‘All those in favour of Leena’s idea?’ says Betsy.

No hands.

‘Sorry, dear,’ says Penelope. ‘But Jackson knows best.’

Jackson has the decency to look slightly abashed. He didn’t bring handouts. He didn’t even bring food samples. He just stood up, looked all shabbily sexily charming, and said some stuff about coconut shies and sunhats and throw-the-ring-over-the-pineapple. And then, his pièce de résistance: Samantha’s really set her heart on coming dressed as a satsuma.

Oh, hold on …

There’s one hand up! One hand!

Arnold is standing in the doorway with his arm in the air.

‘I vote for Leena’s idea,’ he says. ‘Sorry, son, but hers has falcons.’

I beam at him. Jackson, as is his wont, just looks amused by everything. What does it take to rile that man?

‘I wasn’t aware you were part of the May Day Committee, Arnold,’ Betsy says.

‘Am now,’ he says comfortably, loping in and pulling up a chair.

‘Well, it’s still a strong majority in favour of Jackson’s theme, as I’m sure you’re aware, Leena.’

‘All right,’ I say, as graciously as I can manage. ‘That’s fine. Tropical it is.’

I’m smarting, obviously. I wanted to win. But pulling all that information together was the most fun I’ve had in ages, and at least I got Arnold on my team – and turning up to a village committee, too. Wait until Grandma hears that Arnold the village hermit has been chipping in for the greater good.

I mouth Thanks at Arnold as the meeting moves on, and he shoots me a quick grin. Once Basil’s started droning on about squirrels again, I switch chairs to sit next to Arnold, ignoring Roland’s visible dismay at my change to the seating plan.

‘What possessed you to come along?’ I ask him quietly.

Arnold shrugs. ‘Felt like trying something new,’ he says.

‘You’re turning over a new leaf!’ I whisper. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a small paperback: Murder on the Orient Express. Betsy looks on in horror as he sits back and opens it up to his page, despite the fact that Basil is mid flow.

‘Don’t get carried away, now,’ Arnold tells me, oblivious to the stares from the rest of the committee. ‘I mainly came for the biscuits.’

Whatever. Arnold is basically Shrek: a grumpy green ogre who’s forgotten how to be nice to people. And I plan on being his Donkey. I’ve already invited him around for tea again this week, and he’s actually said he’ll come, so we’re definitely making progress.

If Grumpy Arnold can come to a village committee meeting, anything’s possible. As the meeting comes to a close, I watch Betsy make her way slowly to the coat stand, smoothing her silk scarf against her throat. So we got off on the wrong foot. So what? It’s never too late to change things, that’s what I told Arnold.

I stride over, chin lifted, and join her as she leaves the hall.

‘How are you, Betsy?’ I ask her. ‘You must pop around for tea sometime. You and your husband. I’d love to meet him.’

She looks at me warily. ‘Cliff doesn’t like to go out,’ she says, pulling on her jacket.

‘Oh, I’m sorry – is he unwell?’

‘No,’ she says, turning away.

I walk beside her. ‘I know you must be missing having Grandma here to talk to. I hope that if you – if you ever needed help, or someone to speak to, you could come to me.’

She looks at me incredulously. ‘You’re offering to help me?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what would you be able to do?’ she asks, and it takes me a moment to realise she’s mimicking what I said to her that first time she came around.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say frankly. ‘That was rude of me, when I said that. I’m just not used to people offering help and meaning it, not when it comes to Carla’s death. People usually don’t like to talk about her so directly. I was taken aback.’

Betsy doesn’t speak for a while. We walk silently down Lower Lane.

‘I know it was you who got the council to fill in these potholes,’ she says eventually, nodding to the pavement ahead.

‘Oh, yeah, it was no big deal. They should have done it ages ago. I just made a few calls.’

‘It hasn’t gone unnoticed,’ she says stiffly, as we part ways.

18

Eileen

It takes me five attempts to pin down the uncharitable woman who lives in Flat 6. She’s so rarely in, goodness knows why she gets uppity about what people do in the building.

The advantage to the lengthy delay before meeting her is that by the time we are face to face, my irritation has cooled, and it’s not nearly as much effort to pretend to be polite.

‘Hello,’ I say, when she answers the door. ‘You must be Sally.’

‘Yes?’ Sally says, in an aggrieved sort of way. She’s dressed in a suit and not wearing any make-up; her black hair is pulled back in a lopsided ponytail. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Eileen Cotton. I’m living with Fitz and Martha, over in Flat 3.’

Sally does a double take. ‘Are you?’ she says, and I get the strong impression that she thinks I shouldn’t be.

‘I’m here because I hear you objected to our idea of running a small social club in the unused downstairs area of the building. May I come in so we can have a chat about it?’

‘I’m afraid not. I’m very busy,’ she says, already moving to close the door.

‘Excuse me,’ I say sharply. ‘Are you really going to shut the door in my face?’

She hesitates, looking a little surprised. As she stands there, with her door half open, I notice there are not one but three locks on its side.

I soften. ‘I understand your concerns about letting strangers into the building. I know it can be frightening living in this city. But our lunch clubs will be for very respectable old ladies and gentlemen, and we will still keep the front door shut when the club is going on, so any Tom, Dick or Harry won’t be able to walk into the building. Only elderly people.’

Sally swallows. I think she may be younger than I’d assumed – I find it tricky to tell people’s ages, these days, and the sternness and the suit have thrown me off.

‘Look,’ she says, in a brisk, no-nonsense tone, ‘it’s not that I don’t like the idea. But just because a person’s elderly doesn’t mean they can’t be dangerous. What if someone comes in, and doesn’t leave when everyone goes, and then they’re just lurking in the building?’

I nod. ‘All right. How’s about we make sure to take names, then, and count everyone in and out so nobody lingers?’

She tilts her head. ‘That’s … Thank you,’ she says stiffly. ‘That sounds sensible.’

There’s a somewhat steely silence.

‘So you’ll give your permission for the club to go ahead?’ I prompt. ‘You’re the only person we’re waiting for.’

Her eyes twitches. ‘Fine. Yes. Fine, as long as we count everyone in and out.’