The Switch - Beth O'Leary Page 0,16

when Bee is flagging and considering going back to one of the crappy dates she had the week before. ‘You cannot change a man. Even if he does have his own teeth. Next: Mr Rogers. Isn’t that the vicar’s dad?’

‘He’s a lovely man,’ Grandma says rather hopefully. I’m pleased to see her shoulders have loosened up a bit.

I scan her pros and cons. I can’t help but let out another little half-laugh, half-gasp when I read her comments on Mr Rogers – then I catch her expression and shake myself. ‘Right. Clearly you’re looking for something more … physical than Mr Rogers is willing to offer.’

‘Oh, lord, this is a peculiar conversation to have with your granddaughter,’ Grandma says.

‘And once a month isn’t nearly often enough. It’ll take for ever to get to know him, only seeing him every four weeks.’ I cross Mr Rogers off the list. ‘Next: oh, I remember Dr Piotr! But you’ve hit rule number two of dating, Grandma – never go after a man who’s emotionally unavailable. If Dr Piotr still loves his ex-wife, you’ll only be signing yourself up for heartbreak.’

Grandma rubs her chin. ‘Well, a man can …’

I hold up one finger. ‘I sincerely hope you are not about to say “change”.’

‘Umm,’ says Grandma, watching me cross Piotr off the list.

‘And finally …’ I read on. ‘Oh, Grandma, no, no, no. Arnold from next door? Jackson Greenwood’s stepdad?’

‘Ex stepdad now,’ Grandma tells me, with the fiendish little eyebrow twitch she employs when she’s in gossip mode.

‘The world’s grumpiest man?’ I continue firmly, not to be sidetracked. ‘You deserve so much better.’

‘I had to be fair and write everybody down,’ Grandma explains as I scribble through Arnold’s name. ‘He’s the only other single man in Hamleigh who’s over seventy.’

We both stare at the list of crossed-out names. ‘Well,’ I say, ‘it’s always good to start with a clean slate.’

Grandma’s shoulders are drooping again, so I reach for her hands.

‘Grandma, I’m so glad you’re looking to find someone new,’ I say. ‘You had a miserable time married to Grandpa and you so deserve to meet somebody lovely. I will absolutely do everything I can to help you.’

‘That’s sweet of you, but there’s not a lot you can do. The fact is, I don’t know any eligible men,’ Grandma says, reaching for the tissue up her sleeve and blowing her nose. ‘I thought maybe … I could go to Tauntingham and see if there’s anybody there …’

I have visions of Grandma roaming the lanes of sleepy Tauntingham with her project diary out, making notes as she hunts for elderly gentlemen.

‘I’m not sure that’s the most effective method,’ I say carefully. ‘Have you thought about Internet dating?’

She makes a face. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’

I stand up. This is the best I’ve felt in ages. ‘I’ll get my laptop,’ I say, already heading out of the door.

*

I do a quick half-hour of research before I start on Grandma’s dating profile. Apparently, what makes for a successful profile is honesty, specificity, humour and (more than any of those other things I just said) a good profile picture. But as soon as it’s set up, I realise we have a problem.

There is not a single person her age registered to the site in under an hour’s drive from here. It’s not just that Grandma doesn’t know any eligible gentlemen in the area – there aren’t any. Bee bemoans the lack of good men in London, but she has no idea how lucky she is. When there are eight million people in your city, there’s going to be someone single.

I turn slowly in my chair to look at my grandmother.

When I think of Grandma, I always think of her as an absolute force of nature, bending the world to her will. I can’t imagine there’s a more youthful old lady out there. Her boundless energy has never shown any signs of running out as she enters her late seventies – she really is extraordinary for her age.

But she doesn’t look like that Grandma right now.

She’s had a truly terrible year. The death of one of her only two granddaughters, supporting my mum through losing her daughter, then Grandpa Wade walking out on her … It hits me quite suddenly that I think of my grandma as invincible, but that’s so ridiculous – nobody could go through what she’s been through unscathed. Look at her, sitting here, contemplating dating Basil the bigot. Things are not right at Clearwater Cottage.

Which I’d