The Switch(45)

‘Good morning!’ she says. ‘Let me get you a coffee – what do you fancy?’

‘A flat white, please,’ I say, feeling very pleased with myself.

Bee raises her eyebrows and grins. ‘Very good!’ she says. ‘Back in a tick.’

I pull my phone out of my handbag as she gets up to give our order. It’s taken me a while – and several lessons from Fitz – to get used to Leena’s phone, but now I’m starting to get the hang of it. I know enough to tell I’ve got a new message from Tod, for instance. And there are those butterflies again …

Dear Eileen, What a splendid evening. Let’s repeat soon, shall we? Yours sincerely, Tod x



‘OK, I know it’s wrong to snoop, so I’m just going to come out and say right away that I totally read that message,’ Bee says, sitting down again and placing a tray on the table. She’s got us both muffins, too. ‘Lemon or chocolate?’ she says.

Bee isn’t at all as I expected. She’s very thoughtful, actually. I’m not sure why I assumed she wouldn’t be – perhaps because she’s so beautiful, which is a little uncharitable of me.

‘Chocolate,’ I hazard, guessing she wants the lemon. She looks pleased and pulls the plate her way. ‘And I forgive you for snooping. I’m always doing it to other people on the underground. That’s the one advantage of being squashed so close together.’

Bee giggles. ‘So? Is Tod the one?’

‘Oh, no,’ I say firmly. ‘We’re just casual. Non-exclusive.’

Bee gawps at me. ‘Seriously?’

‘Is that such a surprise?’

‘Well, I …’ She pauses to think, chewing a mouthful of muffin. ‘I guess I just assumed you’d be looking for something serious. A life partner.’

I attempt a nonchalant shrug, then wince as the movement pulls on a newly stiff muscle in my back. ‘Maybe. Really, I’m just in it for the adventure.’

Bee sighs. ‘I wish I was. Looking for a future father to your child really takes the fun out of a first date.’

‘Still no luck?’

Bee makes a face. ‘I knew the over-seventies’ market would be better. Maybe I should be going for an older man.’

‘Don’t you be straying into my dating pool, young lady,’ I say. ‘Leave the old men for the old ladies or we’ll never stand a chance.’

Bee laughs. ‘No, no, they’re all yours. But I do wonder if I might be a bit too picky.’

I busy myself with my muffin. I ought not to interfere, really – Bee knows herself, she knows what’s good for her.

But I have been around a lot longer than Bee has. And she’s been so open with me. Perhaps there’s no harm in speaking my mind.

‘May I say what I think when I hear your list of rules?’ I say.

‘Absolutely,’ Bee says. ‘Please do.’

‘I think it sounds like a recipe for spinsterhood.’

She bursts out laughing. ‘Oh, please,’ she says. ‘My list is totally achievable. As a society we have painfully low standards of men, do you know that?’

I think of Wade. I so rarely asked anything of him, especially once Marian was grown. All I expected was fidelity, though even that was giving him too much credit, as it turns out. And Carla and Leena’s father, what did Marian ask of him? He used to sit around all day in jogging bottoms, watching obscure sports on strange channels, and even then she bent over backwards to keep him. When he finally left, he never looked back – he saw the girls once a year at best, and now he and Leena aren’t even in touch.

Perhaps Bee has a point. But …

‘While I’m all for a good list, I think you might be going about this the wrong way. You need to stop thinking and start doing.’

I finish off my coffee and stand up, chair rasping on the bare concrete floor. This café feels like a neon-painted war bunker. It’s making me uncomfortable.

‘Start doing what? Where are we going?’ Bee asks as I get my bags together.

‘To find you a different sort of man,’ I say grandly, leading her out of the coffee shop.

*

‘The library?’ Bee looks around, bemused. ‘I didn’t even know there was a library in Shoreditch.’

‘You ought to become a member,’ I say sternly. ‘Libraries are dying out and it’s a travesty.’

Bee looks rather chastened. ‘Right,’ she says, peering at the nearest shelf, which happens to be paperback romance novels. She perks up. ‘Ooh, I’ll take that man,’ she says, pointing to a shirtless gentleman on a Mills & Boon cover.

I take her by the arms and steer her towards the crime and thriller section. She’s unlikely to find a man if she’s dawdling next to the romances; the only other person in sight is a shifty-looking lady who has clearly given her husband the slip for a couple of minutes and plans to make the most. Ah yes: there’s a blond-haired gent in jeans and a shirt browsing the John Grishams. Well, he’s certainly a contender to look at him.

‘What do you think?’ I whisper, retreating behind some cookery books and gesturing for Bee to take a look.

She leans past to look at the blond gentleman. ‘Ooh,’ she says, cocking her head in thought. ‘Yeah, maybe! Oh, no, wait, those shoes … Boat shoes are a shorthand for preppy Oxbridge boy,’ she tells me in a regretful whisper. ‘I predict a six-figure salary and a toxic inferiority complex instilled by helicopter parents.’