But he was still holding on to my milk, a look of total confusion on his face. And so I pulled. I pulled and it hit the floor with a pop and liquid splattered the cupboards and the fridge and leaked out into a seeping puddle on the floor.

‘Oh no,’ he said, watching the puddle grow. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …’ Reaching for the kitchen towel. ‘Let me help. We’ll replace the milk, of course, get you fresh. I feel awful bad about this …’ kneeling on the floor, mopping up the milk. ‘Still, there’s no point crying over—’

I had to get him out of my house.

‘Just go,’ I said, my voice rising.

He stood up.

‘Get out,’ I said. ‘I don’t want you here.’

He looked at me without moving.

‘Why do you live here, all alone like this?’ he said. ‘I was just trying to help.’

‘Get out.’ I was shouting now. ‘Get out! Get out!’

He left then, and I watched from the window as he walked down the path back to his van. Whistling, again, I could swear to it. Bet you anything he was whistling, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

I cleared up. The kitchen is back to normal and I have plenty of long-life milk so it won’t be a problem. Everything is OK.

It has upset me though, and I worry what will happen a fortnight from now when my next delivery is due. At first I hoped they wouldn’t send him here again, but then I thought of how they could send anyone in his place, and I couldn’t stand that. All of a sudden, I was worried that he would refuse to come back. That they’d send someone else instead, someone with no idea how I like it to be done, some strange person bringing me what I need to survive. How awful. And so now, despite myself, I worry that he will not come back. It’s painful to admit, but it seems I cannot live entirely without other people, after all.

Chapter 9