I suppress a smile at Grandma’s grand list of responsibilities. ‘You’re not asking. I’m offering,’ I tell her.

There’s a long silence.

‘This seems a bit crackers,’ Grandma says eventually.

‘I know. It is, a bit. But I think it’s genius, too.’ I grin. ‘I will not take no for an answer, and you know when I say that, I one hundred per cent mean it.’

Grandma looks amused. ‘That’s true enough.’ She breathes out slowly. ‘Gosh. Do you think I can handle London?’

‘Oh, please. The question, Grandma, is whether London can handle you.’

6

Eileen

Leena travelled back to London the next day, packed her bags, and returned to Hamleigh. She can’t have stayed there longer than an hour. I couldn’t help wondering whether she was afraid that if she did, she’d come to her senses and change her mind.

Because this swap is a mad idea, of course. Barmy.

But it’s brilliant, too, and it’s the sort of idea I would have had, once. Before I got so used to my favourite seat at Neighbourhood Watch meetings and my green armchair in the living room and the comfort of seeing the same people, day in, day out. Before Wade squashed all the barmy, brilliant ideas out of me.

The more Leena talks about strolling through Hyde Park and visiting her favourite coffee shops in Shoreditch, the more excited I get. And to know that Leena is here, in Hamleigh, with her mother – well, I’d go a lot further than London if it meant those two spending some time together at last.

I smooth down a fresh page in my project diary, settling back in my chair. The key to all this will be making sure Leena stays busy while she’s here. Her boss might think she needs to slow down for a while, but the last time Leena did anything slowly was in 1995 (she was very slow learning to ride a bike) and if she’s not got anything to do, there’s a danger she’ll go to pieces. So I’m leaving her a list of a few of my projects. She can look after them in my absence.

Projects

1) Walk Jackson Greenwood’s dog Wednesdays 7 a.m.

2) Drive van to bingo on Easter Monday, 5 p.m. More detail on p. 2.

3) Attend Neighbourhood Watch meetings Fridays 5 p.m. (Write notes, otherwise nobody will remember what you’ve discussed by next week. Also, take extra biscuits if it’s Basil’s turn – he always brings out-of-date broken bags of digestives from the pound shop, and they’re no good for dunking.)

4) Help plan May Day Festival. (I’m chair of the committee, but best speak to Betsy about joining, she likes to handle that sort of thing.)

5) Spring clean the garden. (Please start with the shed. It’s under the ivy somewhere.)

There. That’s plenty to be getting on with.

I glance at the dining-room clock: it’s six o’clock in the morning, and today I’m off to London. No use waiting around thinking about it, Leena says. Best just dive in.

Beneath my excitement there’s a thrum of nerves. I’ve felt plenty of dread, this last year or so, but I haven’t felt the thrill of not knowing what’s to come for a long, long time.

I swallow, hands jittering in my lap. I hope Marian will understand that some time alone with Leena is the right thing for them both. And if she goes through another of her difficult times, I know Leena will look after her. I have to trust that she will.

‘Are you all packed?’ Leena says, popping up in the doorway in her pyjamas.

She looked so worn out when she arrived on Saturday: her skin, usually warm and golden, was sallow and greasy, and she’d lost weight. But today the dark smudges under her eyes have lightened, and for once her hair is loose, which makes her look more relaxed. It’s such a beautiful long chestnut mane, but she’s always scraping it back and covering it in lotions. The frizz Leena complains about catches the light like a halo from here, framing her little face with its button nose and those dark, earnest eyebrows – the only good thing that father of hers gave her.

I know I’m biased, but I think she’s quite breathtakingly beautiful.

‘Yes, I’m all packed,’ I say, and my voice wobbles a little.

Leena crosses the dining room to perch next to me, giving me a one-armed hug. ‘Is this my to-do list?’ she asks, looking amused as she scans the paper in front of me. ‘Grandma, are there … how many pages is this?’

‘It’s just extra information,’ I explain.

‘Is this a labelled diagram of the television remote?’

‘Yes. It’s complicated.’

‘And … Grandma, are those all your passwords? Is that your PIN?’

‘In case you need my emergency money card. It lives in the dresser. I can write that down too, if you like?’

‘No, no, this is more than enough documentation of your personal data, I’d say,’ Leena says, tugging her phone out of her pyjama pocket and glancing at the screen. ‘Thanks, Grandma.’

‘One more thing,’ I say. ‘I need that.’

‘Pardon?’ she asks, then follows my pointing finger. ‘My phone? You need to borrow it?’

‘I want it for these two months. You can have mine. And I’ll have that nifty little portable computer of yours, too. You can use my computer. This swap isn’t just for my benefit, you know. You need to leave your London life behind you, and that means getting rid of those contraptions you’re always glued to.’

She gawps. ‘Give you my laptop and phone for two months? But … I couldn’t …’

‘You can’t do it? Can’t you cope without them?’

‘I can,’ she says quickly. ‘I just don’t see … I’m all for a break, but I don’t want to cut myself off from all humankind, Grandma.’

‘Who do you really want to speak to? You can just send them a text message, can’t you, and tell them you’ve got a different telephone number for two months. Go on, we can go through now and choose the people you want to tell.’

‘But … what about … emails? Work …’

I raise my eyebrows. She breathes out slowly, cheeks puffing.

‘It’s a phone, Leena, not a limb,’ I say. ‘Come on. Hand it over.’

I tug at it. She grips tighter, then, perhaps realising how ridiculous she’s being, lets it go. She doesn’t take her eyes off it as I fetch my mobile phone out of the drawer of the dresser and turn it on.

‘That,’ she says, ‘looks like something from the Neolithic era.’

‘It calls and texts people for you,’ I say. ‘That’s all you need.’

I glance at the clock again as the phone gets itself going. Only three hours until my train. What shall I wear? I wish I’d thought more seriously about the question of whether culottes are ‘in’ now. I quite like the new pair Betsy let me borrow, but I don’t want to look decades out of date.

‘Is someone knocking?’ Leena asks, looking startled.

We sit in silence for a moment, the two mobile phones on the table between us. There’s an insistent tapping sound coming from somewhere, but it’s not the front door.

I huff. ‘It’ll be Arnold. He always knocks on the kitchen window.’