2003-10-03 12:54 pm

Prince William

"So listen, guess what - "

(Number 20 always begins by saying this.)

"Guess what - " she says " - I told them all that I left. So they'll stop bothering me."

For a moment I panic. Has number 20 evicted herself? Has she been wandering the streets all night?

"You did what? Who did you tell?"

"Them," she said, pointing at the bundle in my hand. "The letter writers."

Oh.

"Oh - well, that's ok."

"Have you got any for me?"

I check.

"No, just for the other flats."

Her ploy seems to have worked. I hand her the other letters.

"Kha-DUM!" she mutters, reading the surname on the letter. Then the next: "Kha-DUM!" And the next. "Kha-DUM!"

She makes it sound like a depth charge exploding.

"Kha-DUM! Kha-DUM! Kha-DUM!"

She stops suddenly and points at the stamp.

"Who's that? Is it a cricketer?"

I look at the stamp.

"It's Prince William."

"Oh ... "

...

"Kha-DUM! Kha-DUM! Kha-DUM!"

Later, as I pass her on the way back, she clutches at my sleeve.

"Hey, listen guess what; my son is terribly busy, always busy. He has all this energy, he plays rugby, cricket, swimming, running all over the place, but he never has time for me."

I've heard about her son before. I try and console her.

"All children are like that - they grow up, they get busy ... You should go and see him at one of his matches."

"At one of his ... what?"

"At one of his matches, at one of his rugby matches."

She frowns, confused.

"What's a rugby match?"

"Well, it's like when your son ... "

But as usual, she never waits for the explanation.

"Hey listen, guess what, I was at a sports day with my granddaughter once and she kept kicking me, like this."

"Right ... "

"And she kept holding onto her other grandmother and kicking me!"

"She sounds horrible. You should eat her or something."

"Yes! Yes I will! Hey listen, guess what ... I have been dreaming about Ireland, about going to Ireland."

I turn back.

"Really?"

"Yes, I don't know why."

"When were you dreaming about going to Ireland?"

"Last night, all last night."

"I'm going to Ireland tomorrow."

"Are you?"

She smiles, delighted but not amazed.

"My son is going to Ireland!"

Her emphasis disturbs me. I wave at her, and climb the stairs once more.

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