At first, Harriet thought she’d imagined the knock on the door. When she checked, it was the old lady from downstairs, wearing a pleated skirt, bright pink ankle socks, and a lavish application of red lipstick.
“Hello, dear. I’m just wondering if you can help me.”
“I’ll certainly try,” said Harriet. She hoped to God it was an easy task like opening a jar, rather than helping her shower or something.
“Well, you see.” She paused to adjust her bra. “I need to go to Morrisons.”
“I don’t have a car,” said Harriet.
“It’s not like that.” The woman batted the air with her hand. “I can get there on the bus, but my balance isn’t so good these days. It’s better if I have someone nice to help me, you see.”
Harriet saw. “When do you need to go?”
“Any time now. If that’s all right, dear.”
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