The Switch(10)

4


Eileen


Things are rather a rush on Friday afternoon – Dec left mouse entrails on the doormat. It was a kind gesture in cat terms, I’m sure, but a bother to wipe off the bottom of my favourite shoes. I arrive at the village hall just in time for the Neighbourhood Watch meeting, and a little out of breath.

The Hamleigh Neighbourhood Watch is an unofficial association, but a thriving one. Crime is something that very much concerns the inhabitants of Hamleigh-in-Harksdale, despite the fact that in the last five years the only crime I remember occurring was the theft of Basil’s lawnmower, which turned out to have been borrowed by Betsy, who swears she asked Basil first. Whoever you believe, it’s hardly an epidemic of illegal activity, and a weekly two-hour meeting is almost certainly a bit much.

Thankfully, I am now in charge of the Neighbourhood Watch, with Betsy as Deputy Watcher (it was agreed that Betsy could not be Lead Watcher, given her aforementioned criminal history). We’ve made the meetings much more interesting. Since we’re not technically a Neighbourhood Watch, just people who like watching our neighbours, there’s no need to stick to any rules or regulations. So we stopped pretending to talk about crime, and just focused on gossip, village scandal, and complaints about rival hamlets. Next, we introduced lots of free biscuits, provided cushions for the seats, and created a sign saying ‘Members Only’ for the door of the village hall when we’re meeting, which has had the effect of making everybody who isn’t a member of the Neighbourhood Watch jealous, and everyone who is a member feel smug about being ‘in the club’, as it were.

Betsy calls the meeting to order by tapping her gavel on the village hall coffee table. (Goodness knows where Betsy got that gavel from, but she’ll take any given opportunity to tap it. The other day, when Basil was being particularly belligerent at bingo, she tapped him on the forehead with it. That shut him up. Though Dr Piotr did pull Betsy aside later to explain that, given Basil’s recent stroke, head injuries would be best avoided.)

‘What’s our first order of business?’ Betsy calls.

I hand her the agenda.

March 20th Neighbourhood Watch Meeting

Welcome

Tea round, biscuits

Dr Piotr: parking outside the GP surgery

Roland: are we still boycotting Julie’s? Move to reassess – no other good places to buy bacon sandwiches

Betsy: clarification on whether culottes are indeed ‘back in’

Biscuits, tea

Eileen: golden oldies film night – move to ban all films with Jack Nicholson in them, can’t stand any more, there must be another older gentleman who can act

Basil: update on the War on Squirrels

Any crime?

Biscuits, tea

AOB





Basil does the teas, which means they’re all atrociously weak and half of us still have teabags floating in our mugs because he’s too short-sighted to notice which ones he’s not fished out. Betsy has brought a very good range of biscuits, though. I munch my way through a ginger snap while Piotr talks earnestly about ‘those of us who park our mobility scooters across two car parking spaces’ (he means Roland) and ‘consequences for other patients’ (he means Basil, who always complains about it).

I think of the list on my dining-room table and idly try to imagine making love to Dr Piotr, which results in a piece of ginger snap going the wrong way and the Neighbourhood Watch meeting briefly descending into panic as everyone thwacks me on the back. Betsy is just preparing to do the Heimlich manoeuvre when I get my voice back and inform them that I’m quite all right. And that, should a time arise when I am actually choking, I’d prefer it if Piotr was the one doing the manoeuvres. We exchange an amused glance over Betsy’s head as I say it. With a flicker of hope I wonder whether the look might even be a little flirtatious, though it’s been a while and I’m not exactly sure how you’re supposed to tell.

Betsy gets predictably miffed at my comment, but is soon distracted by the discussion of whether culottes are fashionable. This one arose because last week Kathleen told Betsy they were all the rage, and Betsy bought six pairs off of the shopping channel. (Kathleen, at thirty-five, brings down the average age of the Neighbourhood Watch considerably. With three children under six she’s so desperate to get out of the house she’s signed up for every village activity going.) Betsy has had a crisis of confidence about her new purchases and needs a poll to be conducted. This is her favourite way of ensuring nobody can judge her for doing something – if it’s decided democratically, it’s everybody’s fault.

The Neighbourhood Watch rules that culottes are indeed back in, though I believe Basil thinks they’re some sort of French vegetable, and he was the deciding vote.

After round two of biscuits I make my case regarding Jack Nicholson films, but am overruled: Penelope is a surprisingly ardent fan. Next Basil blathers on about squirrels for a while, which is always a good part of the meeting in which to catch some shut-eye if you need it, and then it’s time for more biscuits and the most important point on the agenda: ‘any crime’. Otherwise known as ‘new gossip’.

‘Eileen, Betsy says you’ve sold your car?’ Penelope says, blinking owlishly at me across the circle. Penelope is built like a tiny little bird; she looks so frail I’m always nervous she’ll snap something, but really she’s made of pretty strong stuff. I saw her shoot a cat with a water pistol the other day when it was after her bluetits’ nest – she got it right in the eye.