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 had had half that passion when I was younger I can only imagine what I could have done. I held myself back for years, not realising I could just grab opportunities, that I was worthy of them . . . ’
It was quite a speech and I could feel the tears building again. ‘I think you’re giving me a lot more credit than I deserve.’
Margaret waved cake on a fork around. ‘Don’t you dare put yourself down. You need to be kinder to yourself, Lottie. You are trying to take on the world and it’s all got on top of you, but you can fix it.’
‘I . . . ’
‘What is important to you?’
In that moment her simple question put so much into perspective. I hadn’t always been the girl who placed ambition above everything else. I had allowed myself to become swept up in chasing impossible goals, working myself into the ground, competing with others and not even stopping to ask if I was competing for something I truly wanted. And on the way I had ridden roughshod over the people I had always loved, the people I needed in my life. Amy, Grandad, Luke . . .
‘Now what do you need to do to stop yourself being miserable? How can you get things back on track?’
‘I don’t think I can, I don’t think—’
‘Hush,’ she said. This new authoritative Margaret was quite a formidable figure. ‘Of course you can, you are a confident young woman who knows her own mind. So . . . ’
I couldn’t help feel buoyed by her faith in me. I sipped the last of my coffee and placed the cup down on the saucer. ‘I need to apologise to Grandad, properly. I need to make things up with Amy, and I really need . . . ’
I couldn’t bring myself to say it. What if it was too late? What if I couldn’t get him back?
‘Luke,’ I said simply. ‘I need Luke back.’
‘Right,’ Margaret said, stacking our plates and saucers and pushing them to one side. ‘So let’s work out exactly how.’
We left the café a little over half an hour later armed with a plan. I felt lighter, less hopeless after sharing my worries and making plans to fix things. I realised as we moved slowly down the pavement back to my flat that this was the kind of conversation I would have had with Grandma. She would have chided me and encouraged me at the same time. I felt incredibly lucky to have Margaret in my life, to have someone looking out for me still. I hadn’t realised how much I had needed it.
‘Thank you,’ I said, squeezing her arm as we reached my flat. ‘Do you want to come up?’
Margaret wrinkled her nose and laughed. ‘Maybe once you’ve had a tidy,’ she said. ‘And a shower.’
I couldn’t stop the small giggle escaping. ‘Thanks, Margaret,’ I said seriously, pulling her into a hug.
‘Any time.’
Chapter 26
Love can be mistaken for mild food poisoning
LEN, 84
I spent the rest of the day tidying, scrubbing, hoovering, wiping and dusting until the flat gleamed. Then I headed to the shower and transformed myself under the hot water: exfoliating, cleansing, clipping nails, removing hair, tweezering. I emerged like a new woman, ready to tackle things. It felt good to be standing in a spotless flat, in clean clothes with glossy hair and some subtle make-up. I could do this.
I had thought long and hard about how to make things up with Amy. In the last few months I hadn’t prioritised her at all and this was doubly insensitive because this was the time when she needed me and wanted me to share in her excitement as she planned her wedding. I couldn’t get back all the times I’d missed her call or fobbed her off with another excuse in order to work late, but I could make a promise that I wouldn’t miss anything more.
Amy wasn’t answering her phone, to me at least, and I knew I shouldn’t apologise on a text or voicemail anyway. I stopped phoning after sixteen unanswered calls, perhaps believing seventeen would make me seem a psycho. Spurred on by something Margaret had said, about the fact that Amy and I had roots that went back years, I felt a spark of excitement and rushed through to the living room to find my laptop. A thoughtful gesture might work? I spent the rest of the evening working on it and finally took myself to bed just after midnight when it was finished.
I wasn’t in court the next day so was able to head out early, memory stick in handbag, and a renewed feeling of optimism. If Amy wouldn’t answer her phone I knew exactly where she would be.
‘Visitor for Miss Otaru,’ I announced, thrown by the security measures at her London day school. Locked gates, intercoms and security booths: things were a little different from when I’d been at school.
The intercom crackled and after a pause a disembodied voice asked, ‘Is she expecting you?’
I hated lying so instead bleated, ‘I’m here on business,’ in a panicked tone, as if that salient fact would gain me access. ‘She will know what this is regarding,’ I said in my most formal courtroom voice.
Unbelievably the buzzer sounded and I pushed open the heavy gate with two hands. Walking down a stone path, a blue Astro Turf pitch on one side, netball courts on the other, I headed for the main building. ‘Reception’ announced a jade green wooden board and I made my way towards it. I had barely stepped inside when the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a close cropped hairstyle and magenta pink lipstick, stood up and headed my way, thrusting a laminated badge in my direction. ‘Excellent. Welcome,’ she said. I marvelled at the efficiency. This had been easy!
‘Good morning. Where can one find Miss Otaru’s office?’ I asked in my politest voice.
‘Oh, she can take you there once you’re done, but the pupils are waiting in the hall for you now. Follow me.’
Still congratulating myself on gaining access I barely listened to what the receptionist had said as I followed her fast clacking walk down a corridor that smelt of bleach and was lined with various artworks by the children.
Sorry,’ I said, almost tripping in my haste. ‘Is she not in her office?’
‘She’ll be in the hall waiting.’
‘Right,’ I said distractedly.
‘I imagine they’ll all be very keen to hear what you have to say.’
‘Will they?’ I asked, confused now and wondering who ‘they’ were. I glanced down at my laminated badge and realised with a frown that my name wasn’t Jacinda Brown. For the first time an uneasy feeling stole over me as the receptionist paused in front of two wooden double doors, panes of glass showing the backs of heads of what must have been hundreds of teenagers.