The Far Country by Nevil Shute

old lady lay in bed, but turned her eyes to the girl.
    “I see you’ve got a radiator going, Granny,” she said. “That’s much better.”
    “It was that nice man,” she said weakly. “I heard somebody moving around downstairs, and I thought it was you, Jenny. And then somebody knocked at my door, and it was him. He said he hoped he wasn’t intruding, but he thought I’d like the radiator, and he came in and turned it on and saw that it was burning properly. And then he said he hoped I’d soon be better.”
    “How nice of him,” the girl said.
    She made her grandmother comfortable and went out quickly to get to the shops before they shut. She bought the things that the doctor had told her to buy and a little food for her own supper. Onher way back to the house she passed the Electricity Department, and saw a light still burning in the office window, though the door was locked. She stopped, and rang the bell; the manager himself came to the door of the shop.
    He peered at her in the half light, his eyes dazzled by the strong light at his desk. “It’s after hours,” he said. “The office is closed now. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”
    “It’s me—Jennifer Morton,” she said. “I just looked in to thank you for turning on the electricity.”
    He recognised her then. “Oh, that’s all right,” he said. “I rang up head office, and they gave permission.” In fact he had sat for an hour staring blankly at the calendar, unable to work, and with the girl’s words searing in his mind. Then he had rung up his supervisor and had repeated to him what Jennifer had said. He had added a few words of his own, saying that he had checked with the district nurse, and he was going to re-connect the supply. He had said quietly that they could take whatever action seemed best to them; if the job required behaviour of that sort from him, he didn’t want the job. He was now waiting for the storm to break, uncertain of his own future, unsettled and reluctant to go home and tell his wife.
    “I’ve got my cheque-book here,” she said. “I can pay the bill now, if you like.”
    It might soothe the supervisor if the cheque were dated on the same day as his own revolt. He showed her into the office and she sat down and wrote out the cheque; in turn he wrote out the receipt, stamped it, and gave it to her, “How is your grandmother tonight?” he asked.
    “Not too good,” she replied. “She’s got a better chance now that we can get some warmth into the house. I’m sorry I said that to you this morning. One gets a bit strung up.”
    “Oh, that’s all right,” he said. “Can’t you get her into the hospital?”
    The girl shook her head. “She’s too old,” she said a little bitterly. “They don’t want people in there who are just dying of old age. She’s lost her pension because we’ve left India and the fund’s run dry. She can’t get an old age pension under the new scheme because she hasn’t contributed to it for fifteen years, or something. She’s spent all her capital in trying to live, and sold most of her furniture, and the bank won’t give her any more upon the house. There’s no place for old ladies in the brave new world.”
    He tightened his lips, conscious of his own dark fears. “I know,” he said. “It’s getting worse each year. Sometimes one feels the only thing to do is to break out and get away while you’re still young enough. Try it again in Canada, perhaps, or in South Africa.”
    She looked at him, startled. “Is that what you’re thinking of?”
    “If I was alone, I’d go, I think,” he said. “But it’s the children—that’s what makes it difficult. They’ve got to have a home….”
    She had no time to stay and talk to him; she cut it short andhurried back to the house. There was a telegram there now from her father saying that he was coming down next day without her mother, who was not so well, and enclosing a telegraphed money order for ten