by Beth O'Leary
Betsy, Nicola, Penelope, Roland, Piotr, Basil, and Kathleen are all beaming back at her, and, behind them, Martha, Yaz, Bee, little Jaime, Mike, and Fitz are doing just the same. Everyone’s here—Betsy’s daughter, Dr. Piotr’s ex-wife, even Mr. Rogers, the vicar’s father.
Arnold walks in behind us, arms full of napkins waiting to be distributed on the long table running down the center of the hall. “Eyeing up Mr. Rogers, are we?” he asks, following my gaze. “Probably very dull in bed, remember.”
I whack him on the arm. “Oh, would you shut up? I can’t believe I let you talk me in to showing you that list!”
Arnold chuckles and returns to napkin duty. I watch him go, smiling. Hates me almost as much as I hate him, that’s what I’d written on Arnold’s list. Well. That was about right, in the end.
“Grandma? Did you want to say a few words before the food?” Leena asks, as everyone takes their seats.
I look toward the door. When I turn back, Leena’s expression is a mirror of mine, I imagine—we both had our hopes up. But we can’t wait any longer before starting the meal.
I clear my throat and make my way to the head of the table. Leena and I are at the center, an empty chair between us.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming here today to celebrate our Carla.” I clear my throat again. This might be harder than I’d thought it would be. Now I’m standing here, talking about Carla, it occurs to me how tricky it’ll be not to cry. “Not all of you knew her,” I say. “But those who do will remember what a bright, fiery person she was, how she loved to be surprised, and how she loved to surprise us. I think she’d be surprised to see us all here, now, as we are. I like that.”
I sniff, blinking rapidly.
“Carla left a … I don’t know the words for the sort of hole she left in our lives. A wound, a crater, I don’t know. It seemed—it seemed so utterly impossible that we were expected to go on without her.” I’m crying now, and Arnold passes me one of the napkins. I take a moment to collect myself. “A lot of you know that earlier this year, Leena and I took a little sabbatical from each of our lives, and we stepped into one another’s shoes for a while. That time showed me and Leena that we were each missing a part of ourselves. Perhaps that part left us when Carla did, or perhaps it was gone long before, I’m not sure. But we needed to come back together again—not just to each other, but back to ourselves.”
There’s a sound from the doorway. I breathe in. Heads turn. I can’t look, I’m so hopeful it hurts, but then I hear Leena breathe out, a half-gasp, half-smiling laugh, and it tells me everything.
Marian looks so different. Her hair is cut short and dyed white blonde, stark against her tan; she’s wearing patterned trousers cuffed at the ankles, and though her eyes are full of tears, she’s smiling. I haven’t seen that smile—that smile, the real one—in so long that for an instant I feel like I’m seeing a ghost. She stands in the doorway, one hand on the frame, waiting.
“Come in, Mum,” Leena says. “We saved you a seat.”
I reach blindly for Arnold’s hand as the tears come in full force, sliding down my cheeks and misting my glasses as my daughter takes the empty chair beside me. I was a little afraid she’d never come home again, but here she is, and smiling.
I take a shaky breath and go on. “When people talk about loss, they always say that you’ll never be the same, that it will change you, leave a hole in your life.” My voice is choked with tears now. “And those things are undoubtedly true. But when you lose someone you love, you don’t lose everything they gave you. They leave something with you.
“I like to think that when Carla died, she gave each member of her family a little of her fire, her bravery. How else could we have done everything we’ve done this year?” I look at Leena and Marian and swallow hard through the tears. “As we’ve muddled onward, trying to learn how to live without her, I’ve felt Carla here.” I tap my heart. “She’s given me a push when I’ve almost lost my nerve. She’s told me I can do it. She’s led me back to myself. I can say now with certainty that I am the best Eileen Cotton I’ve ever been. And I hope—I hope…”
Leena stands then, as I lean forward against the table, tears streaming down my cheeks. She raises her glass.
“To being the best woman you can be,” she says. “And to Carla. Always to Carla.”
Around us, everyone choruses her name. I sit down, my legs shaking, and turn toward Marian and Leena. Those big, dark, Cotton eyes look back at me, and I see myself mirrored there, in miniature, as Marian stretches out her hands and links us all together again.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It’s thank you time, which is exciting, because it means I really did manage to write a second book! Whew. Don’t tell Flatiron Books but I wasn’t totally sure I could do that.
First up, I could not have written The Switch without the support of Tanera Simons, my agent, who has an uncanny ability to make everything better with one phone call. I also couldn’t have written it without Emily Yau, Christine Kopprasch, Cassie Browne and Emma Capron, all of whom have been my editors during this novel’s journey, and all of whom have made it stronger in countless ways. Special thanks to Cassie, who picked up this novel when it was barely a half-formed thing and loved it so enthusiastically—you really kept me going, Cassie.
I am hugely grateful to the team at Flatiron for their support, and for everything they have done for both The Switch and The Flatshare.
To the Taverners: thank you so much for welcoming me in, for making my writing stronger and for being so supportive. Peter, thanks for answering endless work questions with such patience; Amanda the dragon, and all my other lovely consultant friends, sorry if I’ve pinched bits of your job and then got them wrong because it suited the narrative better. The perils of being friends with a writer …
To the volunteers and diners of the Well-Being lunch club: it’s an absolute joy to see you every Monday. You’ve inspired me, both for this book and my life in general—I feel lucky to know you all.
Thank you to my grandmothers, Helena and Jeannine, for showing me that women can be incredibly brave and strong whatever their age. And thank you to Pat Hodgson, for forgetting about the gardening to read a typo-riddled print-out of an early draft, and for your enthusiasm at meeting a character of “your vintage,” as you so brilliantly put it. You’re a total inspiration.
Mum and Dad, thank you for reminding me to trust my ski. And Sam, thank you for keeping me smiling. I am beyond lucky to be marrying a man who can laugh at a funny scene even when he’s already read it five times over … and help with the medical stuff.
I also want to thank the book bloggers, the reviewers, and the booksellers who do so much to spread the word about the stories they love. Authors would be lost without you, and I’m so grateful for your support.
Finally, thank you, lovely reader, for giving this book a chance. I hope you have been well and truly Eileened …
Also by Beth O’Leary
The Flatshare
About the Author
Beth O’Leary worked in children’s publishing before becoming a full-time author. She is the author of the Sunday Times bestselling novel The Flatshare, which has been translated into more than thirty languages. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
> Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Beth O’Leary
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE SWITCH. Copyright © 2020 by Beth O’Leary Ltd. All rights reserved. For information, address Flatiron Books, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.flatironbooks.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-76986-2 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-250-29567-5 (ebook)
Our books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact your local bookseller or the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
Originally published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Quercus Books
First U.S. Edition: 2020
eISBN 9781250295675