The Switch(97)

Betsy blinks for a moment, then sets her scone down. ‘I should have told you to give Wade the boot thirty years ago.’

I consider the point. It probably would have made a difference, that. I’d always rather thought Betsy would say I ought to stay with my husband through thick and thin, the way you’re supposed to.

‘We’ve got a few years left in us,’ Betsy says after a moment. ‘Let’s promise to meddle in each other’s business as much as we see fit from now on, shall we, dear?’

‘Let’s,’ I say, as she picks up her scone again. ‘More tea?’

*

The following week I bump into Arnold on my way home from painting at Marian’s; Leena was here at the weekend, and we got almost all the downstairs rooms painted, so I was only finishing up edges today. I’m dressed in my shabbiest painting clothes, threadbare old trousers and a T-shirt that shows rather more of my upper arms than I’d like anybody to see.

Arnold gives me a stiff nod. ‘Ey up,’ he says. ‘How are you, Eileen?’

‘Oh, fine, thank you,’ I say. Things have been peculiar ever since I got home. In fact, aside from the day Marian left, I’ve hardly seen him. After years of Arnold popping up in my kitchen window and calling out to me over the hedge, I can’t help wondering whether this sudden absence is significant.

‘Good, good. Well, I’ll be on my way.’

‘Arnold,’ I say, catching his arm. ‘I wanted to say thank you. Leena said what a help you were, while I was away in London.’

‘Tell you about the car, did she?’ Arnold says, looking down at my hand on his arm. He’s in a short-sleeved shirt and his skin is warm beneath my palm.

‘The car?’

‘Oh.’ His eyes flick to the dent in the hedge I’ve been wondering about for weeks. ‘Nothing. It was no trouble. She’s a good’un, that Leena of yours.’

‘She is,’ I say, smiling. ‘Still. Thank you.’

He moves away, back towards his front gate. ‘See you when I see you,’ he says, and I frown, because that seems to be hardly at all, these days.

‘Will you come in?’ I call, as he walks away. ‘For a cup of tea?’

‘Not today.’ He doesn’t even turn; he’s through his gate and gone before I can clock that he’s turned me down.

This is irritating. As much as Arnold and I have always been at each other’s throats, I’ve always thought … I’ve always had the impression … Well, I never invited him for tea, but I knew that if I did, he’d come. Let’s put it that way.

Only now it seems something’s changed.

I narrow my eyes at his house. It’s clear that whatever is wrong, Arnold’s not going to talk to me about it any time soon.

Sometimes, with obstinate people like Arnold, you have no choice but to force their hand.

*

‘What have you done?’ Arnold roars through the kitchen window.

I put my book down, carefully popping my bookmark in the right place.

‘Eileen Cotton! Get in here now!’

‘In where?’ I ask innocently, stepping into the kitchen. ‘For you to ask me in anywhere, Arnold, you’d have to be in there too, and you seem to be outside, to my eye.’

Arnold’s cheeks are flushed with rage. His glasses are a little askew; I have a strange desire to open the window, reach through, and straighten them up again.

‘The hedge. Is gone.’

‘Oh, the hedge between your garden and mine?’ I say airily, reaching for the cloth by the sink and giving the sideboard a wipe. ‘Yes. I had Basil’s nephew chop it down.’

‘When?’ Arnold asks. ‘It was there yesterday!’

‘Overnight,’ I say. ‘He says he works best by torchlight.’

‘He says no such thing,’ Arnold says, nose almost pressed to the glass. ‘You got him to do it at night-time so I wouldn’t know! What were you thinking, Eileen? There’s no boundary! There’s just … one big garden!’

‘Isn’t it nice?’ I say. I’m being terribly nonchalant and wiping down all the surfaces, but I can’t help sneaking little glances at his ruby-red face. ‘So much more light.’

‘What on earth did you do it for?’ Arnold asks, exasperated. ‘You fought tooth and nail to keep that hedge back when I wanted it replaced with a fence.’

‘Yes, well, times change,’ I say, rinsing out the cloth and smiling out at Arnold. ‘I decided, since you were so reluctant to come around, I’d make it easier for you.’

Arnold stares at me through the glass. We’re only a couple of feet apart; I can see how wide the pupils are in his hazel eyes.

‘My God,’ he says, stepping backwards. ‘My God, you did this just to brass me off, didn’t you?’ He starts to laugh. ‘You know, Eileen Cotton, you are no better than a teenage boy with a crush. What next? Pulling my hair?’

I bristle. ‘I beg your pardon!’ Then, because I can’t resist: ‘And I wouldn’t like to risk what’s left of it by giving it a tug.’

‘You are a ridiculous woman!’

‘And you are a ridiculous man. Coming in here, telling me you missed me, then marching off and not talking to me for days on end? What’s the matter with you?’