Star Over Bethlehem: Christmas Stories and Poems. Agatha Christie

talking about things,’ said Mrs Chubb. ‘I’d best get on with the washing up. We’re nearly out of tea and butter, by the way. I’ll have to run round to the shops.’

      Mrs Hargreaves said quickly that she would do the washing up and would also do the shopping and she urged Mrs Chubb to go home in a taxi.

      Mrs Chubb said no point in a taxi when the 11 bus got you there just as quick; so Mrs Hargreaves gave her two pound notes and said perhaps she would like to take her daughter something in Hospital? Mrs Chubb thanked her and went.

      Mrs Hargreaves went to the sink and knew that once again she had done the wrong thing. Mrs Chubb would have much preferred to clink about in the sink, retailing fresh bits of information of a macabre character from time to time, and then she could have gone to the shops and met plenty of her fellow kind and talked to them, and they would have had relatives in hospitals, too, and they all could have exchanged stories. In that way the time until Hospital visiting hours would have passed quickly and pleasantly.

      ‘Why do I always do the wrong thing?’ thought Mrs Hargreaves, washing up deftly and competently; and had no need to search for the answer. ‘Because I don’t care for people.’

      When she had stacked everything away, Mrs Hargreaves took a shopping bag and went to shop. It was Friday and therefore a busy day. There was a crowd in the butcher’s shop.Women pressed against Mrs Hargreaves, elbowed her aside, pushed baskets and bags between her and the counter. Mrs Hargreaves always gave way.

      ‘Excuse me, I was here before you.’ A tall thin olive-skinned woman infiltrated herself. It was quite untrue and they both knew it, but Mrs Hargreaves stood politely back. Unfortunately, she acquired a defender, one of those large brawny women who are public spirited and insist on seeing justice is done.

      ‘You didn’t ought to let her push you around, luv,’ she admonished, leaning heavily on Mrs Hargreaves’ shoulder and breathing gusts of strong peppermint in her face.‘You was here long before she was. I come in right on her heels and I know. Go on now.’ She administered a fierce dig in the ribs.‘Push in there and stand up for your rights!’

      ‘It really doesn’t matter,’ said Mrs Hargreaves.‘I’m not in a hurry.’

      Her attitude pleased nobody.

      The original thruster, now in negotiation for a pound and a half of frying steak, turned and gave battle in a whining slightly foreign voice.

      ‘If you think you get here before me, why not you say? No good being so high and mighty and saying’ (she mimicked the words) ‘it doesn’t matter! How do you think that makes me feel? I don’t want to go out of my turn.’

      ‘Oh no,’ said Mrs Hargreaves’ champion with heavy irony.‘Oh no, of course not! We all know that, don’t we?’

      She looked round and immediately obtained a chorus of assent.The thruster seemed to be well known.

      ‘We know her and her ways,’ said one woman darkly.

      ‘Pound and a half of rump,’ said the butcher thrusting forth a parcel. ‘Now then, come along, who’s next, please?’

      Mrs Hargreaves made her purchases and escaped to the street, thinking how really awful people were!

      She went into the greengrocer next, to buy lemons and a lettuce. The woman at the greengrocer’s was, as usual, affectionate.

      ‘Well, ducks, what can we do for you today?’ She rang up the cash register; said ‘Ta’ and ‘Here you are, dearie,’ as she pressed a bulging bag into the arms of an elderly gentleman who looked at her in disgust and alarm.

      ‘She always calls me that,’ the old gentleman confided gloomily when the woman had gone in search of lemons.

      ‘ “Dear”, and “Dearie” and “Love”. I don’t even know the woman’s name!’

      Mrs Hargreaves said she thought it was just a fashion. The old gentleman looked dubious and moved off, leaving Mrs Hargreaves feeling faintly cheered by the discovery of a fellow sufferer.

      Her shopping bag was quite heavy by now, so she thought she would take a bus home.There were three or four people waiting at the bus stop, and an ill-tempered conductress shouted at the passengers.

      ‘Come along now, hurry along, please – we can’t wait here all day.’ She scooped up an elderly arthritic lady and thrust her staggering into the bus where someone caught her and steered her to a seat, and seized Mrs Hargreaves by the arm above the elbow with iron fingers, causing her acute pain.

      ‘Inside, only. Full up now.’ She tugged violently at a bell, the bus shot forward and Mrs Hargreaves collapsed on top of a large woman occupying, through no fault of her own, a good three-quarters of a seat for two.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ gasped Mrs Hargreaves.