by Beth O'Leary
I consider the point. This seems fairly straightforward.
“How many of you have cars?” I ask. “Aside from Jackson and Piotr and Kathleen, obviously, who can’t spare the time—but the rest of you are retired, aren’t you? Can you fit in, oh, a drive every other day?”
Everyone looks very alarmed—except for Jackson, who is looking more amused than ever.
“Where do you think would be a good place to take them for the odd trip out? Leeds is too far,” I say, looking back at Betsy, “but maybe Daredale?”
There is a lengthy silence. Eventually Dr. Piotr takes pity on me.
“Ah, Leena, most of the team here are … Though many of them do have cars”—this said with a slight air of resignation—“they’re not all encouraged to drive as far as Daredale.”
“Not to say that we can’t,” Betsy says. “I still hold a license, you know.”
“And Dr. Piotr can’t stop me driving until I’ve gone officially doolally,” Penelope says, with relish.
“Ah. Right,” I say. “Well, I’ve been meaning to sort myself a car for a while, anyway, what with Grandma’s one being…”
“Out of action?” Betsy supplies.
“Damaged beyond repair?” Basil says at the same time.
“Do any of you have a car that you would like to lend me while I’m here?”
There is silence.
“Penelope!” I say brightly. She strikes me as the best option. The men aren’t going to budge, and I’m certainly not going to get any support from Betsy. “Could I borrow your car every now and then?”
“Oh, but I … Well, I still…” Penelope trails off, then, without much good grace: “Oh, I suppose so.”
“Brilliant, thanks, Penelope!” I say. I wait until she’s looked away before giving Dr. Piotr a quick wink. He gives me a thumbs-up in return.
So now I’ve got Dr. Piotr on my side, at least. And a car.
“That’s that, then!” says Betsy, with a clap. “Moving on … May Day! I know this isn’t an official committee meeting, but as the committee is all present, and there are some urgent matters that can’t wait until next meeting, perhaps we could cover one or two things here?”
Everybody nods. I’m pretty sure the May Day Committee is comprised of exactly the same people as the Neighborhood Watch Committee, so I could point out that two separate meetings are not entirely necessary. Better not, though, on reflection.
“Theme! I assume we’re all happy with Jackson’s suggestion? Tropical?”
“Tropical?” I say, before I can stop myself.
Betsy swivels in her chair to glare at me. “Yes, Leena. Tropical. It’s perfect for a sunny spring festival. Don’t you think?”
“Well, I…”
I glance around the circle, then look at Jackson, who is raising his eyebrows a little, as if to say, Oh, do go on.
“I’m just not sure it plays to our strengths. People will be attracted to this as a quaint village fair that they can bring their kids to. ‘Tropical’ feels a bit … night out in Clapham.”
I am faced with a circle of blank stares.
“Do suggest an alternative theme if you would like, Leena,” Betsy says frostily.
I glance at Jackson again. He’s leaning back in his chair, arms folded, and there’s something so very cocky about that posture that my plan to forbear and win this lot around before I make any changes goes right out the window.
“How about ‘Medieval’?” I say, thinking of Game of Thrones, which I’ve been re-bingeing since I got to Hamleigh. Ethan always laughed at me for collecting my favorite shows on DVD, but who’s laughing now that I’m in the land of no superfast broadband? “We could serve mead, and have storytelling ‘bards’ for kids to listen to, and the May King and Queen could wear beautiful gowns with flowing sleeves and flower wreaths, like King Arthur and Queen Guinevere.” I’m not actually sure that King Arthur was medieval, but this isn’t the time for pedantry. “And we could have falconry and jousting, and the music could be all harps and lutes. I’m imagining flower garlands draped between lampposts, stalls overflowing with fresh fruit and sugary treats, bonfires, hog roasts…”
“Hmm. Well. Shall we have a vote, then?” Betsy says. “Leena’s plan to drag us all back to the Middle Ages, or Jackson’s idea that we’d all by and large settled on last week?”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “That’s kind of a leading question, Betsy.”
