“You won’t be able to wear your gloves,” Eirlys warned as she held up Mrs. Lloyd’s coat. Eirlys and Penny watched as Mrs. Lloyd threaded her arms carefully down the sleeves, not allowing her tacky nails to touch the lining. Eirlys then handed Mrs. Lloyd her handbag and shopping. “I hope your hands won’t get too cold on the way home.”

“It’s not far,” Mrs. Lloyd assured her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Right, well, we’ll see you next week.”

Penny nodded.

“Mind how you go.”

Mrs. Lloyd set the shopping bag down on the kitchen table and stood by as Florence began rummaging through it.

“Oh, good, I’m glad you remembered the oranges,” she said.

Mrs. Lloyd gave her a sharp look. “Of course I remembered them. There’s nothing wrong with my memory, thank you very much!”

“I didn’t mean that, Evelyn,” Florence replied evenly. “It’s just that, me, I need to make a list or things slip my mind, so you’re doing better than most of us.”

Mrs. Lloyd threw her a dismissive glance, pulled out a chair, sat down heavily, and sighed.

“I do hate these short November days,” she grumbled. “Look at it!” she said, pointing at the pewter grey sky. “Barely gone four and already it’s starting to get dark. So dreary.” She removed her scarf, folded it, set it down on the table, placed her hands on top of it, and admired her fingernails.

“Well, I guess I’d better call Huw to see if the bridge game’s still on for tonight. With these freezing temperatures and the streets so slippery, it may be that some of the players won’t be too keen to venture out.”

“Oh, you’ve just reminded me,” said Florence, reaching into the pocket of her blue-and-white striped apron and pulling out a slip of paper. She glanced at it, then handed it to Mrs. Lloyd.

“Here you go. As I said, me, I have to write everything down or I forget. Sometimes I don’t think I’m as sharp as I used to be. Forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on! I’ve even got a little notebook now for my to-do lists and all the other bits and pieces I don’t want to forget.