They take a left at Boots and head down into the Lanes. George used to deliver his tables to a market here. He wonders if it’s still there. It’s not. A fancy gift shop called Pussy has taken its place. ‘Disgusting,’ George says to Poppy, who barks in agreement.

George takes them in a circle back up to North Street. There is a Sainsbury’s on the corner and he stocks up on bread and milk, cheese and ham. Then he grabs a couple of chicken pies and a Swiss roll. At the last minute he goes back and gets two more. The person behind him at the till tuts and George is about to tell him to fuck off, but Poppy barks outside and distracts him. His fingers fumble with the bags, and a lady in the queue tells him he should get a portable shopping trolley, proudly showing off hers with a twirl. It’s tartan. George hates it but he sees the value. Everything’s going too quickly for him. He drops the receipt and has overloaded his bags. The cashier starts scanning the next customer’s shopping before he’s ready to take his from the loading bay. A drip of sweat trickles down his forehead.

‘Are you okay, sir?’ the woman at the till asks, and he wants to say, ‘No.’ Wants to sit on the floor and crack open the cheese. Wants to tell everyone in the shop about Ellen and the dog and Betty and the charity shop and how none of it is his fault.

He does none of these things. Just nods once, grabs his heaving bags, and marches out with them.

Once he has collected Poppy, he flags down a taxi, but when the driver sees the dog he pulls away again. George has to stuff her inside his cardigan, then flag down another. He tells the driver his address and sits in the back of the cab, coughing each time Poppy yips.

It takes seventeen minutes to get home and costs him seventeen pounds. The world has gone mad since George last checked on it. He pays the driver with a twenty-pound note. ‘Yes, I want my change. Why wouldn’t I?’

Back at home with a cup of tea, George decides, overall, that the day was a success. He heats a pie in the oven for as long as his hunger will allow, then eats around the cold bits while Poppy licks the tin tray. Afterwards, George slices a Swiss roll like it’s a lump of Cheddar. He eats off the knife and tells himself it’s delicious.

Lizzie

(I walked into the door again)