“Hands up for Leena’s idea,” Betsy says, very deliberately.
Everyone looks at each other. Nobody raises their hand.
“And hands up for Jackson’s idea,” says Betsy.
All hands go up.
“Well! Good try, Leena,” Betsy says with a smile.
“Give me a couple of weeks,” I say. “I’ll do a proper thought shower, come up with concrete ideas, pull together something to show you all. Let’s vote on it properly at the next official May Day meeting. After all, can May Day business be settled at a Neighborhood Watch meeting?”
Betsy’s smile wavers.
“That is a good point,” says Roland. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Wouldn’t be proper,” I echo. “Absolutely, Roland.”
“All right, then. Two weeks,” Betsy says.
I glance at Jackson. This isn’t about point-scoring, obviously, but I totally just scored one, and I’d quite like him to have noticed. He looks back at me, still sitting back in his chair with his legs apart like a manspreader on the tube, looking just as amused and unfazed as he has all session.
“That’s all, everybody,” Betsy says. “And Leena, remember you’re bringing biscuits next time.”
“Absolutely. No problem.”
“And that’s your chair,” Roland says, nodding helpfully at me. “Remember that too.”
“Thanks, Roland. I will.”
“Oh, and Leena?” says Betsy. “I think you forgot to put Eileen’s bins out yesterday.”
I breathe out slowly through my nose.
They’re only trying to help. Probably.
“Thank you, Betsy,” I say. “Good to know.”
There’s a general scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet as everyone stands and makes their way to the door. Beside me, Kathleen wakes with a start.
“Shit.” She scrabbles to check her watch. “Where’ve we got to? Have we done the war on squirrels?” She clocks my grumpy expression. “God,” she says, “did the squirrels win?”
12
Eileen
This just won’t work. I’m going to call Leena and tell her it was daft of us to think we could swap lives like this, and then I’m going home. We can have hot chocolate and laugh about it, and we’ll go back to where—and who—we ought to be.
I am absolutely settled on this plan until Fitz walks into the living room.
“Holy guacamole,” he says, stopping stock still. “Eileen! You look stunning!”
“I’m not going,” I tell him firmly, bending to begin unlacing my shoes. “It’s silly.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Fitz swipes my slippers up from beneath the coffee table before I can put them on. “You are not wasting that killer blow-dry on an afternoon in,” he says, waving a warning finger at my hair. “You look like a million dollars, Mrs. Cotton, and you have to meet this Tod guy!”
I told Fitz about my impending date last night. Or rather, this morning—I was getting up to start the day and he was coming in from an evening out on the town. He seemed rather the worse for wear—it was half past five in the morning—so I’d assumed he wouldn’t remember the conversation, but unfortunately his memory is better than I’d hoped.
I shift uncomfortably on the sofa, my best pleated skirt digging into my hips. My back twinges. “I’m too old for this,” I tell him. “I can’t be doing with these…” I wave a hand at my stomach.
Fitz smiles slyly. “Butterflies?” he says.
“Oh, nonsense,” I tell him, but I can’t come up with a better alternative.
He shifts up
next to me on the sofa. “Now, I don’t know you very well, Eileen, but I know Leena, and the impression I get is that many of Leena’s qualities come from you. And Leena hates failing at things.”
“This isn’t failing!” I protest.
“You’re right,” Fitz says, “you’ve got to try in order to fail. And you’re not even trying.”
I bristle. “I know what you’re doing,” I tell him.
“Is it working?”
“Of course it bloody well is. Now hand me those shoes, please.”
* * *
I nearly lose my nerve again on the journey to the café. I even open my mouth to tell the cabdriver to turn back. But as we crawl through the traffic, a woman cycles by with dark curls beneath her helmet, and I think of Carla. She’d love seeing her old grandma going on a date. And I bet she’d tell me it’d be a crying shame to let a handsome West End actor slip through my fingers.
I worry about finding Tod in the café, but in the end he’s not difficult to spot. He stands out the way wealthy people stand out everywhere: his clothes hang a little too perfectly from his frame, and his skin has a glow to it, as though he’s wearing makeup.
