Declining years

"I never believed my mother when she said she used to be lovely and tall," says the woman in the charity shop, to the shy volunteer beside her. The volunteer blushes and says nothing. She is studying her hands. They are large and red, with grime all round the edges of the nails.

"But I'm doing it too," the woman continues. "Shrinking. My niece measured me. I used to be 5' 8". Now I'm only 5' 6". Well, maybe 5' 6 1/2."

There's a pause. It's impossible not to listen.

"What I don't understand is why my trousers are still long enough. I must be concertina-ing down from the top."

Now it's impossible not to look and, despite myself, I'm gaping at her, holding a pair of easily soiled, baby blue sheepskin gloves that I'm half thinking of buying.

"Mind you," she adds, "Everybody looks tall when you're sitting down."

Now we look at ourselves.

The assistant, overcome either amusement or nerves, is stuffing alternate hands into her mouth.

"Oh, you're interested in the gloves? They fitted Susan perfectly. Go on Susan. Put them on and show the lady."

Susan reluctantly extracts a hand and reaches out for the gloves. She's succeeded in distributing the grime more evenly and her hands glisten very slightly with damp. I don't really want her to do a glass slipper thing with the gloves, but can't say no for fear of causing offence.She crams her hands into the gloves with every appearance of mortification. Her fingers bulge up under the seams. She looks briefly triumphant, then hands them back to me. They are not the gloves they once were.

"Taking those gloves?" says the woman."I would. They're a bargain. And if they look nice on Susan...."

Susan looks less than happy. Buying the gloves may be the coward's way out, but I can't bear the thought of giving offence by saying 'no' to the gloves.

"Soon," says the woman, "You'll be able to carry me round in a backpack."

Susan looks at her, and I can't wondering if she's hoping that the backpack will be attached to the back of a giant lemming on its way, full pelt, to a handy local cliff.