Dot (Araminta Hall)

no doubt that Mavis would have let her mum and gran know where she was by now. It occurred to her that she could have used the phone at the B and B, but she never thought of landlines any more. Her mobile was still dead.
    Everyone was going home. That’s where they were all heading. Lots of men and women in suits, some with backpacks, a few briefcases, designer handbags, plastic bags. Dot thought this must be what the end of the world would be like: everyone reduced to the same moment, walking the same streets, desperately looking for home.
    She didn’t need to shut her eyes to see her home as if it was on a screen in front of her. The heavy brown velvet curtains in the sitting room which were fraying at the ends because they had been closed on generations of nights. The polished dark floorboards and the oriental rug with its reds and browns and patterns she might never understand. The huge mirror covered in age spots which hung just inside the front door and blurred your own image. The black marble fireplace, heavy with photographs, and the clock which always lost time. Her grandmother’s blue velvet chair by the fire; the sofa with the indentations of lives on its seat. China which mattered to her grandmother on all the surfaces; the outdated kitchen in which her mother cooked bad food. The huge staircase which led to bedrooms; the tower which fooled anyone who came calling. The cupboard in the study which opened on to a flight of stairs leading into a huge stone cellar.
    Of course none of these were the real reasons why she wanted to go home so much. The real reasons were the two women who lived with her in the house. She heard her grandmother admonishing her in her mind, saw them laughing at a film together on a dark night. ‘Choke up, chicken,’ her grandmother would say whenever she coughed. She felt her mother’s hand on her hot forehead as she lay in bed, watched Alice’s face as she recounted her days at school, listened as she read her a bedtime story. Towels had always been wrapped around her body after warm baths, Christmas trees stood bedecked every year, school concerts were never missed, kisses often given, laughter sometimes heard, dreams recounted, radiators turned on or windows opened, fresh flowers in vases, mown lawns, hot tea.
    As Dot walked the bleak streets the colour of thunderclouds, strewn with rubbish and disaster, she realised the absurdity of where she found herself. What was she doing looking for the name of a man who had barely existed, who had left without looking back? She had two people in her life who loved her more than most people deserved. She had a good friend and a hopeful future. And yet she’d risked it all on a man who didn’t care.
    She lost her way many times and everyone she asked for directions told her not to bother going to Victoria. But where else was there to go? Her purse held a scrap of paper which was quite literally her ticket home. A long ride on a warm coach to the place she wanted to be. It was four-thirty by the time she reached the coach station and her feet felt swollen and her limbs ached. The place was seething with people. All the departure boards were blank and loudspeaker announcements told everyone to please be patient, they would try to resume some kind of service as soon as possible. Dot sat on a bench and let herself cry. Of course it had been stupid to imagine that the men who drove the coaches wouldn’t want to rush back to their own families. Maybe London had been cut off. She didn’t know anything any more.
    The woman next to her was somewhere between her mother and grandmother’s age and Dot could feel her gazing at her.
    ‘Are you all right?’ she asked in the end.
    Dot looked at her and saw that she was round and bright, with a mass of blond curls shining incongruously on top of her head. ‘Not really. I want to go home.’
    ‘Where’s home?’
    ‘Well, I need to get to Cardiff, then it’s a couple of hours from there.’
    ‘I need to get to Oxford.’ The blonde woman held out a tissue, which Dot took. ‘They’ll get us on to coaches as soon as they can, you know. There’s nothing we can do but be patient.’
    ‘I know. It’s just I walked so far.’
    ‘And you’re so looking forward to getting home?’ Dot nodded. ‘We’re all looking forward to getting home today.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Who’s at home?’
    ‘My mum and gran. They’ll be worried sick.’
    ‘I just got hold of my daughter,’ said the woman.