Matty let that sit for a moment, then said, “I do.”
Gloria turned her head and looked at her properly then, as if weighing whether she believed her.
Matty leaned against the wall. “You don’t want shoes that fit some old woman who never leaves the house. You wantyourshoes.”
A flicker crossed Gloria’s face—annoyance first, thensomething more brittle.
“I used to have standards,” she said. “I wasn’t always sat in that bloody chair with a blanket over my knees and people discussing me like I’m not in the room.”
Matty said nothing.
“I had a life,” Gloria went on, quieter now, but no less bitter for it. “I went where I liked. Wore what I liked. Drove. Worked. Managed my own house. My own money. My own body.” Her mouth tightened. “Now everyone looks at me as if I ought to be grateful for being allowed to choose between jam and marmalade.”
Matty winced. “Yeah. That’d piss me off too.”
Gloria let out a breath through her nose. “It does more than piss me off.”
There was a pause.
“I know I can’t do everything I used to,” Gloria said at last. “I’m not stupid. But every time someone tells me no, what I hear is not anymore.Not anymore,Gloria. Not for you. Sit down. Be careful. Don’t try. Don’t bother.” Her fingers shifted on the handle of the stick. “You start to feel as if you’re disappearing by inches.”
Matty’s expression softened, but she didn’t move towards her. Didn’t crowd her.
“You’re not disappearing,” she said.
Gloria gave her a look. “Easy for you to say.”
“No.” Matty shook her head. “Easy for me to spot, maybe. There’s a difference.”
Gloria frowned.
“You’re still in there,” Matty said. “Still wanting things. Still caring what you look like. Still getting cross. Still being nosy and rude and bossy.”
Gloria’s mouth twitched, despite herself.
“And for what it’s worth,” Matty added, “I don’t think you’re difficult because you enjoy it. I think you’re angry because everyone keeps trying to shove you into this neat little box labelled Frail Old Lady, and you don’t fit.”
For a second, Gloria said nothing. Then her chin lifted, proudly even. “I do not.”
“No,” Matty said, “you really don’t.”
Gloria looked away, blinking once, quickly. “Well. Glad that’s sorted then.”
Matty pushed off from the wall. “So go upstairs. Find something that feels like you. Not what’s practical. Not what Sloan would pick. Whatyouwant.”
Gloria’s grip tightened on the stick again. “And if what I want is ridiculous?”
Matty grinned. “Then I’ll be honoured to wheel you about in somethingridiculous.”
That got a proper laugh out of Gloria—small, rusty, but real.
“Cheeky girl,” she muttered.
“Terrible influences I have to put up with,” Matty agreed.
Gloria moved on towards the stairlift, slower now, but with a touch more purpose. Before she lowered herself into the seat, she glanced back.
“Don’t call me frail,” she said.
