“If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there’d be no need for tinkers!” says her mother’s voice from somewhere.

No, the bureau will not do.

But after their morning routine, during which time Lily must focus wholly on aiding Edna in washing and dressing, she helps Edna negotiate the steep staircase and gets her settled in the back room. Only then does it occur to her she has no way to get into the bureau without Edna asking her what she’s about.

Added to this, Lily is certain another letter will arrive at any moment. She uses the excuse of making lunch to stay in the kitchen and watch for the post. But then that leaves Edna alone with the bureau. She can’t take the risk of leaving her for too long, so she bobs back in frequently to check on her. Only, as soon as she leaves the kitchen she becomes certain she can hear the clang of the letter box and immediately begins to imagine another of those crisp white envelopes lying obscenely on the doormat, waiting to be discovered.

In this way she spends much of the morning diving back and forth between the back room and the kitchen, one eye on the letter box, one on her hiding place. In the end she comes up with the idea of polishing the door brass, enabling her to hover in the doorway between the two rooms. Her nerves by this time are quite shot.

The one consolation is that all of this seems lost on Edna. Though Lily remembers that seldom is anything lost on Edna. Sure enough, it isn’t long before she makes a comment about the smell of Brasso and how Lily is in danger of rubbing the damned thing away entirely if she carries on much longer.

Thankfully, that takes them to lunchtime, and it is after lunch when Edna gives Lily the opportunity she needs.

“It’s too hot for indoors. We should go into the garden, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes!” Lily cries, and Edna looks at her sharply. “I mean, if you want to, yes, that sounds lovely.”

Between them they manage to manhandle the sun lounger out onto the patio. It’s a double-seated swing with a canopy, which has faded in the past four decades from chartreuse to a dusty olive. It’s Edna’s favorite spot, and once Lily has her settled and gently swinging she uses the excuse of a cup of tea to dive back into the house and finally retrieve the letter.

She opens the drawer and there it is. The relief that washes over her is so intense that for a moment she forgets what it represents. But only for a moment. Then she panics again and wants nothing more than to shove the terrible thing back into the dark of the drawer. She can’t, though, not without ending up back where she began. But what to do with it? Every place she can think of seems so inadequate. If the bureau drawer—a place Edna hasn’t been for years—isn’t secure enough, where else is? Time is ticking on and she hasn’t even put the kettle on the hob yet. She quickly folds the envelope in half and shoves it into the pocket of her slacks. Then she makes the tea, one eye still firmly fixed on the letter box.