Isobel on the Way to the Corner Shop by Amy Witting Page B

covers?’
    ‘A nice bit of poached egg on toast.’
    ‘Try her on that then. What about a bit of poached egg, love?’
    Eric took away the bowl of cereal and replaced it with a poached egg on toast.
    ‘The first mouthful’s the worst. Give it a go.’
    Isobel, feeling foolish, like an infant under the eyes of five anxious mothers, tried a mouthful and discovered that she was quite hungry. All the encouragement which accompanied her ingestion of the poached egg was unnecessary. She was relieved when the others withdrew their attention to their own meal.
    Eric went away to distribute other breakfasts, came back to collect the used crockery and to pour tea.
    ‘Milk for you,’ he said to Isobel, handing her a plastic beaker. ‘Seeing you didn’t eat your cereal.’
    ‘Bit of a boss cocky, aren’t you, Eric?’
    ‘Got to look after you all, haven’t I? Now get on with it. I’m off.’
    Isobel drank her milk and set the plastic beaker on the table.
    ‘When they brought you in in your clothes, we thought, God forgive us, that you were drunk. In the DTs, like, because of the way you were talking. But Sister said straight, “Don’t imagine that she’s drunk. She’s wandering a bit because she has a high fever.” How come you were in your clothes?’
    ‘I went out to buy food. I thought I had a touch of ’flu, that’s all. I must have collapsed in the street. They did think I was drunk and somebody sent for a policeman. He sent for the ambulance. I don’t remember much after that.’
    ‘Don’t worry her, Marj. Let her be.’
    Marj nodded amiably.
    In the ensuing silence Isobel slept again.
    When she woke, the curtain was closed and a nurse stood beside the bed holding her sweater and her pants.
    ‘Don’t you have any underwear?’
    ‘I was only going to the corner shop.’
    The nurse raised her eyebrows in astonishment and disapproval.
    ‘You’d better put these on then. You have to go down to X-ray after lunch. Bend forward, will you?’
    She untied the tapes which held the indecent smock in place and hung it on the end of the bed.
    Isobel pulled on pants and sweater, the nurse opened the curtains and departed.
    There were gasps from the sympathetic audience when they saw Isobel dressed in outdoor clothes.
    ‘They’re not going to turn you out? In a bit of a hurry, aren’t they?’
    ‘Heartless, I call it.’
    ‘No. I’m only going down to X-ray after lunch.’
    She did not feel inclined to explain that it was for want of a pair of knickers that she was wearing outdoor clothes.
    At the mention of X-ray the women had fallen silent. One or two of them exchanged glances, then looked hastily away, as if some secret was making them uneasy.
    Eric wheeled in the lunch tray, six plates of salad, five of them on thick white china, the sixth on a paper plate. With a grimace of apology, he set the paper plate on Isobel’s table.
    Parcels do not ask questions. Isobel accepted the discrimination in silence under the eyes of the other five, in whose faces sadness had replaced unease.
    She did not do well with the salad. Eric did not scold. He offered her a cup of tea, which came in a plastic beaker, and said, ‘I’ll be back for you in half an hour. Going to take a nice ride in a wheelchair.’
    ‘That’ll be fun.’
    ‘That’s the spirit, kid. Take it as it comes.’
    Marj, blonde, bony and high-coloured—no doubt by her own hand—said, ‘Are you on your own, kid? No Mum or Dad? We wondered when nobody came.’
    ‘That’s right,’ said Isobel. ‘Orphan child.’
    She spoke flippantly, without knowing why. It might be in reaction to the solemnity which she sensed now in the air. She could not understand that either. She was still brooding over the humiliation of being without knickers. The best people wore knickers, even on a trip to a corner shop.
    When Eric came back, he was pushing a wheelchair. He scooped Isobel out of bed and sat her in the chair with a smile, as if he were taking a small child