Andrew turned the pair of tights inside out and shook out a bundle of notes onto the bed.
“Bingo,” Peggy said. “Enough to cover the funeral, do you reckon?”
“Should be,” Andrew said, leafing through the money.
“Well, that’s something. Poor old . . .”
“Josephine.”
“Josephine. God, I’m the worst. It’s such a lovely name, too. Sounds like the sort of woman who’d always bring loads of food to a harvest festival.”
“Maybe she did. Did she talk about church in the diary?”
“Only when she was slagging off Songs of Praise.”
Josephine Murray had penned scores of diary entries, as she’d noted, “in an old Smith’s notebook, using a chopping board resting on my lap as a makeshift desk, much like I imagine Samuel Pepys did.”
The diary’s subject matter was largely mundane—short, spiky critiques of television programs or comments on the neighbors. Often, she combined the two: “Watched a forty-five-minute advert for Findus Crispy Pancakes interrupted sporadically by a documentary about aqueducts. Could barely hear it over the noise of Next Door Left rowing. I really wish they’d keep a lid on it.”
Occasionally though, she’d write something more reflective:
“Got in a bit of a tiz this evening. Put some food out for the birds and felt a bit dizzy. Thought about calling the quack but didn’t want to bother anyone. Silly, I know, but I just feel so embarrassed about taking up someone’s time when I know I’m probably fine. Next Door Right were out having a barbecue. Smelled delicious. Had the strongest urge—for the first time in goodness knows how long—to take a bottle of wine round there, something dry and crisp, and get a bit tiddly. Had a look in the fridge but there wasn’t anything there. In the end I decided that dizziness and tiddlyness wouldn’t have been a good mix anyway. That wasn’t the tiz, by the way, that came as I was trying to drop off to sleep when I suddenly remembered it was my birthday. And that’s why I’m writing this now in the hope it helps me to remember next year, if I haven’t kicked the bucket by then of course.”
Peggy put the diary in her bag. “I’ll have a look through this back at the office.”
“Right you are,” Andrew said. He looked at his watch. “Sandwich?”
“Sandwich,” Peggy confirmed.
They stopped off at a café near the office. “How about here?” Andrew said. “I must have walked past this place a thousand times and I’ve never been in.”
It was warm enough to sit outside. They munched their sandwiches as a group of schoolchildren in hi-vis bibs were led along by a young teacher who was just about managing to keep track of them all while taking the time to tell Daisy that Lucas might not appreciate being pinched like that.
“Give it ten years,” Peggy said. “I’ll bet Lucas will be dying to get pinched like that.”
“Was that your flirting technique back in the day?”
“Something like that. Bit of pinching, few vodka shots, can’t go wrong.”
“Classic.”
A man marched by them in an electric-blue suit, shouting incomprehensible business jargon down the phone, like a peacock who’d managed to learn English by reading Richard Branson’s autobiography. He strode out into the road, barely flinching as a bike courier flashed inches past and called him a knobhead.
Andrew felt something vibrating against his leg.
“I think your phone’s ringing,” he said, passing Peggy’s bag over to her.
She pulled out her phone, looked at the screen for a second, then dropped the phone back in the bag, where it continued to vibrate.
“I’m going to guess that was Steve again,” Andrew said.
“Mmm-hmm. At least he’s down to two calls a day now. I’m hoping he’ll get the message soon enough.”
“How are the girls doing with it all?”
“Oh, you know, about as well as you’d expect. We’ve got a long old road ahead of us. But it’s still absolutely for the best. By the way, Suze asked about you the other day.”
“Really? What did she say?” Andrew said.
“She asked me whether we’d be seeing ‘that fun Andrew man’ again.”
“Ah, I wonder which Andrew she was thinking of there, then,” Andrew said, mock-disappointed, but unable to entirely conceal how proud he really was, judging from the smile on Peggy’s face.
Peggy reached into her bag again and brought out Josephine’s diary, flicking through the pages.
“She seems like such a lively old lass, this one.”
“She does,” Andrew said. “Any mention of a family?”
“Not that I can see. There’s lots more about the neighbors, though never by name, so I’m not sure how friendly they all were. I suppose if one lot of them was always rowing then maybe she didn’t feel like talking to them. The others, though, the barbecuing lot—I might go back later and have a chat with them if I can’t find anything here. Part of me’s just intrigued as to whether she did ever decide to go round there for a drink or anything.”
Andrew shielded his face from the sun so he could look Peggy in the eye.
