full of the aroma of fresh coffee with a counter crammed with cakes and pastries. Realising I had barely eaten in the last couple of days my mouth watered at the sight. A small round table was being wiped down as we arrived and I headed towards it. Margaret watched me closely as I ordered our cakes and coffees. I found myself threading my fingers together under the table, crossing and re-crossing my legs from the scrutiny.
‘Can I say something, Lottie?’ she said in her soft voice, her kind eyes trained on me.
I swallowed, ‘Of course.’
The waitress brought over our cups and plates, taking her time to place everything on the table as I tried not to fret as to what Margaret was about to say.
‘You don’t seem yourself. I was a little worried about you this morning. You looked so drawn, tired, your clothes weren’t you at all, dirty and shapeless . . . ’
I wanted to be offended, to lift my chin and challenge her words or storm out of the place, flounce down the street huffing about meddling old women, but I couldn’t. My hand shook as I went to lift the cup to my lips, coffee sloshing into the saucer. ‘I . . . ’
‘And your flat . . . ’ She tailed away, perhaps noticing the misery etched over my face.
Momentarily panicked, I felt tears build in my throat. I took a decisive sip of coffee, scalding my tongue in the process. The pain distracted me from anything else.
Margaret was leaning towards me in her chair, ‘What’s happened, Lottie? Things seem to be getting on top of you.’
I stared at the top of the table, unable to meet her eye. Shoulders slumped forward, any attempt at false bravado fading.
‘I’ve really messed everything up,’ I said, my voice choked.
Margaret was quiet and I kept my eyes down, trying to put into words all the things I’d been thinking these past few days and weeks. ‘I’ve been a rubbish friend, a rubbish granddaughter – I was a cow to Grandad – and I’ve been so’ – one slow tear tracked down my cheeks as I admitted it – ‘so horrible to Luke. He didn’t deserve it and now he’s probably gone for good, or with someone else, and I’m alone and I know I deserve it but’ – I sped up, my worst fears spilling out between us – ‘I’m scared I’ve screwed up the best thing I had going for me and I don’t know how to do anything right.’
I was fairly sure people were watching now. The café seemed horribly silent and I wished we had stayed in my flat if I was going to have this breakdown. Tears dripped on to the table and Margaret pushed a paper napkin towards me.
‘That’s all right, here you go.’
Dabbing at my face I stared glumly into my lap.
‘Do you want to know why we were all there this morning?’
This wasn’t the response I had envisaged and I found myself looking up.
‘Because I organised it. I thought enough is enough and I made posters and I went door-knocking and I asked those women to join me in our fight.’
I smiled weakly at her. ‘It was brilliant.’
‘Ssh,’ she said chidingly. ‘I asked those women to do it because I felt stronger, I was inspired by someone with courage and passion and belief in their convictions.’
I sniffed pathetically, glad to have the napkin.
‘I thought, how can I change this unfair thing? What would Lottie do?’
As she finished the sentence I almost dropped the napkin, my mouth fell open.
‘What would I do?’ I repeated, unable to believe that anyone would feel inspired to behave like me. Surely she had seen me? I was an actual walking mess, a dustbin of a person right now, clothes I hadn’t bothered to wash in days, grubby skin and hair, neglecting everyone in my life to the point that now I was utterly alone. Why would anyone think I had any answers at all?
‘Well, not this you, this you is rather a diminished version,’ Margaret went on, a teasing smile on her face, ‘but, Lottie, when I met you I was blown away with your energy, your sense of justice. You are so impressive, trying to juggle so much in your life, trying to be a good granddaughter to Teddy – and don’t think you haven’t succeeded there, of course you have, he loves you, deeply – and your work, your beliefs. Lottie, if I