’ Patty says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I just mean you don’t have to go through it alone, not like last time. You can call on us, and we’ll help.’
‘Thank you,’ Julie says, but she doesn’t seem comforted.
I can see Patty wants to say something else, and we wait.
‘Sarah didn’t have a father, and I think it’s honourable of you to give this baby the chance of having one.’
‘I don’t know about honourable,’ Julie says. ‘It just feels like the right thing to do. I mean, it might not work out between them, they didn’t exactly have a solid basis for starting a family, but they should at least try, shouldn’t they?’
Patty and I nod, and Julie reaches for a second scone. Good. I was waiting for someone else to.
‘On the subject of Sarah’s father, or lack of one,’ Julie says. ‘I was thinking… Noel Edmonds?’
Patty laughs. ‘No. Absolutely not.’
‘Chris Tarrant?’
‘Julie, have you been googling male celebrities of a certain age?’
‘Might have been.’
‘Let’s talk about something else,’ Patty says, then. ‘Let’s talk about Dot. Has anyone had any bright ideas for the search?’
I’m so touched that they’re still on this journey with me, that they still care about finding my friend, despite what they’re both facing. I’ve told them about the visit to Cathy Milton, but Julie suggests we go over it again, everything that was said, in case there’s anything we’ve missed. So I tell them again that Dot’s married name was Black, that her husband was called Thomas and their children were John and William. All common names, especially when paired with a common surname.
‘And of course her parents would still be Brightmore, but they would be…’ Patty starts.
‘Dead,’ I say. ‘I mean, we know for sure her mother is, and her father would be well over a hundred if he was still alive.’
We sit there in silence, all thinking, and then Julie puts a finger in the air. ‘You said something about a brother!’ I don’t join the dots at first. ‘Dot had a brother?’ she asks.
‘Yes, she did. Charles.’
And then it all clicks.
‘Charles is younger than us, so he might well still be around. And he’d still be a Brightmore.’