Janet Greene closed the front door. She rather liked Keith and had become rather fond of him. But it was the fondness that one feels for a pet and he could be irritating in the same way a pet can be. She fancied he was an old English Sheepdog. Loyal, dependable. No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t hairy enough. A Labrador then. No, not enough bounce. Ah, she thought, a retriever. Like a guide dog. Calm, sensible, reliable. He even had the right hair colour hidden away under his milkman’s cap.
Janet shuffled a couple of steps down the hall and put her phone on the charging stand on the hall table. She hated wearing it; it was heavy and pendulous and she kept snagging it. Everyone was so concerned about her after that silly fall. She knew perfectly well it was her own fault she’d fallen and the only factor old age had contributed was a momentary lapse in concentration. Her daughter wouldn’t let her store anything on the top shelves now and had packed a lot of rarely used plates into boxes and put them in storage