Three or four times a week I walk down the road and rap twice with the heavy knocker on Margery’s home-made front door. Always twice, with the same force and tempo, so that she and the dog know that it’s me. And the dog, Joe, an old fat collie, always replies with joyful, musical barking because he knows I’ve come to take him out for his walk.
Margery moves slowly, so there is usually an interval between my double knock and her opening the door. Since her stroke she’s lost her appetite, and when she finally opens the door she’s always a little more skeletal than when I saw her last. Amazingly, considering how frail and forgetful she is, she still manages to order a taxi and go into town once a week for a shampoo and set.
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