The Switch(39)

‘Actually, yes, do you know what – let’s do it. I’ve done quite enough wallowy weeping.’ She stands up, rubbing her eyes. ‘I was thinking we could try the antique place down the road, see if we can get some nice furniture without spending too much?’

I smile. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

*

‘Oh. My. God.’ Martha clutches her throat. ‘This place. It’s a treasure trove. It’s – is that a genuine Chesterfield Behind that other armchair?’

She starts clambering over one of Letitia’s many coffee tables in her eagerness to get to the armchairs; I reach out to steady her, laughing.

‘Easy, love. We’re going to need some help moving all this.’

‘And you’re sure we can use it downstairs?’ Martha asks Letitia, wide-eyed.

Letitia shrugs. ‘Why not?’ she says. ‘As long as it doesn’t go walkabout, I don’t mind lending it. Especially if it …’ She swallows. ‘I like the sound of a communal area. It might be a nice way to meet people.’

I pause in thought, fiddling with one of Letitia’s bowls of trinkets. There must be lots of people like Letitia out there. I can’t imagine other apartment blocks are any better at getting people together than this one. It must be hard, living alone in this city, especially for the elderly.

‘Do you think the landlord would let us use the space for something … a bit … bigger?’ I ask Martha.

‘Why, what are you thinking?’

‘I’m not quite sure,’ I say. ‘But … Letitia, do you happen to have a few spare dining tables?’

‘I’ve got some in storage,’ she says. ‘In the basement.’

Martha looks like she’s about to faint. ‘Storage!’ she says. ‘There’s storage!’

‘Lead the way,’ I say to Letitia. ‘And we need to collect some assistants en route. I have just the people.’

The rude sandal-wearers who rolled their eyes at me are called Rupert and Aurora, I have discovered (thanks to thin party-walls). I knock firmly on their door, with Letitia and Martha on either side of me.

Rupert answers and looks immediately wrongfooted. He pats absently at his rounded belly and tucks his hair behind his ears.

‘Umm, hi,’ he says. ‘I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name – Isla, was it?’

‘Eileen,’ I say. ‘Eileen Cotton. This is Martha, and Letitia. And you are?’

‘Rupert,’ he says, offering me his hand. It’s splattered with paint.

I shake it, but only after a beat or two. There’s neighbourly, and then there’s having no backbone.

‘Listen, Eileen, I’ve been meaning to catch you and apologise,’ Rupert says, looking abashed. ‘My girlfriend can be a little grouchy when she’s working on a new piece – she’s a sculptor. She was grappling with some tricky ironwork when we first met you and she’d not eaten for almost a day and … she was pretty rude. I’m really sorry. She is too.’

My smile becomes somewhat less haughty. ‘Well. We can all be bad-tempered when we’re hungry,’ I say graciously. ‘And if you’re looking to make amends, we have just the job for you. Come on.’

‘What … now?’

I turn to look at him again. ‘Busy, are you?’

‘No, no,’ he says hurriedly. ‘Let me just get some shoes. I’m all yours.’

*

We’re standing in a loose circle at the centre of our soon-to-be communal space, a hodgepodge of furniture on all sides, sunlight streaming through the beautiful old windows.

Now that they’re all looking at me so expectantly, my confidence is wavering. I felt like my old self for a moment there; now I’m reminded of that blank-faced circle in the village hall whenever I suggest a new idea at a Neighbourhood Watch meeting.

I swallow. Nothing ventured, and all that, I remind myself. What would Leena do?

‘I thought we could have a club,’ I say, fidgeting with the strap of my handbag. ‘There could be activities – dominoes, card games, Scrabble, that sort of thing. And a hot meal, if we can find a way to pay for it. Being here in London, at my age, it’s making me realise it might get lonely, for some older people.’

There’s a long silence.

‘It’s probably a terrible idea. Basil is always telling me my projects are too ambitious. But – I – once, when I was younger, I was going to come to London and work on something a bit like this, but for young people. And now I think it would be … well, it would feel very special for me to be able to create a community here, only for older people.’ I shrug rather helplessly. ‘Perhaps it can’t be done. I don’t really know where I’d even begin.’

‘Floorboards,’ Martha says suddenly.

We all look at her.

‘Sorry,’ she says, bouncing slightly on her toes. ‘But I think underneath this mangy carpet there are floorboards, and I just thought that might be the place to start if we want to make the place feel more inviting. And then we can have board games tables there, card games here – maybe bridge, my granddad loves bridge. And a long table here, along the back of the space, for everyone to eat together.’ She smiles at me. ‘I love your idea, Eileen. It’s brilliant. And it’s not too ambitious at all.’