‘I don’t … But … Bali?’ I say weakly. ‘On her own?’

Leena smiles and tilts her head towards that picture on the wall. ‘She’s going to her happy place,’ she says.

I stare at the image. It’s a photo of a lady doing yoga in front of some sort of temple. I’ve never really noticed it before, though I vaguely remember it hanging in their old house in Leeds, too.

‘Do you really think it’s a good idea for her to go away all on her own?’

‘I think we should have told her to do it a long time ago.’ Leena steps forward and rubs my arms. ‘This is a good thing, Grandma, just like your time in London and my time in Hamleigh. She needs a change.’

I read the message again. ‘I couldn’t have figured myself out if I’d not been someone else.’

Leena looks embarrassed. ‘I have no recollection of saying that. I was a bit drunk, if I’m honest.’

‘You said something like that, though, when you thought I’d lied about Ethan.’ I hold up her hand to stop her protesting. ‘No, it’s all right, love. It was a shock – you just needed time. But you said you weren’t being his Leena.’

‘Did I?’ She’s looking down at her feet.

‘I want you to be your Leena, love.’ I reach for her hands. ‘You deserve to be with somebody who makes you feel more yourself, not less.’

She starts to cry, then, and my heart twists for her. I wish I could have protected her from this, that there’d been another way.

‘I thought that person was Ethan,’ she says, leaning her forehead on my shoulder. ‘But – this last two months – I’ve felt – everything’s been different.’ Her shoulders shake as she sobs.

‘I know, love.’ I stroke her hair. ‘I think we all got a bit lost this last year, didn’t we, without Carla, and we needed a change to see it.’

Bali, I think, still reeling, as Leena cries in my arms. I’m not quite sure where that is, precisely, but I know it’s a long way away. Marian has never been further afield than the north of France. It’s so …

It’s so brave of her.

There’s a knock at the door. Leena and I both pause. We’re sitting here in Marian’s house with every single light switched on, both blubbering, make up down our faces. Goodness knows what whoever’s at the door will think.

‘I’ll get it,’ I say, wiping my cheeks.

It’s Betsy.

‘Oh, thank goodness,’ she says, reaching to take my hands. ‘I came as soon as I heard Marian was in trouble.’

‘Betsy?’ comes Leena’s voice from behind me. ‘Wait, how … how did you hear?’

I just hold my dearest friend’s hands between my own. She looks wonderful. Her usual neckerchief is nowhere to be seen, and she’s wearing a loose, polka-dotted blouse that makes her look like the Betsy Harris I knew twenty years ago. There’s too much to say, and I falter for a moment, unsure, until she squeezes my hands and says, ‘Oh, I’ve missed you, Eileen Cotton.’

That’s the way with old friends. You understand each other, even when there’s not enough words out there for everything that should be said.

‘I’m so sorry I’ve been away when you needed me the most.’ I raise my hands to her cheeks for a moment. ‘Marian’s fine, it turns out. Come on in, won’t you?’

‘Neighbourhood Watch,’ says a voice behind Betsy. Basil and Penelope appear in the doorway and follow Betsy through. Dr Piotr comes by, giving me a gentle pat on the arm before stepping inside.

‘Are you all right?’ Kathleen pops up next. Goodness, are they all out here? Oh, yes, there’s Roland parking up his scooter. ‘I came as soon as I heard.’

‘How did you hear?’ Leena asks again from behind me, sounding completely flummoxed.

I watch them all file past her and suppress a smile. It’s the Neighbourhood Watch. Knowing is their job.

‘All right, Eileen?’ comes a familiar voice. Arnold hovers with uncharacteristic uncertainty on the doorstep. Last time we spoke, he went off in a huff, but I find I haven’t the energy to hold a grudge about it.

‘Arnold! Come in,’ Leena says.

Arnold’s eyes flick to mine for permission.

‘Yes, of course, come in,’ I say, stepping aside.

I watch in surprise as he gives Leena a quick kiss on the cheek before he moves past her into the kitchen. He did say they were seeing each other for coffee, now and then, but it’s still peculiar to see them acting like old friends.

‘How did the rest of them even get here?’ Leena asks me as I close the front door. ‘Betsy’s staying in Knargill!’

‘I wouldn’t put it past Betsy to hitch-hike, for a real emergency,’ I say, with a little smile at Leena’s expression. ‘Is this all right, love? Everyone being here?’ I give her arm a rub. ‘I can tell them to go if you want some time just the two of us.’

‘I’m OK. I think.’ She takes a deep, shaky breath. ‘What about you, though? You had quite a scare, with Mum, and then – with that Howard guy turning out to be …’

I shudder. I’ve been trying very hard not to think about that.

‘So it wasn’t … real?’ I say, lowering my voice so the Neighbourhood Watch won’t hear. They’re bustling around in Marian’s kitchen; someone’s put the kettle on. Presumably they’ve figured out that Marian isn’t here having a crisis after all, but they’re showing no signs of departing. ‘Everything he said about how he felt …’

‘These scammers, they do it all the time, Grandma,’ she says gently. ‘They’re lovely and friendly and things move really fast, and it seems like they’re falling for you … and then they ask for money. Then they keep asking. So we were really lucky to catch it before it got too far.’

I shudder again, and Leena grips my hand.

‘At first I hadn’t been at all sure about how over-the-top and friendly he was,’ I tell her. ‘But then I got used to it, and it had felt quite … nice.’ I sigh. ‘I’m an old fool.’

‘You’re not! I’m so sorry, Grandma, it’s my fault. I should have prepped you a bit more before letting you loose in cyberspace. But scammers like that trick everybody.’

‘I liked him,’ I say in a whisper. ‘Was he even real? Was his name Howard?’

‘I don’t know, Grandma. I’m sorry. I know it’s horrible, being tricked like that. Do you want me to tell this lot to go so we can have a proper chat about it all?’ Leena says, glancing towards the kitchen.

I shake my head. ‘No, I want them here,’ I say, pushing my shoulders back. ‘Come on, it ought to be me looking after you, with the day you’ve had. I’ll make hot chocolate and you can have a good cry on my shoulder.’

‘You can cry on mine too, if you need to, Grandma,’ she says. ‘I’ve figured that out this past two months.’ She pulls me in for a hug, and then, in my ear, she says, ‘If you’re holding someone close enough, you can be the shoulder and the crier. See?’

I can hear the smile in her voice; she’s laughing at herself as she says it, but she’s saying it all the same. The Leena of two months ago would never have said something like that.