The Switch - Beth O'Leary Page 0,59

I can do to make up for – for seemingly causing havoc in your life wherever I am able then …’

I trail off. He’s looking amused.

‘S’all right.’

‘Really?’

He pulls off his hat and scrubs at his hair. ‘Well, not really all right, exactly, but you’re harder on yourself than I could ever be, and it sort of takes any pleasure out of having a go at you.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ I begin, then laugh. ‘No, not sorry. But thanks. For not being rightfully furious. It’s been a crappy day.’

‘And now you have bingo players in your living room.’

‘Yes. A crappy day that has taken a very odd turn. Do you want to come and join in?’ I say. ‘There’s cider. And miniature foods wrapped in cardboard-like pastry.’

‘Cider,’ Jackson says. ‘Not mead?’

‘Hmm?’

A dimple appears in one cheek. ‘Well, I just wouldn’t put it past you to make use of this opportunity to showcase the joys of a medieval-themed evening, that’s all.’

‘I would not stoop to such levels!’ I exclaim.

‘Then what’s that?’ he says, pointing at the pile of swatches on the side table.

Feck. ‘Err …’

He holds up a couple of the little fabric squares. I’d been showing them to Penelope while the spring rolls cooked. They’re gorgeous – they look like they’ve come straight from Winterfell. The one currently in Jackson’s hand is a lovely gold colour with a repeat pattern of a dragon on a coat of arms.

‘I’m thinking of … redecorating,’ I say, ushering him towards the living room.

‘Redecorating your grandmother’s house? With dragons?’

‘You know Grandma!’ I say. ‘Loves her mythology!’

He looks amused, but hands the swatch back to me. We walk side by side to the living room; he stops in the doorway and surveys the chaos, his face unreadable.

‘Do you think Grandma would have a fit if she knew I’d messed up the living room like this?’ I ask. ‘Is that what you’re thinking?’

‘Actually,’ he says, smiling a little, ‘I was thinking what a very Eileen Cotton thing this is.’

*

It feels like I’ve only just turfed the Neighbourhood Watch out of Grandma’s cottage when I’m seeing them again the next day at the village hall. It’s our second May Day Committee meeting. This is an important meet-up.

I’ve prepared handouts. I’ve brought samples of honey-roasted nuts and sugared fruits and roasted meats. I’ve mapped out our key demographic for the May Day festival and detailed how perfect the medieval theme is for those fair-goers.

‘All those in favour of Leena’s idea?’ says Betsy.

No hands.

‘Sorry, dear,’ says Penelope. ‘But Jackson knows best.’

Jackson has the decency to look slightly abashed. He didn’t bring handouts. He didn’t even bring food samples. He just stood up, looked all shabbily sexily charming, and said some stuff about coconut shies and sunhats and throw-the-ring-over-the-pineapple. And then, his pièce de résistance: Samantha’s really set her heart on coming dressed as a satsuma.

Oh, hold on …

There’s one hand up! One hand!

Arnold is standing in the doorway with his arm in the air.

‘I vote for Leena’s idea,’ he says. ‘Sorry, son, but hers has falcons.’

I beam at him. Jackson, as is his wont, just looks amused by everything. What does it take to rile that man?

‘I wasn’t aware you were part of the May Day Committee, Arnold,’ Betsy says.

‘Am now,’ he says comfortably, loping in and pulling up a chair.

‘Well, it’s still a strong majority in favour of Jackson’s theme, as I’m sure you’re aware, Leena.’

‘All right,’ I say, as graciously as I can manage. ‘That’s fine. Tropical it is.’

I’m smarting, obviously. I wanted to win. But pulling all that information together was the most fun I’ve had in ages, and at least I got Arnold on my team – and turning up to a village committee, too. Wait until Grandma hears that Arnold the village hermit has been chipping in for the greater good.

I mouth Thanks at Arnold as the meeting moves on, and he shoots me a quick grin. Once Basil’s started droning on about squirrels again, I switch chairs to sit next to Arnold, ignoring Roland’s visible dismay at my change to the seating plan.

‘What possessed you to come along?’ I ask him quietly.

Arnold shrugs. ‘Felt like trying something new,’ he says.

‘You’re turning over a new leaf!’ I whisper. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a small paperback: Murder on the Orient Express. Betsy looks on in horror as he sits back and opens it up to his page, despite the fact that Basil is mid flow.

‘Don’t get carried away, now,’ Arnold tells