The Switch(62)

‘We’ll have you back to yourself in no time,’ Bee says. ‘How’s Martha? Any sign of Yaz?’

‘Martha’s still in the hospital for now, and Yaz has nearly arrived.’ I sip at the water. I hadn’t noticed how thirsty I was; my throat is so dry it hurts. ‘She seems to have conjured up a house that Martha likes after all – not to buy, but rented. They’re getting the keys today.’

Bee rolls her eyes, fetching us plates from the cupboard. ‘Well, that’s impractical,’ she says. ‘You can’t move in on the day you bring your baby home.’

‘I know,’ I say dryly, ‘but there’s no telling Martha that. Oh!’ I say, straightening up. ‘How was your date with the man from the library?’

Bee laughs. ‘Half a glass of water and there’s Eileen Cotton again.’ She pushes a plate of steaming mash and sausages towards me. ‘Eat that, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

I scoop up a forkful of mash, chew, then look expectantly at her. She lifts her eyes in fond exasperation, an expression she usually only wears when she’s talking about Jaime.

‘The date was lovely,’ she says, picking up her fork. ‘He’s smart and funny and … not my type at all. In a good way,’ she adds, seeing me open my mouth to speak. ‘But then he made a big thing of how he doesn’t really get on well with kids once I mentioned Jaime.’ She shrugs. ‘I think we can agree that “must be cool with kids” is one part of my usual list we shouldn’t throw out the window.’

How disappointing. But no matter. I was unlikely to get it right off the bat. ‘You should try scouting around a nice expensive wine bar next. That’s my recommendation.’

Bee looks at me shrewdly. ‘Last week you’d have said you’d take me to one yourself. You’re thinking of going home, aren’t you?’

‘Leena mentioned that, did she?’

‘She was worried about you.’

‘I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ I say. I put my fork down for a moment, taking deep breaths; the food is making me feel worse, though I’m sure it’ll do me good in the long run. ‘And she ought not to be worrying about me.’

‘Oh, because you don’t worry about her?’ Bee asks, eyebrows raised.

‘Of course I do. She’s my granddaughter.’

Bee chews for a moment, looking serious. ‘Can I tell you something I’m worrying about?’ she says. ‘About Leena?’

I swallow. ‘Of course.’

‘I think Ceci’s up to something.’

‘Ceci?’ I narrow my eyes. She’s the one that sent the text message to Leena’s phone about the work project going from ‘strength to strength’.

‘I saw her having coffee with Ethan down by Borough Market. He’s a consultant, she’s an assistant – she’s probably just networking,’ Bee says, pouring me another glass of water. ‘But still. I’d like to know if Ethan mentioned it to Leena.’

‘You don’t think …’

Bee swills her drink. ‘I don’t know what I think. But, I mean … Do you actually trust Ethan?’

‘Not a jot,’ I say, putting my glass down a little too hard; water splashes across the counter. ‘Why does he have three phones? What’s he really doing on all those fishing trips? How are his shoes always so shiny?’

Bee gives me an odd look. ‘That’s because he pays someone to polish them, Eileen,’ she says. ‘But on the other points: agreed. So, yes, he was there for Leena when Carla died. Give the man a medal. But he’s been riding on that ever since – from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s stopped trying. It’s a huge time for her, and he’s gone totally AWOL. Whereas, when he has a crisis at work, who’s there to pick up the pieces and help out with the slide shows?’

I frown. ‘She doesn’t, does she?’

‘All the time. The other day he suggested this brilliant idea for placating a tricky client and everybody loved it. It was only after the meeting that I clocked where I’d heard the idea before: Leena had suggested it to me when we were on the Upgo project. It was her idea, not his, but he never said a word to give her the credit.’ She sighs. ‘Doesn’t mean he has it in him to cheat on her, though. Maybe it means the opposite. I mean, the man takes her for granted, but he must see his life would be a lot less cushy without her.’

In my experience, men do not think in this fashion. ‘Hmm,’ I say, attempting another mouthful of food as the nausea subsides a little.

‘I don’t know. I guess it was just … seeing Ethan in that coffee shop staring Ceci in the eyes …’

‘There was staring?’

‘Of the highest order,’ Bee says.

‘What do we do?’ I ask, rubbing my neck, which is beginning to ache. ‘Can you honeytrap him?’

‘I think you’ve been watching too many crime dramas with Martha,’ Bee says, shooting me an amused glance. ‘I will not be honeytrapping anybody, thank you.’

‘Well, I can’t very well do it, can I?’ I say. ‘Come on. Step up.’

Bee laughs. ‘There will be no honeytrap!’ she says. ‘I’ll just … keep an eye on things.’