She looked up from her knitting.
“Hallo, dear, what a surprise. I thought you’d left for good. Changed your mind did you? Bonzo will be pleased; he hasn’t been walked for days. Let me just finish this and I’ll put the kettle on.
He stood looking around. Nothing had changed. What was he expecting? No reason to assume that his leaving would bring about any dramatic changes in this old woman’s life. She was so very much in a world of her own. He looked on as she put her knitting down and got slowly to her feet. He could see how much effort it was for her to move around. He wanted to help, but he couldn’t.
From the kitchen, she called out, “The vicar’s daughter came back on Tuesday; she had a wonderful time I hear.” Cups and spoons rattled, as she carried the tray in. She put it down on the low table, carefully. “There,” she said, “do sit down.” She stood eyeing him for a moment. “Why are you just standing there like that? Don’t you want your tea?”
He managed to move his arms a little.
She fumbled for her glasses, muttering, “I don’t need them when I’m knitting, once you have learned how to knit, you know…” She put them on.
She suddenly looked perplexed. “Look, don’t get me wrong, dear, it’s lovely to see you back, but, if that’s you, who did we bury last week?”