‘Eileen, it was seven years ago. I imagine it’s too late for an inquest.’

‘Damn. I hate an unsolved mystery.’

‘You really thought I did it?’

‘It didn’t occur to me that it could have happened any other way, quite honestly.’

He frowns. ‘You think that little of me?’

I smooth my thumb across the back of his hand, tracing lines between the marks age has left on his skin.

‘Perhaps I wanted to,’ I say. ‘It was easier if you were an ogre.’ I glance up. ‘And you did such a good job playing the part.’

‘Well, you made a pretty stellar old harpy, too,’ he says.

I lean forwards and kiss him. It’s sweet and warm and his lips taste of tea, no sugar. I didn’t even know that’s how he took it until today.

37

Leena

‘And you’re sure about this?’ I ask, panting.

Bee and I are on the spin bikes – I’ve realised over the last six weeks that the best way to survive the stress of Selmount life is to exercise daily and aggressively. Sitting in an air-conditioned gym is a bit crap after running through the Dales – kind of like taking vitamin tablets instead of, you know, eating. But it’ll do for now.

‘I’m done with you asking me if I’m sure,’ Bee says, glancing across at me. ‘Never been surer, my friend.’

I grin and slow down, sitting up to wipe my face with my T-shirt. We wobble our way to the changing rooms together, breathing hard.

‘How’s Jaime feeling about the move?’ I ask, heading for my locker.

‘Ridiculously happy. Apparently Yorkshire has loads of dinosaur fossils or something.’ Bee rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t fool me.

‘Has she met Mike yet?’ I ask.

‘No, no,’ Bee says, frowning. ‘She doesn’t even know there’s such a thing as a Mike.’

‘The man you’re moving up north for? She doesn’t know he exists?’

She whips me with her towel. I yelp.

‘While I am glad that you have dragged yourself out of the pit of Ethan-related despair enough to start taking the piss out of me again, will you stop with that please? I am not moving up north for Mike. I mean, I’m basically moving up north for you, actually.’

I look chastened. ‘Right. Sorry.’

We head for the showers.

‘Only it is a happy coincidence that Mike will be there too,’ I say very quickly before locking myself in the shower cubicle.

‘You are as bad as your grandmother!’ Bee shouts through the wall.

‘Thanks!’ I yell back, grinning as I turn the water up to hit me full blast.

*

When I get back to the flat that night, the place is full of boxes, and the balding cat lady from next door is sitting in front of the television watching gory true crime on Netflix.

I pause in the doorway. I tilt my head. I swivel to look at Fitz, who is standing in the kitchen, leaning over a pile of boxes to reach the bottle opener.

‘Oh, Letitia?’ he says, in response to my perplexed expression. ‘Yeah, we’re like besties now.’

‘You …’ I swivel back to stare at Letitia. ‘Sorry, hi,’ I say, remembering my manners.

She looks up from the television, gives me a polite smile, and then returns to the story of a young woman’s dismemberment. I look back at Fitz.

‘And the boxes?’ I ask him, when he offers no further information. ‘I thought you hadn’t found anywhere to move to yet?’

This has been a source of some stress to me these last few weeks. Fitz was showing no signs of actually sorting out getting new flatmates or finding himself somewhere else to live; with Martha gone and me heading up north, there’s absolutely no way he can cover the rent here.

‘Oh, yeah, I chatted to Eileen about it actually,’ Fitz says, opening his beer.

‘My grandma Eileen?’

‘Yeah?’ Fitz looks at me as though I’m being extremely dim. ‘Obviously? She suggested I move in with Letitia. Her flat’s amazing, full of antiques and vintage stuff. All the Silver Shoreditchers’ Club furniture comes from there.’

I got my first glimpse of the Silver Shoreditchers’ Social Club a couple of weeks ago. It was hands down the loveliest thing I have ever witnessed, and I’ve seen Samantha Greenwood dressed as a satsuma. The moody artists in Flat 11 taught painting, the intense woman in Flat 6 gave people lifts, and Fitz coordinated everything with astonishing proficiency. I honestly hadn’t realised how brilliant he could be when he was working on something he actually felt was important. Last week he applied for a job as an event manager for a major charity. When I told Grandma that she let out the most un-Grandma-ish whoop and started dancing.

‘So you’re moving … next door? With … Letitia?’ I say, absorbing.

‘I’ve decided old ladies make the best flatmates,’ Fitz says. ‘They can usually cook, because in the fifties women had to do that shit and they’ve still got all the skills. They’re always blunt and will tell me if my outfit isn’t working – or at least the ones I’ve met will. And they’re in all day, which is perfect if you’re getting a parcel delivered!’ He lifts his beer bottle in my direction. ‘Thank you for enlightening me, Ms Cotton the Younger.’

‘You’re welcome,’ I say, still processing.

‘What are you wearing for tonight?’ Fitz asks.

I make a face. ‘I’d normally just get Martha to pick something for me, but she’s, you know, a bit busy.’

It’s Martha and Yaz’s engagement party. Having Vanessa seems to have turned Yaz from free-spirited wanderer into full-time relationship committer in a matter of weeks. Yaz proposed to Martha with Vanessa in her lap, and they have already detailed exactly how cute the baby’s flower-girl outfit is going to be.

‘You know Ethan’s going to be there?’ Fitz says.

My stomach drops. ‘Shit. Really?’

Fitz offers me a conciliatory beer. ‘Sorry. Classic Yaz. She had him on the invite list before you guys broke up and then just hit send on the email, and there’s no way that man’s missing a chance to see you.’

I rub my face hard. ‘Can I not go?’

Fitz lets out a positively theatrical gasp. ‘To Martha and Yaz’s engagement party? Leena Cotton! Even your grandmother is coming! All the way from the wilds of Yorkshire!’

‘I know, I know …’ I groan. ‘Right, come on, you. We need to find me a bloody phenomenal outfit. Bye, Letitia!’ I say as we walk past her. ‘Nice to see you!’

‘Shh,’ she says, pointing at the television.

‘Told you,’ Fitz says as we head for my wardrobe. ‘Blunt.’

38

Eileen

I’m off to the party. But I’m taking a little detour, first, to pick somebody up.

I have learned many surprising things about Arnold in the last two months. He sleeps in purple silk pyjamas that look like they belong to a Victorian count. He gets grumpy if he goes too long without a meal, and then gives me a kiss whenever I remind him. And he loves reading Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins, but he’d never read any Agatha Christie until he started working his way through my list of favourite books from the dating website. When he told me about that, it was so damn lovely I took him straight to bed.