“I know, I know,” she said, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m not getting too invested, honestly. It’s just . . . this is yet another person who spent their final days completely alone, right, despite the fact she was clearly a nice, normal person. And I bet if we do find a next of kin it’ll be another classic case of ‘Oh, dear, that’s a shame, we hadn’t spoken in a while, we sort of lost contact, blah blah blah.’ It just seems like such a scandal that this happens. I mean, are we all really content to say to these people, ‘Sorry, tough luck, we aren’t even going to bother trying to help you poor lonely bastards,’ without at least offering them the chance to have some company or something?”
Andrew thought about what he might have done if somewhere down the line someone had offered him companionship. All he could really picture, unhelpfully, was a Jehovah’s witness standing at his door. But that figured, because, truth be told, he’d have rejected help outright. He said as much to Peggy.
“But it doesn’t have to be like that,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you about this, actually. I mean, I haven’t exactly got it all mapped out, but . . .”
She began to rout around in her bag, producing empty water bottles, an old apple core, a half-empty bag of sweets and fistfuls of receipts. Andrew watched, mesmerized, as she swore and continued to pull things out like an angry magician. Eventually she found what she’d been looking for.
“So it’s just a rough outline,” she said, smoothing out a piece of paper. “Really rough, actually, but it’s a summary of what a campaign to help people could look like. The gist of it is that people can apply to have the option of a phone call or a visit from volunteers. And the thing is it doesn’t matter if you’re a little old lady or a thirty-something high flyer. It just gives you the option of having someone you can connect with.”
Andrew studied the paper. He was aware that Peggy was watching him anxiously.
“What?” she said. “Is it mental?”
“No. It absolutely isn’t. I love it. I just wish you’d told me about it sooner.”
Peggy narrowed her eyes.
“What?” Andrew said.
“Oh, nothing,” Peggy said. “I was just thinking about a moment in Sainsbury’s about a week ago when I nearly punched you in your stupid face.”
“. . . Right,” Andrew said, deciding not to probe that one any further.
“There’s something else I want to show you too,” Peggy said, reaching into her Tardis bag again and pulling out her phone. “Obviously it’s a bit too late to help poor old Josephine find company, bless her, but what do you reckon about this?” She passed her phone over to Andrew, who wiped his fingers on a paper napkin before he took it. It was a post Peggy had drafted in Facebook.
“You know what?” Andrew said, once he’d finished reading it.
“What?”
“You’re actually brilliant.”
Andrew wouldn’t have thought Peggy capable of blushing, but her cheeks were definitely tinged pink.
“So shall I post it?” she said.
“Abso-bloody-lutely,” Andrew said. He handed her phone back and watched her upload the post just as his own phone started to ring.
“Yes, no, I understand, thanks, but like I said that’s out of my price range, I’m afraid. Okay, thank you, bye.”
“‘Out of my price range, I’m afraid,’” Peggy said. “Are you buying a yacht or something?”
“That’s next on the list, obviously. For now, I’m trying to move house.”
“Wow. Really?”
“I think it’s for the best. Time to move on.”
“So now you’re experiencing the joy of speaking to all those lovely lettings agents.”
“Yep. I’ve never had so many people lie to me in such a short space of time.”
“You have much to learn, my friend.”
Andrew rubbed his eyes and yawned. “All I want is to live in a converted train station on top of a mountain with sea views and Wi-Fi and easy access to central London, is that so much to ask?”
“Have another cookie,” Peggy said, patting him on the top of the head.
They were nearly back at the office—despite coming close to making an executive decision to dedicate the afternoon to Scrabble in the pub.
Andrew had been building up the courage, again, to ask whether Peggy had overheard him in Rupert’s kitchen, and this felt like the most opportune moment he’d had in the last few days.
“So, the other night . . .”
But he didn’t get a chance to finish, because Peggy suddenly grabbed his arm. “Look,” she muttered.
Cameron had arrived at the office ahead of them and was skipping nimbly up the stairs. He stopped to search for his building pass, only finding it once Andrew and Peggy had caught up with him.
“Hi, Cameron,” Peggy said. “We weren’t expecting you back till next week.”
Cameron busied himself with his phone as he spoke. “Had to come back early,” he said. “Last day of the course got canceled. Salmonella, it would seem. I’m the only one who managed to escape it. Well, hopefully,” he added.
The three of them walked down the corridor in silence. When they got to their office Cameron held the door open so Peggy could go through, then turned to Andrew and said, “Could we have a quick word in my office when you have a moment?”
“Sure,” Andrew said. “Can I ask wha—”
“See you in a minute then,” Cameron said, walking away before Andrew could say anything else. He didn’t know exactly what was coming, but he could make a reasonable guess that he wasn’t going to be awarded a knighthood.
A few weeks ago he would have been panic-stricken. But not anymore. He was ready for this. He dumped his stuff by his desk and made his way straight to Cameron’s office.
“Andrew,” Peggy hissed from across the room, her eyes wide with concern.
He smiled at her.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”