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I turned at the door and made crazy eyes at her, pointing my finger into his half.

He was at the back, behind his desk, reading in the light of his Anglepoise. I caught his eye. He looked a bit shocked. I fled.

19

‘Felicity! I'm so sorry!’ I yelled out of my car window as I pulled up in the Civic Centre car park.

She was already loading what looked like dozens of polystyrene boxes from a stainless-steel trolley into the back of her old green Subaru. She glanced up in relief.

‘Oh, Evie. Thank heavens.’

‘I'm so late!’ I wailed.

‘Don't worry, I'm just pleased you're here. I had a nasty feeling you'd forgotten, and of course I should have rung you last night, but your mum assured me there was no—’

‘No, no need, and you absolutely shouldn't have rung. My fault entirely, it just went clean out of my head. Now. What can I do?’ I got out, slammed my door and hurried across to her.

‘Well, there are about ten more of these boxes on another trolley in the kitchen.’ She jerked her head back towards the town hall, a crumbling crenulated stone affair behind us. ‘But if we go together, we can carry them, and then we won't have to wheel the trolley out and back. We'll be out of here in a jiffy.’

Together we swung her empty trolley round and hurried it through the back door, through another set of swing doors, and down a corridor to the kitchen. In a vast, operating theatre-style, stainless-steel emporium, we found the remaining boxes. I took half, piled up high in my arms, and we headed back down the corridor, turning to push open the swing doors with our bottoms. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

‘Yuck. School food.’

‘Takes you back, doesn't it? And, of course, all these old dears expect it right on the dot of twelve, just like in kindergarten.’

‘Back to their childhood. So what have they got today?’ We hurried to the car.

‘Oh, all sorts. Nothing as simple as one meal for all. They all have something different,’ she said, as we loaded them into her open boot.

‘Good heavens, why?’

‘Different dietary requirements. Some are no pork, some are no fowl or no fish, some have to be puréed – no teeth – and some, no beans or onions,’ she raised her eyebrows, ‘for obvious reasons.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘And the coloured dot in the corner of the box tells you what's what. Here's your crib sheet.’ She shoved a piece of paper in my hand.

‘Crikey. I'd no idea it was so complicated. And you do this every week?’

‘Every week. But always two of us. One drives, one delivers. Makes it quicker. I'd better drive this week since it's my car, so you pop in with the meals, OK?’

She was already in the driving seat, strapping herself in. My God, she was efficient. I'd forgotten how efficient. Thank heavens I hadn't let her down. I would have done if Mum hadn't reminded me. I beetled round the other side and strapped myself in beside her. She was still talking nineteen to the dozen, looking immaculate in a pale blue twinset, pearl earrings and a soft suede skirt, her honey-blonde hair beautifully highlighted and swept off her face.

‘They're all elderly, obviously,’ she was saying, glancing in the rear-view mirror and reversing out smartly – note to self: use rear-view mirror more – ‘and they're always the same. The complainers always complain, the sunny ones are always sunny, some haven't seen anyone all day – or all week, even – so you might have to linger a moment, OK?’

‘Yes, fine,’ I mumbled. I felt humbled. I did nothing. Nothing. No committees, no charity work. Ah, yes, back to you, Evie. As usual.

‘And then of course there's Caro's cakes, which they love.’ She jerked her head towards the back seat.

‘Cakes?’

‘Yes, well, the puddings are so filthy, usually prunes and congealed custard, or spotted dick with the consistency of brick, so Caro made cakes for us one week, which went down brilliantly. They wolfed them down, so now she does it every week. I've just picked them up.’

Lordy. It would take me years to catch up. Years. I shrank down in my seat feeling about six inches