Oh, he is wearing makeup. Well I never—I suppose he must have just come from the theater, but still … What would Wade say?
“Eileen?” he asks me. I realize I am peering at his face, and feel myself blushing. That’s the second time I’ve blushed this week. I must get a grip on myself.
“Yes,” I say, stretching my hand out to shake his.
He gets up to pull my chair out for me. He moves very nimbly for a man of his age, and I catch a waft of cologne as he comes past me. It smells of woodsmoke and oranges, and I’d say it’s probably every bit as expensive as his dark wool coat.
“You are just as beautiful as your picture,” he says, settling back in the chair across from me with a smile. His teeth are startlingly white.
“Now, I know that’s not true, because my granddaughter chose that picture, and it’s at least ten years out of date,” I say. I wince at how prim I sound, but Tod just laughs.
“You’ve not aged a bit,” he assures me. “Coffee?”
“Oh, I’ll…” I reach for my purse, but he waves me off with a frown.
“My treat. Please, I insist. A flat white?”
“A … Sorry, I beg your pardon?”
“Would you like a flat white?”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” I tell him.
He roars with laughter. “Oh, I think you are going to be very good for me, Eileen Cotton.”
I really don’t see what’s funny, but I smile anyway, because he’s very handsome when he laughs. And the rest of the time too. At first the makeup is a little disconcerting—his skin looks rather strange, being all one color like that. But I seem to be getting used to it.
“A flat white is a type of coffee,” Tod explains, waving down a waiter with one expert hand. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
“I’ll give it a go, then,” I say, and Tod orders the drinks. He’s much less intimidating than I expected, and I feel myself relaxing as he jokes with the waiter, smoothing his hair back from his forehead as he speaks.
“Now,” Tod says, turning his attention to me. He flashes an extremely charming smile. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re too old to mess about. I’m going to put my cards out on the table.”
“Oh, right,” I say. “Well, that’s good?”
“I’m not looking for a serious relationship,” Tod says. “I was married once, to a truly wonderful woman, and they were the happiest years of my life—I have no interest in trying to replicate them because they cannot be replicated.”
“Oh,” I say, rather moved, despite his perfunctory tone. “Well, that’s very romantic, actually.”
Tod laughs again. “What I’m looking for, Eileen, is a bit of fun.”
“A bit of fun?” I narrow my eyes slightly. “In the interests of putting our cards out…” I tap the table between us. “Could you be a little more specific?”
He reaches to take my hand across the table. “May I?” he says quietly.
“Yes,” I say, though I’m not quite sure what I’m agreeing to.
He turns my hand over and presses his thumb very gently to the soft skin between my wrist and my palm, and begins to stroke in slow, languid circles.
My breath quickens.
“Specifically,” he says, “I would like us to enjoy good coffee, and good food, and good wine, and then I would like us to go to bed together.”
“To … bed,” I repeat, dry-mouthed. “Together.”
He inclines his head. “A casual fling, as it were. Non-exclusive. Purely sensual. Just for the duration of your stay in London, and then we say goodbye with no regrets.” He slowly lets go of my hand. “How does that sound, Eileen?”
“That … sounds…” I clear my throat, rubbing at my tingling palm with the other hand. I’m tingling everywhere, in fact. I’m surprised you can’t hear me creaking like a radiator that’s just warming up. “That sounds fun,” I finish, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
* * *
“The date was very nice,” I tell Leena, in my firmest end-of-discussion voice. I settle myself on the sofa, tucking a cushion behind my back. “How was your first Neighborhood Watch meeting?”
“Oh, all fine, all fine,” Leena says. “Come on, you have to tell me more about this mystery man!”
“A lady never tells,” I say. “And Marian? How is she getting on?”
“Grandma! Did you sleep with him?”
“I beg your pardon! No! What sort of question is that to ask your grandmother?” I splutter.
