‘My husband would know if we need to switch mechanics,’ she said. ‘It’s his territory.’ They both looked at their hands. ‘Do you mind if I ask?’ Dot pointed to her hairline, to the place on her head that corresponded to that place on his.
‘No,’ he said, ‘just some surgery.’
‘Were you a surgeon, back in India?’
He laughed for a long time. ‘No.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I’m flattered.’
‘Do you mind if I ask how old you are?’
‘I’m twenty-two.’
Dot thought about what she was doing at twenty-two. At twenty-two she had bumped into Daniel in town and gone back to his place where they had made love, a holiday from real life already, over a long afternoon. Later they’d gone to hear a band. She couldn’t remember the flat she lived in then but she remembered the Uprising poster on the wall above Daniel’s bed, the soft cotton of the paisley bedspread, the sweet, dusty smell of the carpet in his room. The way he said, ‘I just want to check . . .’ and did something and she responded involuntarily and he said, ‘Gotcha.’ She wondered what she would do if she bumped into him now. She hadn’t seen him since the funeral, where Ruth had reported that he smelled of beer. ‘When I was twenty-two,’ she told the man, ‘I didn’t have two kids to support.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Well, I was a teacher. I’m still a teacher. Maternity leave.’
He nodded and looked down at the orange-and-white peel on his plate. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Very interesting. What subjects?’
‘Art, English, but I really haven’t taught for a while.’
‘You’re an artist.’
‘No. I’m not an artist like you’re not a surgeon.’
‘Like I’m not a tree surgeon.’
Dot laughed. ‘Yes. How long have you lived here?’
‘Since school. My parents had family here, we came when I was seven.’
Same as her. ‘Long time.’ There was a simple sum to do but she wasn’t capable of the maths.
‘Fifteen years.’
Fifteen years ago she had been . . . she imagined a steamer docking. Crowds of people. Steerage. ‘Did you come on a boat?’
‘Don’t be silly! Sorry,’ he said.
‘It’s OK. Sorry. I don’t go out a lot. Not that that’s any excuse.’
‘In a plane.’
‘Have you been back?’
‘Yes, every year.’
‘Such a long way. With little ones.’
‘But when we get there the family looks after us.’
The phone rang. Dorothy made a surprised face at the man, like, nobody ever calls this number, which was true. ‘Hello?’ She smiled at him while she listened, a bubble of hysteria rose in her throat and she felt hot, or hot for him, it wasn’t clear. She mouthed ‘The childminder’. He nodded, though he could not have understood.
Chloe was crying; sobbing, on the verge of hyperventilation. Dorothy walked the phone into the hallway. ‘Slow down, it’s all right. What’s the matter?’ The girl’s cat had just been – she could hardly get the sentence out – the cat had been run over. She heard the brakes and ran out of the house and the car drove off and there was the – lying in the – just gone. ‘Oh no,’ Dot said. ‘Oh, you poor thing.’
‘I just don’t think I can come in. I’m sorry. I know the children will be waiting. I have to go and bury . . .’ Chloe’s voice rose in a semi-wail and she said, ‘Oh god, Dorothy, I’m sorry.’
‘No you mustn’t be, the kids will be fine, I’ll call Kate, she can bring them home. You attend to your poor cat. Take care of yourself. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
Her friend Kate’s home phone and cell phone both rang until the recorded answering service picked up. It was very nearly time for the school bell to announce the end of lessons, and the children would stand there while the playground emptied, waiting. Grace haughty, head in a book. The frizzy-haired nursery teacher holding Donald’s hand. Amy hanging off the monkey bars, frightened to jump down, no one to catch her. Dorothy thumped herself lightly on the breastbone with a fist. She was there. Never mind the constricted throat, the insects prickling her skin, the way she didn’t exist from the ribs down. She poured a glass of water from the sink and drank it in two gulps. ‘You know,’ she said to the man, and wiped her mouth.
He rose to his feet. ‘I should go.’
‘Wait.’ She put a hand on his arm. He looked down at it, and back at her, and she moved it away. ‘Sorry. Would you like to come with