Before Libby knew it, they were driving down Clapham High Street. This was the first time she’d been to the southern end of the 88 route, and as the common came into view, she remembered Frank’s story.
“This is where he first saw her,” she said to Dylan as they disembarked. “Do you think she might still live round here? Maybe she’s going out on the bus today, and she’ll see one of our posters?”
Libby looked at Dylan but he wouldn’t meet her eye, and she felt suddenly stupid. Of course the woman wouldn’t still live here sixty years later. How could she be so naive?
“What do we do now?” Esme said to Libby.
“Well, we usually put up a poster at the bus stop, and then we start walking the bus route, putting up posters on lampposts and—”
Libby didn’t get to finish her sentence, as Esme had grabbed a pile of posters out of her hand and started crossing the road toward the common.
“Dylan!” she shouted, and he ran over to join her.
“We don’t usually put them up on trees, Ez,” Dylan said.
But Esme clearly had other ideas.
CHAPTER
17
PEGGY
Oh my goodness—you won’t believe the morning I’ve had!
First off, I spilled tea on my good M&S blouse and had to go and get changed. Then, just as I was about to leave to come here, the phone rang—my landline, not the mobile—and I had to answer it because you know the only person who calls me on it is David and it might be important. Remember that time the phone rang in the middle of the night, and it was David saying Emma had gone into labor and his car had broken down, and we had to dash across London at two a.m. to drive her to the hospital? I thought we were going to get arrested, the speed you drove.
Anyway, I answered the phone, but it turns out it wasn’t David; it was some woman telling me I’d recently been involved in a car accident and it wasn’t my fault. Can you imagine? So I explained to her that I hadn’t been in a car accident, and in fact I hadn’t been in a car for ages, apart from that one time Barry from number six drove me to the hospital appointment to get my varicose veins done. And then she said, “Eh,” so I felt I should explain to her what a varicose vein procedureinvolves in case she ever needs one. And then halfway through my explanation, she hung up on me. How rude!
Anyway, all of this meant I was late leaving the flat to catch the bus, and I knew that if I didn’t hurry, then by the time I got here I’d basically have to leave straightaway in order to get back in time for bingo. And I know what you’re going to say, Percy—I can miss bingo for one week—but Arpita has got back from visiting her grandkids in India and I don’t want to miss seeing the photos. Besides, she always brings lovely fabrics back with her, and if I’m not there today, then Betty Fincher will pinch all the best ones.
So there I was, hurrying across the common toward the bus stop, and I notice that all these yellow pieces of paper have been stuck up along the path; they’re literally on everything. Now, you know I can’t stand littering, especially on the common. Remember that afternoon we were having a picnic with David, and I saw that family leaving their rubbish behind, and I chased after them and made them clear it up? Well, I also hate it when people put posters up all over the place; it makes it so ugly. So I look around and I see a young woman in a red-and-black polka dot dress taping one of these posters up to a tree, and I turn and march over toward her, getting ready to launch off on a rant, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. And when I turn around, guess who it is.
No? Give up?
It was Eileen Attwood, from number eighteen!
I don’t mean to sound rude, but I have to tell you my heart sank. As you well know, Eileen is not someone who you can have a quick conversation with. I mean, why only use five words when you can use fifteen? That’s Eileen’s philosophy. Andstraightaway she launches into this story about her Jeremy, who’s been made a partner in his law firm, and how they’re going to Dubai to celebrate and they’ve invited her but she’s not sure about the long flight. And she’s telling me all this like she wants my opinion on whether she should go on the holiday, but really, I know she’s just trying to show off about her son and his fancy job. She does this all the time, like when I had my fall and she called round to check I was okay, but really all she wanted was to tell me about her new Stannah Stairlift. So I’m nodding along, trying to pretend I’m interested when really inside my blood’s boiling, and I want to tell her to take her first-class flight to Dubai and shove it up her...
And then the funniest thing happens. There’s a big gust of wind, completely out of nowhere, and all of a sudden one of those yellow pieces of paper detaches itself from a post and comes flying across the path at great speed and hits Eileen straight in the face. I mean, you could actually hear it thwack her; it was like something out of a cartoon. And she’s so shocked that she screams and starts pulling at her face like she’s been attacked by a giant yellow bat, and then she steps backward and puts her foot in the biggest dog poo you’ve ever seen.
Now, I don’t need to tell you my feelings on selfish owners not clearing up after their dogs, love. I know you feel exactly the same. But on this one occasion, I have to confess that I was secretly quite grateful for the inconsiderate bugger and this woman with her messy posters, because you should have seen Eileen’s face. She went bright purple, and she starts howling about her new shoes and how she’s on her way to have lunch with her Jeremy and she can’t turn up smelling like this. And all the time she’s using the yellow poster to clean the poo offher shoe, and I’m standing there, trying my hardest not to laugh. Thankfully, I saw an 88 bus coming, so I told Eileen I had to dash, and I left her cursing to herself as she hopped around, cleaning her shoe.
What a sight it was, love! Oh, you’d have laughed if you’d been there.
CHAPTER
18
After an hour, Libby, Dylan, and Esme had barely made it thirty meters from the first bus stop, and every tree, lamppost, and railing had a yellow poster attached to it.
“I love how thorough Esme is, but we’re going to run out soon if we’re not careful,” Libby whispered to Dylan as she watched the young woman tape one to a bike.
“Well, her approach is certainly getting us more attention than usual.” Dylan indicated behind them, and Libby turned round to see several people stopping to read the sea of yellow paper.
“Can we go to the park?” Esme said, once she’d exhausted their pile of posters.
“Sure thing,” Dylan said.