The Last List of Mabel Beaumont

by Laura Pearson

I want to say that she should forget about him. He doesn’t sound worth the effort. But you can’t tell people how to live their lives. Or you can, but it doesn’t work. I know that better than most. So I just nod.

I’ve been naïve, making an assumption based on what the press wants me to believe. Arthur always used to say, ‘Use your eyes and your ears, make your own judgement.’ And he was right.

We sit, both facing forwards, but I steal odd glances at her. She isn’t the most beautiful girl, but she’s golden in that way that only the very young are. The trouble is, they don’t know it. And you can’t tell them. All her life, a part of her will be trying to recapture the way she is right now.

Do you have children, Mabel?’ It’s such an innocent question, but such a barbed one, too. All my life, I’ve hated it. Because when the answer is yes, people can follow it up with questions about names and ages, about how many and whether they’re boys or girls. But if the answer is no, it leads to an awkward silence no matter who’s doing the asking. I’ve gone through phases over the years. Saying no but… as if that might change in the future, though I knew it wouldn’t. Saying I was still mulling it over, and then, once it was clearly too late, that I’d never quite been able to make up my mind. Because society doesn’t like women who have made up their mind and who don’t want children, does it? That’s something I learned pretty quickly.