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.

I’ve been trying to work out a good way to get her out of the house for days, and then I finally hit on it after Mum asked me to pick her up for bingo. Bingo is perfect. And the more the merrier, frankly, now that I have made the decision to invite my mother, with whom I have yet to really have a proper conversation for the last year and two months.

‘Why are you so tense?’ Nicola asks, squinting at me.

‘I’m not tense.’

She says nothing, but in a pointed sort of way.

‘It’s my mum. We don’t … we’ve not been getting on that well. And she’s late.’ I look at my watch again. Mum’s been to her yoga class in Tauntingham and asked me to pick her up from there, which is quite out of my way, but I’m trying very hard not to find that annoying.

‘Fallen out, have you?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not worth arguing with your mother over. Life’s too short for that.’

‘Well, she wouldn’t let me convince my sister to try a potentially life-saving cancer treatment. And now my sister’s dead.’

Nicola pauses. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘Golly.’

At that moment the van door slides open and my mum climbs in. I notice, with a wince, that the window on Nicola’s side is wide open.

‘Potentially life-saving treatment?’ Mum says. My stomach drops at the tone of her voice – it’s clipped with fury. She’s not spoken to me like that since I was a child. ‘What potentially life-saving treatment, Leena?’

‘I showed you,’ I say, gripping the steering wheel, not turning around. ‘I showed you the research, I gave you that pamphlet from the medical centre in the States—’

‘Oh, the pamphlet. Right. The treatment that Carla’s doctors advised against. The one everyone said wouldn’t work and would merely prolong her pain and—’

‘Not everyone.’

‘Sorry, everyone but your one American doctor who wanted to charge us tens of thousands of pounds for some false hope.’

I slam my hand against the steering wheel and turn to face her. She’s flushed with emotion – it’s dappling the skin of her chest, flaring on her cheeks. I feel a wave of almost-fear, because we’re really doing this, we’re really having this conversation, it’s happening.

‘Hope. A chance. You always said all my life Cotton women don’t quit, and then when it mattered more than anything else in the world you let Carla do just that.’

Nicola clears her throat. Embarrassed, Mum and I glance in her direction with our mouths open, as though we’ve both been caught mid-word.