The Switch(21)

‘Yes. A year and two months.’

‘What a dear girl she was.’

I stare down at my tea. I doubt Betsy really liked Carla much – my sister was too bold and brash to be the sort of young woman Betsy would approve of. I grit my teeth, surprised to feel the heat around my eyes that means tears are coming.

‘And your mother … She’s found it very hard, hasn’t she?’

How did this conversation get so personal so quickly? I drink a few more gulps of tea – it’s too hot and scalds my tongue.

‘Everyone processes grief differently.’ I find this line very useful for conversations like this. It usually shuts things down.

‘Yes, but she did rather … collapse in on herself, didn’t she? Is she coping, that’s what I wonder.’

I stare at Betsy. This is personal to the point of rudeness, surely?

‘Can’t we do something?’ Betsy offers, setting her tea down. ‘Won’t you let us help?’

‘What would you be able to do?’ It comes out too sharply, an emphasis on you that I didn’t mean to place there, and I see Betsy recoil, offended. ‘I mean … I don’t see …’

‘I quite understand,’ Betsy says stiffly. ‘I won’t be any use, I’m sure.’

‘No, I mean …’

I trail off, and her phone rings, ear-piercing in the silence. Betsy takes for ever to answer it, fumbling with the leather case.

‘Hello?’

A tinny voice rattles through the phone, indistinct but definitely very loud.

‘There’s ham and cheese in the fridge, if you want a sarnie,’ Betsy says.

More tinny rattling.

‘Well, I just put the mayonnaise on one side, and … Yes. I’m sure you – all right, Cliff, love, I’ll come home. Yes. Absolutely. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

I wince. Has he actually just summoned her home to make him a sandwich? That feels so ridiculous – if Ethan tried to do that, I’d … I’d probably laugh, actually, because it would be so absurd I’d know he would have to be joking. Presumably it’s different for Betsy’s generation, though – it wouldn’t be strange for a woman to make all her husband’s meals fifty years ago, I suppose.

Betsy puts her phone back into her handbag, then tries to get up too quickly and doesn’t quite have the momentum for it. She rocks back into the chair, helpless, like one of those dolls with a weight in the bottom.

‘Do stay,’ I say, conscious I’ve said all the wrong things. ‘I’m sure your husband can wait, if you want to have a—’

‘My husband cannot wait,’ Betsy says sharply. ‘I have to be off.’

I move to help her up.

‘No, no, I’m quite all right,’ she says. Once standing, she fixes me with another very serious look. ‘I hope you understand what you’re taking on here in Hamleigh, Leena.’

I can’t help it – my lip twitches. Betsy’s frown deepens.

‘I’m sure it all looks very easy for someone like you, but Eileen does an awful lot around here, and we need you to step up. You’ll be taking on her responsibilities for the May Day Planning Committee, I gather?’

‘Yes, absolutely,’ I say, managing to look serious this time.

‘Good. Well. I’ll drop around your task list in due course. Goodbye, Leena,’ she says, and then, with what I would genuinely describe as a flounce, she heads for the door.





8


Eileen


It’s a miracle that I’m still here, quite honestly. So far, since arriving in London, I have brushed with death five times.

1) I was nearly crushed by what I have now learned to be a ‘pedibus’: a strange vehicle propelled by a lot of whooping young men cycling and drinking beer at the same time. I had to really dash across the road to avoid them. I’m a little concerned about how my knees will feel tomorrow, but at least they’re still attached to the rest of me.

2) I stood on the left on an escalator (not the done thing, I’ve learned.)

3) I ate a ‘stir fry’ cooked by Fitz (dreadful cook. Awful. I’ll try and teach him a thing or two while I’m here.)

4) I changed trains at Monument station (the map says it’s the same station as Bank, but I’m not convinced. The walk from one train to the next seemed to go on for yonks. My legs were already jiggered after my run-in with the pedibus; I had to have a sit-down next to a busker playing a ukulele. He was very understanding. He gave me his amp to sit on.)

5) I met the cat that lives next door, a feral tabby with half an ear missing. It launched itself down the stairs at me, hissing, and then immediately conked itself out on the banister. Small mercies.



I’m loath to admit it, but I’m exhausted, and more than a little shaken. London is all so fast, and everybody is so miserable. One man on the underground swore at me for getting on too slowly; when I stopped to get a map out in Oxford Street a lady bashed right into me and didn’t even say sorry. Then once I was back at Leena’s building, I ran into the neighbours from downstairs, a young, arty couple wearing socks and sandals, and when I tried to make conversation, I saw the woman roll her eyes at her husband.

I’m very out of place here. I’ve only seen three other people who looked over the age of seventy all day, and one of them turned out to be a street artist wearing an Einstein costume.