LOOK AROUND YOU!

Look around, the world is closing in.

Helen Clarkes business trip had taken her away, their daughter Poppy was staying with her grandparents, and William Harper was left alone in the flat. It felt odd, even unsettling.

Helen rarely travelled, but a colleague fell ill and she had to step in for a crucial deal that could not be delayed. William, whod spent more than a decade in the trade, drove her to the station and then turned back home.

On the way, a sudden realization hit himthere would be no dinner tonight. With Helen gone, hed have to sort it himself. He could swing by the grandparents, but then Poppy would come home early, and the house would be a whirlwind of homework, endless running, and a lack of any peace. He craved a quiet night after a hectic preChristmas rush at work.

At first he thought of ordering takeaway, but the thought of the supermarkets bustle pulled him in. He loathed the chaos of the aisles, the frantic shoving of carts, the impatient lines. Still, he found himself standing in the queue, a halffilled trolley and a couple of tins of good, dark ale in his hands.

The evening promised a lazy recline, a pure donothing indulgence. In front of him shone a frail, elderly lady in a faded coat and a bright orange scarf that kept slipping off her head, which she kept tugging back with patient persistence.

When her turn came, the checkout displayed a loaf of bread, a tin of sugar, a block of processed cheese, a few packets of cerealnothing spectacular. She set her small stack of coins on the counter, and the cashier, eyes heavy with fatigue, began to count.

Twenty pounds short! she announced finally.

The womans hands trembled as she fumbled in her pockets. Just a moment, love Ill find it

Youre not dear enough, hurry up, youre holding up the line, the cashier snapped.

William felt a surge of irritation. He couldnt stand the tension any longer and thrust the missing amount at the till, voice low but firm: Lets finish this, shall we?

The incident seemed settled, but the old lady, clutching her bags, turned to him and said, Thank you, dear, but I still have

The cashier, voice raised, demanded, Move on, youll hold everyone up!

Humiliated and irritated, the woman shuffled out, her steps awkward on the worn, white tiles. William felt a pang of remorse. Ah, peoplesometimes we lack both compassion and patience, he muttered, his mood darkening.

He finally escaped the cramped checkout line, only to be met at the exit by the same elderly woman, smiling brightly.

Here, I found some change in my purse. Take it, she said, thrusting a handful of crumpled coins toward him.

Guilt pierced him sharper. No, no, thats not necessary. Its just a few pennies. Im sorry for my impatience, he replied, taking from her a worn, leather satchel that looked as if it belonged to the 1970s.

Do you live far? I could give you a lift, he offered, trying to make amends.

No, Im just around the corner. Ill manage, love, she replied.

He still escorted her a short distance. As they walked, traffic snarled ahead, and the delay stretched longer than the walk would have. She declined his offer to drive, and they talked.

Do you live alone? Anyone to help? he asked, matching his stride.

Just me. Im on my own, she said, her voice trembling. I had a grandson once, a good lad, bright as a button. He worked in a garage, his hands steady as steel. I raised him from the fifth grade after his parents died.

She fell silent, the memories heavy. Something rang in Williams mind, a familiar echo.

My brother, Sergey, died in service last year. Only two survived that day, and they came back as wounded

The name struck a chord. Sergey Prokopenko? My schoolmate? William blurted, his heart pounding.

Pavlovna, Im Pavlovna, the old woman replied, puzzled. How do you know that name?

He explained that his classmate had used his garage for repairs and had attended his brothers funeral.

My own heart failed a while back; I thought I wouldnt survive the grief, she whispered.

They reached her modest twostorey house, and she invited him in. Come, have a cup of tea if youre not in a hurry, she offered.

William entered the cramped kitchen, laid out the few groceries hed boughtsome sliced ham, a slab of butter, a tin of sprats, a packet of biscuits, a bunch of bananas, and a bottle of apple juicetelling her to take whatever she needed. There was no debate.

The pantry held almost nothing, yet that night marked the first of many small favours. William began visiting Eleanor Price regularly, asking if she needed a hand with repairs or a call to a tradesman. She thanked him, refusing most gifts except for the tiniest necessities, and over tea she unfolded her life.

I was born in 38, in a village thats now long gone. My little brother, a father at the front, a mother who raised us alone until she passed. I remember the wartime trucks, gathering those whod given their souls to the Almighty. My own mother was taken away, and I ran after her, calling out, but she never returned.

She spoke of the orphanage, the aunt and uncle who whisked her and her brother to this town, of a father who never came back, of marriage, and of loss.

What of your family? William asked.

None left. My husband died after a long illness, then my daughter and soninlaw went to the seaside for a holiday. A storm rolled in; my daughter Maria started to drown. Her husband tried to save her, but the waves swept them both far from shore. No one could pull them back. I was left with just my brother, Alex, who works abroad and sends money to a card I never use because I cant remember the numbers.

Shall we call him? William suggested, hoping to lift her spirits. Do you have his number?

She rummaged through a dusty kitchen drawer, pulling out a notebook where, under the name Alexei, a phone number was scribbled. William dialed, his voice bright. Alexei Petrovich? Good afternoon. Were here with your sister Eleanor. Im a classmate of Sergey, his old school friend. May we speak?

The call connected, and Eleanors eyes welled with tears, yet a smile broke through. Hell be coming soon! Thank you, William. Youre a good man. I havent spoken to my brother in years; the phone feels heavy to me. He sometimes rings my neighbour, and she answers for me.

William left feeling as if hed stepped into a different world, one that had never touched him before.

What a load of sorrow this frail woman has borne, he thought. Did fate really intend such misery for her?

From then on, he visited more often, checking on the elderly, paying her bills, even gifting her a simple prepaid phone, loading it with credit, teaching her to use her bank card so she wouldnt have to rely on impatient cashiers counting pennies.

Helen later praised Williams kindness, inviting Eleanor over for lunches repeatedly. The old lady, initially shy, soon forged a warm friendship with Helen. When the grandmother who had cared for them passed away, Eleanor took that affection onto the new lady, offering the same gentle care.

A few small gestures, a little attentionnothing grand, just the knowledge that someone is near, ready to answer, to help, to support.

As William walked away from Eleanors doorstep, he often heard her voice echo, God keep you safe, dear. Thank you for everything.

***

Eleanor Price has since passed. This tale is written in memory of her and of all those who sit alone. Sometimes you only need to look around; someone may be waiting for a hand, and we might never see it.