The Switch(47)

EileenCotton79 says: Hello, Howard. I’m sorry you’re not having a good day. Do you have neighbours you can talk to?

OldCountryBoy says: They’re all young and trendy! They wouldn’t be interested in talking to me.



I hesitate. Would it be too forward to mention the Silver Shoreditchers’ Social Club?

*

Oh, bother it. Why not?

EileenCotton79 says: I’m trying to set up a social club that you might like. It’s for over-seventies in my area. We’re having some trouble getting it off the ground at the moment, but once it’s up and running, would you be interested in coming along? I know you’re in West London, aren’t you, but you’d be more than welcome all the same!



There’s an unusually long delay before Howard replies, and I start to feel a little silly. Perhaps more than welcome was a bit much. But then, at last …

OldCountryBoy says: I would love to come along! Will you be there?

EileenCotton79 says: Of course!

OldCountryBoy says: Then I can’t wait for us to meet in person



I smile, but before I can reply, another dot dot dot lights up the screen.

OldCountryBoy says: Maybe I could even help out somehow. I’m good at making websites – I used to do it as part of my job. Would you be interested in me creating one for your social club?

EileenCotton79 says: How exciting! Yes, that sounds wonderful. At the moment we need to get permission from one other person in the building, but we should have that soon.

OldCountryBoy says: I can’t wait to be involved!



I beam. An alert pings, making me jump.

One new user has viewed your profile.



I hover over the notification, distracted, then remember what Bee showed me about how you can keep the conversation open in another box. I click.

Arnold1234. No profile picture, no description, nothing. That’s quite unusual on this website. My profile tells you all sorts of things, from my favourite holiday locations to my favourite books.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. Of course, there are lots of Arnolds in the world. It’s not an uncommon name.

But I can’t help thinking …

I press the message button on the screen.

EileenCotton79 says: Hello, Arnold! I notice you were looking at my page and I thought I would say hello.



I go back to my conversation with Old Country Boy. It would be very easy to get confused here and message the wrong man. Not that I’m complaining about juggling men, mind.

OldCountryBoy says: I’m going to spend my evening with a good book, I think! What are you reading at the moment?

EileenCotton79 says: I’m working my way through Agatha Christie’s plays again. I never get tired of her!



Meanwhile, in the other window:

Arnold1234: Eileen? It’s Arnold Macintyre from next door.



I knew it! What’s that old sod doing on my dating page? I press ‘my profile’ and read it again as if through Arnold’s eyes. I cringe. It sounds awfully boastful all of a sudden, and very silly. How could I say that I was full of life and looking for a new adventure

EileenCotton79 says: What are you doing on here Arnold???



I regret the triple question mark as soon as I’ve pressed send. It doesn’t convey the haughty higher-ground attitude I usually try to take when it comes to dealing with Arnold.

Arnold1234 says: Same as you.



I huff.

EileenCotton79 says: Well, good for you, but you can stay off my page!

Arnold1234 says: Sorry, Eileen. I was just looking for some ideas of what to say on mine. I’m not very good at this sort of thing.



I soften slightly. I hadn’t thought of that.

EileenCotton79 says: I had Leena’s friend help me with mine. Why not ask Jackson for help?

Arnold1234 says: Ask Jackson for advice? I’ll end up with some floozy called Petunia or Narcissus or something.



I snort with laughter.

EileenCotton79 says: You should be so lucky, Arnold Macintyre!



Oopsie, I’d forgotten about Howard for a moment there. I frown, clicking back to the right conversation. I don’t want to get distracted with old Hamleigh folks.

OldCountryBoy says: I’ve never tried Agatha Christie, but I will now that you have recommended her! Which book should I start with, Eileen?



I smile, already typing. Now, this is more like it.





17


Leena


I glance at my watch, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. I am sitting in the driving seat of the school van, which is apparently lent to my grandmother every so often so she can drive the gang to bingo. Beside me is Nicola, my new – and only – client in my role as voluntary taxi driver for the Knargill elderly. She’s got to be at least ninety-five – I’ve never seen anybody with so many wrinkles – but her brown hair is only just threaded with grey, and she has magnificently bushy eyebrows, wiry like an eccentric professor’s. So far, she’s spent most of our journeys together coming up with elaborate unfounded judgements about any driver we pass on the road; she is very rude and absolutely hilarious. I’ve informed Bee that I have a new best friend.

As well as being very old, and very judgemental, Nicola is also very isolated. She told me when we first met that she didn’t know what loneliness meant until her husband passed away four years ago; now she will go days, sometimes weeks, without even so much as meeting eyes with another soul. There’s nothing like it, she says. It’s a kind of madness.