Dan shook his head. “What if she doesn’t want to be bothered?”
“Then I’m sure she’ll have no qualms about shutting the door in my face.” Which was what Eleanor had done the last time Claire had gone to her house, after she’d given Eleanor her newspaper and milk. Claire had found two pound coins in a small brown envelope on the stoop, propped up against the previous day’s empty milk bottle, underneath a sign demanding dog owners clean up their pets’ “dirt.”
“Fine. Go. It isn’t as if you’ve been working for the last ten minutes anyway.”
“I finished stacking the papers,” Claire protested.
“Ten minutes ago.” Dan shooed her towards the door with the indifferent flap of one hand. “Go on.”
Claire smiled and reached for her coat. It had been nearly a week since she’d found Dan hungover, and since then their friendship had progressed to a friendly-yet-bickering sort of banter. At least she hoped it was banter. She was never quite sure when Dan was joking.
“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” she promised. Dan did not reply.
Outside the sun had decided to peek out from behind a bank of woolly white clouds, and everything still glistened from last night’s thundering rain. Claire hummed as she walked down the high street, waving to a few people she now knew by sight, from her time in the shop. She came to number fifteen and saw thecurtains were drawn, the lights off. Maybe Dan was right and Eleanor Carwell had gone on holiday.
Claire knocked, and then knocked again and was just debating a third time when the door was wrenched open and Eleanor stood there, clutching the front of a ratty old dressing gown together.
“What on earth?” she exclaimed. “I thought someone was trying to break down my door.”
“Sorry,” Claire said, and Eleanor squinted at her.
“What do you want?”
Not the warmest of greetings, but Claire refused to be deterred. “I noticed you didn’t come in for your newspaper and milk this morning, so I thought I’d check to make sure you were all right.”
“The post office shop is a doctor’s surgery now too, I suppose?” Eleanor grumbled, and turned and went back inside, leaving the door open.
Claire stood on the stoop for a moment, uncertain as to whether she should follow her in. Eleanor had disappeared down a long, narrow corridor towards the kitchen in the back, and after another second’s hesitation Claire stepped inside and followed her down the hallway.
The house smelled a bit like her grandmother’s in Leeds used to, of lavender water and cough syrup and mothballs. It was a potent mixture, and Claire tried to discreetly breathe through her nose as she stepped into Eleanor’s kitchen, which looked like it had been transported directly from a time machine circa 1972.
Eleanor glanced over her shoulder, seeming both surprised and annoyed that Claire had followed her in. “So why are you here exactly? You didn’t bring my newspaper. Or my milk.”
“Oh. Right. I suppose I should have.” This really wasn’t going very well. “Like I said, I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“And now you can see that I am.” Eleanor’s clawlike hand trembled as she clutched her dressing gown. Her hair, gray and straggly, was loose about her shoulders instead of up in its usual bun, and in the pale sunlight streaming through the window, Claire could see the age spots on her hands and face.
“Why didn’t you come for your paper?” Claire asked. “Or your milk?”
Eleanor’s mouth twitched and then she looked away. “If you want the truth, I didn’t see the point today.”
“Why not?”
“Every morning I get dressed and primped for my big outing,” she stated flatly. “A walk down the high street for my milk and newspaper, and then I come back for my cup of tea and two digestives while I read the front page.” Her mouth twisted in something meant to be a smile. “The highlight of my day.”
“And you didn’t feel like it today?”
“No, I didn’t. Why should I?” Eleanor sniffed. “You have no idea what it is like to be old.”
“No,” Claire agreed, “but I do know what it’s like to feel purposeless and lonely.”
The older woman’s face contorted for no more than a second before she looked away. “You have some cheek.”
“I spent four years in Portugal showing villas to retirees and planning to marry a man I’m not even sure I liked.”
“You had a job and a fiancé,” Eleanor returned shortly. “Those are two things that I don’t have.”
“Is this a competition?” Claire dared to tease, and Eleanor gave her a quelling look.
