The Switch(17)

‘But … what about … emails? Work …’

I raise my eyebrows. She breathes out slowly, cheeks puffing.

‘It’s a phone, Leena, not a limb,’ I say. ‘Come on. Hand it over.’

I tug at it. She grips tighter, then, perhaps realising how ridiculous she’s being, lets it go. She doesn’t take her eyes off it as I fetch my mobile phone out of the drawer of the dresser and turn it on.

‘That,’ she says, ‘looks like something from the Neolithic era.’

‘It calls and texts people for you,’ I say. ‘That’s all you need.’

I glance at the clock again as the phone gets itself going. Only three hours until my train. What shall I wear? I wish I’d thought more seriously about the question of whether culottes are ‘in’ now. I quite like the new pair Betsy let me borrow, but I don’t want to look decades out of date.

‘Is someone knocking?’ Leena asks, looking startled.

We sit in silence for a moment, the two mobile phones on the table between us. There’s an insistent tapping sound coming from somewhere, but it’s not the front door.

I huff. ‘It’ll be Arnold. He always knocks on the kitchen window.’

Leena wrinkles up her nose. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say testily, getting up. ‘There’s a gate in the hedge between my garden and his, and he seems to think it gives him the right to trespass whenever he likes.’

‘What an arse,’ Leena says airily as we head for the kitchen.

‘Shh !’

‘Oh, isn’t Arnold going deaf?’

‘No, that’s Roland, Penelope’s husband.’

‘Oh. Well. In that case: what an arse,’ Leena repeats in a stage whisper, making me snigger.

When we round the corner into the kitchen, Arnold’s face looms very large in the window. The glass is clouded with his breath, but I can still see his hawkish nose, straggly flying hair, and bottle-thick glasses. I narrow my eyes.

‘Yes, Arnold?’ I say, pointedly refusing to open the window. Every conversation is a battle of wills when it comes to Arnold. You have to stand your ground on every point, even the really insignificant ones you don’t actually mind about.

‘Those cats!’ he yells.

‘I can hear you perfectly well at normal volume, thank you,’ I say, as icily as I can. ‘You are well aware this house isn’t double-glazed.’ He’s always on at me about that too.

‘Those cats of yours ate all my pansies!’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ I tell him. ‘Cats don’t eat pansies.’

‘Yours do!’ Arnold says furiously. ‘Would you just open the window or invite me in, so we can have a proper conversation like civilised adults?’

‘Of course,’ I say, with a polite smile. ‘Do come around to the front door and knock, and we’ll see if I’m in. Like civilised adults.’

In the corner of my eye I can see Leena staring at me with her mouth a little open.

‘I can see you’re in,’ Arnold says, eyebrows drawing together in the thunderous frown that means I’m really getting to him. ‘Just let me in the side door, would you?’

My polite smile is still in place. ‘It’s jammed.’

‘I saw you walk in and out of there just this morning to put the rubbish out!’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Are you watching me, now, Arnold?’

He blusters. ‘No,’ he says, ‘of course not. I just … it’s slippy out when it’s been raining. You really ought to get a grab rail put next to that door.’

I bristle. Grab rails are for old ladies who can’t keep steady on their feet. When I reach that stage, I hope I shall gracefully accede to the horrors of stair lifts and standing aids, but given that I am currently able to swim twenty lengths in the Daredale swimming pool and can even manage a jog if I’m late for the bus, I do not like the suggestion that I’m so doddery I need a grab rail.

This, of course, is precisely why Arnold has suggested it. The old sod.

‘Well,’ Leena says brightly, ‘this has been a constructive conversation thus far, but we’ve got a lot to do this morning, so perhaps we could push on. Did you actually see the cats eating the pansies, Arnold?’

Arnold considers lying. He’s a dreadful liar – he can’t manage to come up with a fib without a lengthy pause beforehand.

‘No,’ he admits eventually. ‘But I know it was them. They’re always at it, eating my flowers just when they’re in bloom.’

Leena nods sagely. ‘Well, Arnold, as soon as you have some evidence of that, do give us a call. I’ll be house-sitting for Eileen for the next two months, so it’ll be me you’ll be dealing with.’

Arnold blinks a few times. I try not to smile. Leena is using her work voice, and she sounds wonderfully intimidating.

‘OK?’ Leena says.

‘Just keep an eye on those cats,’ is Arnold’s parting shot, and then he’s striding off to the gate between our gardens again.

‘You need to replace that gate with a large fence,’ Leena says, rolling her eyes at Arnold’s back. ‘You were hilarious, Grandma – I’ve never seen you being bitchy before.’