Sunday.
Nine o'clock service, same pew, same three of us in a row. Carol on the end, Penny on the aisle, me in the middle with my bag on my knees.
Rain had gone. The courtyard smelled of wet bricks and instant coffee.
It was Penny who brought it up, in the gap between the second hymn and the readings. Leaned across Carol, voice kept low.
That probiotic you gave me. It's been sitting well with me.
That was all she said about it. No list, no big words. Sitting well.
I'd like five more. For me, and a couple of the girls from my book club.
Five. I nodded as though five were an ordinary number. Told her of course, and that it was Probio PCC she meant, the same one. She said yes, that one, and settled back with her hymn book.
Carol had been listening, naturally. Carol listens to everything with her face turned politely toward the front.
Well, if Penny's having five, she whispered, put me down for two. I'm taking them anyway.
Seven, then. Between the first reading and the second, without anyone raising a voice.
Afterwards, out in the courtyard with tea and a plate of shortbread, I said I'd bring them next Sunday. All seven, in one bag.
And they both said the same thing. Not no, don't bother. We're paying.
Penny already had her purse half open. Carol said, in the voice she uses for people who tell her the fish oil is on the house: Don't you dare.
Held up my hands. Said fine. Next Sunday, then, when the bottles were actually in their hands. No notes, no coins today. Purses went back into handbags, and Carol topped up my tea as if that settled it.
It was easy. Easier than I'd have believed a few weeks ago. No price list, no speech. Two women who knew exactly what they wanted, and one woman standing there with a shortbread, trying to look like this happened every week.
Then Penny asked about my daughter. Just that. How's your girl getting on?
Told them. Maths tomorrow. Business Studies right behind it. The two that matter most, she says. Told them she's been quiet this week, in the way that means she's frightened and has decided not to say.
And then I heard myself add: If you could pray for her. This week.
Hadn't planned to. It came out the way the thing you actually mean does, a bit sideways and a bit too fast.
Neither of them made anything of it. Carol squeezed my arm. Penny said, Of course. Then, simply, What's her name again?
Said it. Watched her say it back, under her breath, as if putting it somewhere safe.
Funny. For weeks I'd been the one handing things across. A bottle under the pew. A tube across a counter. I'd gotten rather good at it, and rather used to it.
Hadn't noticed how seldom I asked for anything back. Never mind money. A kind thought, a name said quietly. Turns out that's the part I'd needed most.
Walked to the car with nothing in my hands, and somehow more to carry.
Seven bottles to find by next Sunday.
Tonight, a lamp under a door, and a black pen on a desk.
Wasn't sure yet whether to tell her.