Isobel on the Way to the Corner Shop by Amy Witting

I’ll roll them down and stitch a hem.’
    She worked fast, rolling two layers of nylon leg together down to the ankle and stitching a hem.
    ‘Your Mum would be proud of you,’ said Isobel. ‘Do you carry needle and thread about with you?’
    ‘It was all down in our office. Do keep still, dear.’
    She finished one hem and turned to the other.
    ‘How’s the time?’
    ‘Ten to two.’
    ‘I’ll do it with five minutes to spare. So long as the ambulance isn’t early. Well, there we are.’
    ‘Positively stylish.’
    Isobel lifted one foot to admire the neat little nylon sock with its rolled hem sitting snug above her ankle.
    ‘Hurry up, now. Get your shoes on. Ready! They can come when they like.’
    They came at half past four.
    ‘This is terrible,’ said Isobel. ‘You really must go home.’
    ‘No. I can’t leave you till I see you on to that ambulance. I wouldn’t be satisfied with myself.’
    ‘It’s like being on a platform waiting for a train. I know why people say they hate to see anyone off. One runs out of conversation.’
    ‘You shouldn’t be talking anyhow. You had better lie down and get under the blankets. I’ll go and see what I can find out.’
    Left alone, Isobel gave way completely to panic. She hid herself under the blankets, clinging to the bed, feeling as if it was a raft on an unknown ocean.
    Mrs Delaney came back, saying, ‘They’ve rung North Shore from the office. Apparently they’ve picked up another stretcher case. It’s holding them up.’
    She came close to the bed and touched Isobel’s shoulder.
    Isobel muttered, ‘I’m frightened. Plain bloody terrified. Sorry.’
    Mrs Delaney put her arms around her and gathered her into an embrace.
    ‘Darling, I know. This waiting is the last straw. You’ve been so good up to now, but enough is enough. Come on, have a cry if you want to. It’s only to be expected. But everything is going to be all right. Doctor Stannard says so and he knows what he is about.’
    Her voice was crooning, hypnotic.
    Isobel was trembling violently. She tried to clench her chattering teeth to still them and uttered instead a little whimpering noise.
    ‘Ashamed of this.’
    ‘Well, don’t be.’
    Mrs Delaney stroked her shoulders, which was comforting.
    Isobel thought, with surprise, that it was the first time anyone had ever touched her in kindness. It was a new sensation, remarkably steadying. Though perhaps it was the thought that was steadying.
    ‘That’s better,’ she said.
    ‘Don’t talk. Just lie still and I’ll sit with you and say nothing. They are going to ring from downstairs when…’
    ‘The tumbrel comes.’
    Isobel said this with a giggle.
    ‘You don’t stay down long, do you?’
    ‘Don’t stop holding me.’
    ‘No. Wait till I get comfortable. Don’t want to break my arm, do you?’ She lifted Isobel’s head onto her warm, plump lap and continued to stroke. ‘Just relax.’
    Later, she said, ‘You actually dropped off. Best thing in the world for you.’
    ‘Retreat from reality.’ Isobel sat up. ‘Sorry I was such an ass.’
    ‘You expect too much of yourself altogether. They’ve taken your suitcase down.’ Mrs Delaney was holding out her coat. ‘Better put this on. They’re bringing a wheelchair. It’ll be here in a minute.’
    Isobel shrugged into the coat.
    ‘What on earth can I say to you? You say “Thanks” when somebody opens a door for you.’
    ‘Just look after yourself and get well.’
    There was a knock at the door. Eric was waiting with the wheelchair.
    ‘Just thought I’d see you off. Bernie couldn’t get here.’
    He set her into the chair, handbag and duffle bag beside her, and wheeled her to the lift, Mrs Delaney following with the suitcase.
    At the reception desk, a man in uniform was talking on the phone.
    ‘I’ve got two cases in the back, I tell you.’
    He listened.
    ‘Well, I wasn’t paid for this.’
    He looked with disfavour at Isobel. He listened again, then said to Eric,