‘Can I give you a hand?’ I asked.

The old lady turned. She had grey-blue eyes and although they were a little filmy with age, they were flecked with amber. She had a commanding presence now; she must have been a stunner in her younger days.

‘Is that you, Pippa?’ she asked, squinting at me. ‘Your face has filled out a bit since I last saw you.’

‘No, it’s not, I’m afraid,’ I replied, trying not to feel envious of Pippa’s well-defined cheekbones. Whoever she was. ‘We haven’t met before.’

‘Then kindly move along,’ she said imperiously. ‘Why the young assume that the more experienced generation can’t execute the simplest of tasks without their input is beyond me.’

That was me told.

‘I’m sorry, I was only trying to help,’ I said, wishing I hadn’t bothered.

Just then the driver’s door opened with a creak and two exceedingly stiff and swollen legs, one with a large dressing on the shin, emerged clad in the most hideous pair of black shoes I’d ever seen.

‘Perhaps she offered because she can see you’ve got arms like twiglets, Betsy,’ said the owner of the legs.

The feet reached the floor and a short woman shuffled her bottom to the edge of her seat. She was wearing a pair of beige shorts which possibly could have been standard army issue in the days of the Raj and a polyester lavender blouse displaying an impressive stripe of what looked like egg yolk all down the front. Her hair was a mass of steel frizz and she had a mole on her chin of Nanny McPhee proportions but her eyes sparkled with mischief and she was wearing the biggest grin. To say they were an unlikely couple was an understatement.

With a series of grunts, she began to manoeuvre her generous frame out of the seat. I wanted to offer assistance but I’d already had my head bitten off once.

‘Don’t get out yet, Marjorie, for heaven’s sake!’ called Betsy in a shrill voice. ‘I don’t want to be scraping you up off the tarmac.’

Marjorie winked at me and rolled her eyes comically. ‘Then let this young lady help you. The surgery will have closed by the time you’ve fiddled about.’

‘Well, there’s gratitude for you,’ said Betsy, nonetheless standing aside to give me access. ‘Anyway, it’s scarcely nine. The place has only just opened.’

I lifted the collapsed wheelchair out of the boot. It was lighter than I’d expected. I set it down and tried to work out how to unfold it.

‘Gratitude!’ Marjorie hooted with laughter. ‘It’s not me who needs looking after.’

‘That’s quite enough airing of laundry in public,’ Betsy cut in, putting a firm hand under her friend’s arm.

I found the catch at the back of the wheelchair and released it.