Chapter 22
Over the next few days, Julie and Erin rally around me. Sean comes to visit and sleeps on the sofa, and William and John both do day trips. With help from Dot’s family and Julie, Patty and Kirsty, I get into the hospital to see Dot every day.
Slowly but surely, she gets better. There are no more seizures, thank goodness, and during visits she becomes more and more chatty, more and more herself. I take in grapes and chocolate and a crossword book.
‘You gave us a fright,’ William says, one afternoon.
‘There’s life in the old girl yet,’ Dot says, winking at me. Then her expression turns serious. ‘Although I thought there might not be for a while there. And it got me thinking, about Peter…’
William looks from his mum to me and back again.
‘Mabel knows about Peter,’ Dot says. ‘I would hate to die without knowing where he is, whether or not he’s alive and well.’
William folds his arms. ‘Mum, are you forgetting that he stole from you?’
Dot purses her lips. ‘No, I haven’t forgotten that. But you weren’t always an angel and I don’t bring up your past mistakes—’
‘It’s not the same, Mum! Yes, I came home late sometimes and wasn’t great at tidying my bedroom but that’s hardly in the same league as taking money from you for God knows what.
You were totally broken after he left that time and you saw how much he’d taken from your account. You couldn’t pay the mortgage.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ I say. ‘It’s a hospital.’ Straight after, I’m embarrassed and hope William won’t tell me it’s none of my business.
‘Sorry, you’re right,’ he says. ‘Mum, we should talk about this when you’re better.’
A nurse comes round before Dot can reply, and none of us say much while she does Dot’s obs.
‘You’re all good, Dot,’ the nurse says. ‘Temperature back to normal, blood pressure stable. I think they’ll say you can go home tomorrow.’ She bustles out without waiting for a response.
‘That’s good news,’ I say.
‘Great news,’ William agrees. ‘Now, I’m afraid I need to make a move. Got a dentist appointment later this afternoon. Will you be all right getting home tomorrow, if they say you can go?’
‘We can get a taxi,’ Dot says. And something in her voice tells me she hasn’t quite forgiven him for arguing with her about Peter. ‘Thanks for coming.’
He leans down to give her a hug, and then he says goodbye to me, and he’s gone.
We sit in the quiet for a minute or two, me shifting a little on the hard plastic seat to get comfortable and her sipping from her cup of water.
‘I’ve decided something,’ she says, with a smile.
‘What is it?’
‘I think we should get married this year, if we can. This flu, and that seizure, it gave me some perspective. We don’t know how long we have, do we?’
‘But what about the divorce?’ I ask. I’d thought we were looking at next summer. It’s June now – is she thinking about a winter wedding?
‘We’ll get the divorce underway as soon as we can, but I think we should plan something anyway, and do it regardless.
A celebration. All the people we love there with us, and cake and flowers and vows.
If the divorce doesn’t come through in time, we can just go and do the legal bit at the registry office when it does. What do you think?’
I feel the smile creeping over my face. Of course she’s right.
Who cares, really, whether we’re legally married?
As long as we can gather together the people we love, her family and my friends, and declare our union in front of everybody.
That’s the important thing, isn’t it? Of course, if the divorce comes through in good time, it would be the icing on the cake, but I agree that we should go ahead and start planning, because we don’t know how long we’ve got.
If I’ve learned anything from the past week, it’s that.
‘I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ I say.
She takes my hand and we both tear up a little, at the thought of us getting there, where we always should have been, at this time of our lives.
I wouldn’t have believed it, when I was young.
I wouldn’t have thought it was possible.
But the world changes slowly and then fast, and it always has the power to surprise you.
‘So we’re really doing this?’ Dot asks, and it’s almost as if she can’t believe it.
‘We really are,’ I say. ‘Where should we start? You’ve done this twice, so you’re the expert.’
‘Hardly.’ She laughs. ‘It doesn’t need to be huge, I don’t think, but we should have everyone there that we love. There’s no need to cut corners. I’ve got some money stashed away.’
I’m miles away, for a moment, imagining gliding with Dot across a dance floor, the room filled with love and support. I picture Erin and Julie, Kirsty and Patty. Little Dotty, dancing.
‘When are you thinking?’ I ask.
‘Maybe September?’
September is soon. But when I think about it, it sounds like a great option. The weather can be beautiful, and the fact that it’s soon is a positive, really. I want this to happen. I want us to be together, to celebrate being together.
‘September,’ I say, as if I’m trying it out, deciding.
‘What do you say, Mabel?’
And what do I say? I say yes.
* * *
When I get home, I’m itching to tell Erin but I decide it can wait until Dot’s here with me.
