Isobel on the Way to the Corner Shop by Amy Witting

men?
    Only the Muse. And what a tyrannical, possessive, secretive old witch she is.
    She must somehow get control of this conversation, find a sop or two to throw to this earnest, well-meaning Cerberus.
    ‘I was working in an importer’s, doing office work and translating the German mail.’
    Mrs Mills approved.
    Isobel assumed a frank and confiding expression.
    ‘I don’t know really how things went wrong. Everything seemed to weigh on me. I lost my temper and I lost my job. Things just went downhill from there…I don’t know how to explain. I felt wretched…Everything seemed to slip away from me.’
    Mrs Mills was sympathetic.
    ‘You didn’t think that you were ill?’
    ‘Not seriously, no. I just seemed to be depressed, and I couldn’t make the effort to get in touch with anyone…’
    She hoped she wasn’t overdoing the pathos.
    ‘Perhaps it’s all for the best. We’ll find people to help you now. I’ve asked Mrs Delaney to look after you. You’ll like her, I’m sure. She’s one of our volunteers and a truly lovely person. And you’re quite sure that there’s nothing I can do for you?’
    Isobel smiled gratefully and shook her head.
    You can just go away.
    ‘I’ll leave you then. Rose—Mrs Delaney—will be in to see you tomorrow.’
    *
    When Mrs Mills had left, Isobel lay back on her pillows, feeling ashamed. That pathetic expression! That soapy voice! Was that me?
    This sort of thing is not at all good for the character.
    She was cheered by the reappearance of Eric.
    ‘Bernie says you want some shopping done.’ He added, ‘This isn’t my area, but I took the chance to come and see how you were making out.’
    ‘All right. Bernie is a dear. It was good of you to come. Will you hand me my purse? I want a toothbrush and some toothpaste.’
    ‘Right, love. Any preferences?’
    ‘Not a hard toothbrush, please. Any toothpaste will do.’
    ‘Right. Everybody in the ward is asking about you.’
    Isobel remembered the muted cheer and the soft clapping and smiled without pathos.
    ‘Tell them I’m fine. Living in the lap of luxury and loving every minute.’
    ‘That’s the style. Enjoy it while it’s on. I’ll be back with this as soon as I get a break.’
    That, Isobel decided, was enough traffic for one day. She closed her eyes and played possum. The effect of that was to send her to sleep, which passed the time.
    When she woke, she found toothbrush, toothpaste and change of a pound on the side table. It was disappointing to have missed Eric’s return visit. Funny, that, to become attached in so short a time. It was like clutching at people as one drifted past, going where?
    The evening meal arrived: runny scrambled egg. Don’t think of it as food, think of it as fuel or muscle. One couldn’t live for ever in a body that flopped about like a dead jellyfish. She worked her way through half of it.
    Lights out. Morning. Tea, shower, breakfast, Bernie and bed-making.
    ‘Thanks for getting Eric to shop for me.’
    ‘He didn’t mind. Said you were asleep when he got back. Found the things and your change all right?’
    ‘Yes. I never dreamed I could sleep so much.’
    ‘Best thing for you. I do believe you’re looking a bit better. Feel any better?’
    ‘Kind of boneless, that’s all. All right otherwise.’
    ‘Well, it’s to be expected.’
    Bernie took her temperature, counted her pulse-beats, made notes on the chart and departed.
    That was another one she wanted to cling to, absurdly, crying, ‘Don’t leave me!’
    Jellyfish body, jellyfish mind.
    The woman who arrived that afternoon, announcing herself as Rose Delaney, was middle-aged yet looked girlish. This was not, Isobel saw at once, the effect of vanity, a desperate clinging to youth, but indifference to the passing of time, as if the curling brown hair had been greying and the flesh of her neck and her body loosening while she was thinking of other things. Age had lined the skin about her beautiful blue eyes but had left