“Well, when people say ‘a lady never tells,’ that’s usually what they mean,” Leena says, sounding amused. “Are you really not going to tell me anything about this Tod?”
“No, I don’t think I am,” I decide.
I told Fitz all about it, but I swore him to secrecy, and he said he wouldn’t pass anything on to Leena. I just don’t much want to discuss my new “casual fling” with my granddaughter.
“Well,” Leena says grudgingly, “I suppose I did tell you to go and do something for yourself.” She pauses. “Grandma … Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Has anything happened to Mum? Anything you’ve not told me?”
“What do you mean?” I ask carefully.
“She mentioned ‘episodes.’”
I close my eyes. “Ah.”
“What happened?”
“She’s just had a few … wobbles.”
“Wobbles like getting tearful on the bus? Or wobbles like she had to go to the doctor?”
“The second one, love.”
“How could you not tell me that?”
“I did keep telling you she was struggling, Leena.”
“Yeah, but I thought you meant—I thought she was—I didn’t realize she’d been having breakdowns.”
“I thought she’d tell you herself, if she wanted to. I didn’t want to interfere.”
“And when you left me here to look after Mum, you didn’t think it was worth mentioning that she might have one of these ‘episodes’ at any moment? What happens? Do I need to check in on her more? How bad are we talking? What did the doctor say?”
I rub the bridge of my nose. “Dr. Piotr gave her some tablets a couple of months ago.”
“Antidepressants?”
“I think so.”
“Is she taking them?”
“I think so.”
“OK. All right. God, Grandma. It’s— I appreciate you not wanting to interfere, but … I wish you’d told me.”
“Would it have changed how you felt? Would you have come home sooner?”
There’s a long silence. “I like to think it would, but I—I know I’ve been … a bit weird about Mum lately. But I want things to be better. Bee says I’m not myself, and she’s right, and I think it’s partly that, you know, the distance between
me and Mum, how angry she makes me … I want to fix that. For me, as well as for her.”
I smile slightly. And, well, if interfering is allowed, now …
“She wants that too, love. She misses you desperately.”
Leena sniffs. There’s a moment’s silence, and then: “Got to go, Grandma—there’s a man calling on your mobile to talk to me about falconry.”
“Pardon?” I say, but she’s already gone.
I sigh. Now I’m worrying about Marian more than ever.
I’m just about to turn off Leena’s telephone when a message pops up at the top of the screen. It’s from someone called Ceci. I’m sure I remember Leena mentioning her. Wasn’t she the awful, catty one from work?
Hey Leena! Just wanted to let you know the Upgo project is going really well in your absence, going from strength to strength really, in case you were worrying about it! Let me know if you’re going to be down in London anytime soon, Cx
I frown. Leena doesn’t need to be reminded about that Upgo project, and she’s not given Ceci her new phone number, which means she didn’t want to hear from her while she was away. I seem to remember Leena describing this woman as “eighty percent leg, twenty percent bad intentions”; something tells me she doesn’t have Leena’s best interests at heart. I tsk and close the message.
I’m fidgety after that phone call with Leena; I look around for a job to keep me busy. I’m just eyeing Fitz’s washing up when I spot Leena’s laptop on the breakfast counter and perk up. Perhaps Tod is available to talk.
There is a new message waiting for me on the dating website, but it’s from someone new.
OldCountryBoy says: Hello, Eileen. I hope you don’t mind me saying hello?
OldCountryBoy’s profile picture is a photograph of him as a young man, dressed in a loose white vest with a cap on his head. He was certainly handsome then, but that doesn’t mean a lot now. Though I don’t mind so much about handsome. After all, Wade was a real looker, and see how he turned out.
EileenCotton79 says: Of course! I’m on this website to meet people.
I hesitate, and then, after a moment’s thought, add a smiling face, like Leena does when she’s texting. It’s a bit flirtatious—I think—but why not, eh? Tod and I are being “non-exclusive,” after all. And twenty-something Eileen Cotton, with her big plans for a London adventure … She would certainly have imagined there’d be more than one man in the mix.