Hopefully tomorrow. Erin’s had another exam today, and she doesn’t think this one went so well, so she’s moping around a bit.
I suggest a Chinese takeaway to cheer us both up, and she’s straight on her mobile telephone, looking for the app she uses to order.
I’m thinking about Peter, about what Dot said about dying without having him in her life. I decide I’m going to find him for her. How hard can it be? We found Dot, didn’t we? Over dinner, I tell Erin about my plan. I’m hoping she’ll offer to help.
‘So he could be anywhere?’ she asks. ‘But you know his full name, right?’
‘Peter Hanson,’ I say. I don’t know this for certain, but Dot was married to Geoff when she had Peter, so it stands to reason that Peter will have his last name.
She opens Facebook on her mobile telephone.
There are a string of people with that name, and we start going through them, looking for clues.
It’s tough going, because although I know his approximate age, I don’t know where he lives.
He could be anywhere in the world. We rule some out and are left with seven or eight others, and I study their photographs for similarities to Dot.
‘Hmm,’ Erin says. ‘This is tricky. Do you think William or John would know where he lives now?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I say. ‘From what Dot said, it sounded like they’d all cut contact.’
‘And you said he stole from her – is that right?’
I nod. ‘He was mixed up with drugs, I think.’
Erin frowns. ‘I know people can change, and he could be living a good life now, but he could also still be involved in drugs, or in prison. Or—’
‘Dead,’ I say, because I know that’s what she’s thinking.
‘Yes. If he is, would it be better for Dot to know or not to know?’
I consider this. I even go through to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
‘It’s like she isn’t whole, while she doesn’t know,’ I say, resting my hands on the dining table where Erin’s sitting.
‘If we find out he’s dead, she can start to grieve him.
And if he’s living the sort of life she wouldn’t want to be involved in, that’s a sort of chapter closed too.
It’s the not knowing that’s hurting her, I think. ’
Erin nods. ‘I can understand that. I saw a documentary about a family whose daughter went missing and still wasn’t found twenty years later, and it was the not knowing that they said was the hardest.’
The doorbell goes and it’s our food, so we busy ourselves putting it out and getting drinks. Erin piles her bowl high with spring rolls and sesame prawn toast and some sort of noodle concoction.
‘Remember when you’d never had a Chinese?’ she asks.
I laugh. ‘I do. You couldn’t believe it.’
‘And now look at you.’ She jerks her head in the direction of my bowl.
I order something different every time and I haven’t been disappointed yet.
Tonight it’s chicken with cashew nuts and chicken fried rice.
I can never finish a whole meal, but Erin is always happy to feast on the leftovers for breakfast.
We’re halfway through eating when Erin reaches for her mobile telephone again. ‘Let me try something,’ she says. And then a few seconds later, she exclaims and holds her mobile telephone out to me. ‘Could this be him?’
I study the photograph, which she’s enlarged for me. He’s the right age, and he’s got similar colouring to William and John. And I know instantly that it’s him, that this is Dot’s Peter, because he has her eyes. Sparkling and bright, even in a photograph.
‘How did you find him?’ I ask.
‘He’s not Peter Hanson,’ Erin says. ‘He’s Peter Brightmore.’
I hadn’t considered that. Dot’s son, Dot’s name.
He doesn’t look like he’s living on the fringes of society, either.
At least not in this photograph, which must be fairly recent, since he’s about the right age.
He’s smiling, a bit plump. And when Erin zooms back out for me, I see that he has his arm around a woman who’s smiling too.
‘It’s him,’ I say, and I’m absolutely certain.
‘So what now?’ Erin asks. ‘Shall I send him a message?’
I haven’t thought about the next step. Will Dot be cross that I’ve done this? I don’t think she will, because all we’ve done so far is this search. But if we reach out, that might be a step too far.
‘I need to talk to Dot,’ I say. ‘Tell her we think we’ve found him. Does it say where he lives, Erin?’
Erin taps her screen a few times. ‘Fareham,’ she says. ‘Do you know where that is?’
‘Yes, it’s not far from Portsmouth.’ It all adds to my certainty that this is the right Peter.
‘Are you going to call her?’ Erin asks.
She’s impatient, and I am, too, but I need to get this right. ‘It can wait until she’s home,’ I say. ‘Anyway, thanks for your help.’
‘Just call me Super Sleuth,’ she says. ‘Right, this has been lovely but I should probably go upstairs and do a bit of last-minute cramming.’
And she’s gone, leaving me sitting at the table, my remaining food cooling in the bowl. Peter Brightmore. I repeat it to myself a couple of times, and then I get up and start clearing the table.