*

I return home feeling pleased as punch. I chaired the entirety of Bee and Mike’s date and it was a roaring success. Well, they spent the majority of it laughing, at least – some of the time at me, admittedly, but that didn’t matter. I’ve always been rather afraid of being laughed at, but when it’s on your own terms, and you’re laughing too, it turns out it can be quite fun.

I settle myself down at the breakfast counter with Leena’s laptop. There are three new messages waiting for me on my dating website.

Todoffstage says: Tomorrow night, my house. The black lacy underwear. I insist upon it.

I blush. Gosh. Normally I hate being bossed around, but somehow when Tod does it, I don’t seem to mind at all. I clear my throat and write back.

EileenCotton79 says: Well, if you insist …

Whew. Well, this should calm me down again – a message from Arnold. I thought I’d told him to bog off and stop looking at my profile, hadn’t I?

Arnold1234 says: I saw this and thought of you …

I click the link below his message. A video pops up. It’s a cat, eating its way through a large patch of pansies.

I burst out laughing, surprising myself.

EileenCotton79 says: This proves nothing, Arnold Macintyre!

Arnold1234 says: There are bags of these cat videos on the Internet. I’ve been watching them for hours.

EileenCotton79 says: Have you seen the one with the piano?

Arnold1234 says: Brilliant, isn’t it?

I laugh.

EileenCotton79 says: I thought you didn’t like cats.

Arnold1234 says: I don’t. But whatever you think, Eileen, I’m not a monster, and only a monster could fail to be amused by a cat who plays the piano.

EileenCotton79 says: I don’t think you’re a monster. Just a grumpy old man.

The dot dot dot lasts for ever. Arnold types so slowly. While I wait, I go back to his profile page. There’s still very little detail there, but he has added a profile picture now, a shot of him grinning in the sunshine with a straw hat covering his balding head. I smile. He looks very Arnold-like, and I feel a bit guilty about my decade-old picture, taken in very flattering light.

Arnold1234 says: I’m not grumpy all the time, you know.

EileenCotton79 says: Just when I’m there, then …

Arnold1234 says: You ARE quite infuriating.

EileenCotton79 says: Who, me?

Arnold1234 says: And you can be a bit on the petty side.

EileenCotton79 says: Petty! When??

Arnold1234 says: When we found out my shed stretched a little over our boundary line and you made me rebuild the whole bloody thing on the other side of the garden.

I make a face. I did do that, I must admit. Arnold was apoplectic, it was ever so funny.

EileenCotton79 says: Property laws must be respected, Arnold. Otherwise, as my new friend Fitz likes to say … what separates us from the animals?

Arnold1234 says: New friend, eh?

EileenCotton79 says: Yes …

Arnold1234 says: New FRIEND, eh?

I laugh as the penny drops.

EileenCotton79 says: Fitz? He lives with Leena! He’s young enough to be my grandson!

Arnold1234 says: Good.

Arnold1234 says: I mean, it’s good that you’ve made friends with her housemate. What’s their house like, then?

Belatedly I remember there’s one more message waiting for me. This one is from Howard.

OldCountryBoy says: Hello, dearest Eileen! I’ve just finished reading The Mousetrap, since you said it was one of your favourites, and I must say I loved it too. What an ending!

Something warm blooms in my chest. I start typing back. Howard’s always so attentive. It’s rare to find a man who’s more interested in listening than talking. We’ve discussed all sorts of things on this website – I’ve told him about my family, my friends, even Wade. He was very sweet and said Wade was a fool for letting me go, which I wholeheartedly agree with, I must say.

Arnold’s next message pops up, but I press the minus button to shrink it away again.

23

Leena

When the doorbell rings I’ve only just got out the shower; I quickly tug on some jeans and an old blue shirt of Grandma’s. It’s probably just Arnold – he pops in for a cup of tea from time to time now, and, after much frustrated insistence from me, has started coming to the front door instead of the kitchen window. My hair drips down my back as I dash down the hall, still buttoning the shirt.

When I reach the door, I discover that it is not Arnold. It’s Hank. Or rather, it’s Jackson and Hank, but Hank really demands my attention first, standing on his hind legs at the full extent of his lead, desperately trying to reach me.

‘Hello,’ I say, as Jackson pulls Hank back into a sitting position. I hurriedly finish my buttons. ‘This is a surprise!’

‘Do you want to come for a walk with me and Hank?’ Jackson says. His cheeks flush a little. ‘This is a peace offering, in case you couldn’t tell. From Hank, I mean.’

‘I … Yes!’ I say. ‘Yes, absolutely. Thank you, Hank.’ I do a weird sort of bow to the dog, then try to move on very quickly as though that didn’t happen. ‘Just let me …’ I point to my head, then, realising this might not be sufficient: ‘My hair needs sorting.’

Jackson looks at my hair. ‘Oh, right. We’ll wait.’

‘Come in,’ I tell him, as I head back inside. ‘The kettle’s still warm if you fancy a drink. Oh, does Hank want one? There are plastic bowls under the sink.’

‘Thanks,’ Jackson calls.

Drying my hair usually takes a good half an hour, so that’s clearly not an option. In front of Grandma’s living-room mirror, with Ant/Dec weaving between my ankles, I scrape it up into the bun I wear for work instead – though, Christ, this is uncomfortable on the scalp. Do I really wear it like this every day? It’s like having someone pulling my hair at all times. Never mind, it’ll have to do.

‘Did I leave my phone in there?’ I call. I’ve grown accustomed to the solid, heavy weight of Grandma’s Nokia in the back pocket of my jeans; I wonder if it’ll take me a while to get used to my iPhone again when I go back to London.

I drop my chin to finish tying the bun, and when I lift my head Jackson’s there, his face a little different in the mirror, that crooked nose bending the other way.

I turn to face him; he smiles, holding out Grandma’s phone. ‘You getting used to this old brick, then, are—’

There’s a noise somewhere between a meow and the sound that a birthing cow might make. Ant/Dec streaks by, and then, in a flash of black fur, Hank comes bounding between us, nose outstretched, the cat in his sights, his path cutting directly across in front of Jackson’s shins, so that mid step Jackson finds his left leg connecting with a fast-moving puppy and the phone in his hand goes soaring and—

Oof. He tumbles forward into my arms, or rather he would tumble into my arms, except for the fact that he probably weighs twice as much as I do. It’s more like being on the wrong side of a falling tree. The back of my head connects with the cold mirror, my back heel with the skirting board, and Jackson’s pinned me against the wall, his right arm taking the brunt of his weight, his belt buckle pushing hard into my stomach.