BAG MAN

‘I’ll get the door,’ I said to one of the older women lives in the flats and who had in her hands her own personal shopping bag and two Tesco’s carriers and had struggled in front me through the entrance.
‘Oh, thanks,’ she said after turning her head and looking at me.
At the bottom of the flights I said, ‘shall I take one of those?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said and handed me the personal, ‘that’s got my milk in it.’
‘Blimey,’ when I felt the weight.
Up a couple of flights and she was breathing heavily, moving slowly.
‘What floor you on?’ she asked.
Steps.
‘You going to four then take the lift?’ I said.
More steps.
‘It’s getting so hard to go out,’ she said, ‘the lift being down.’
‘I know. You go down town, come back up the hill, then you’ve got four floors, it’s hard work.’
‘It’s all up hill, isn’t it?’ she said, her face showing the strain and she was slowing down.
She held the doors for me on four, then along the corridor, through door, in lift, up.
When she got out I gave her her bag.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘thank you very much.’