“You coming with him?” the older man asked. “Only room for one in the back, mind.”
Raymond and I looked at one another. I glanced at my watch. The visitor was due chez Oliphant in half an hour.
“I’ll go, Eleanor,” he said. “You don’t want to miss your chiropody appointment.”
I nodded, and Raymond climbed in beside the old man and the paramedic, who was busy connecting drips and monitors.
I picked up the shopping bags and lifted them high enough to pass across to Raymond.
“Look,” said the paramedic, sounding slightly tetchy, “this isn’t the Asda van. We don’t deliver shopping.”
Raymond was on the phone, and I heard him talking, apparently to his mother, telling her that he’d be late, before he quickly hung up.
“Eleanor,” he said, “why don’t you give me a call in a bit, and maybe you could bring his stuff over to him?”
I considered this, nodded, watched as he rummaged in his coat pocket and took out a Biro.
He grabbed my hand. I gasped and stepped to the side, shocked, placing my hand firmly behind my back.
“I need to give you my phone number,” he said patiently. I took out my little notebook from my shopper,
which he returned with a page covered in blue scribble, his name barely legible there,
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