The lights were on and I wasn’t about to give up. I was the same with my own doorbell, convinced an unexpected afternoon chime meant Jehovah’s Witnesses or recent prison releases – all tattoos and broken teeth – with those brimming plastic crates of overpriced dishcloths. Eventually I heard the patter of footsteps.
‘Lily.’
Deborah didn’t look exactly thrilled to see me. I leant in for a double kiss, nevertheless. I’d brought a box of cakes from the Gail’s on the corner, and I thrust them into her hands.
‘I thought we left things a little oddly on Boxing Day, and I wanted to apologize in person,’ I said. ‘It’s been a bit of a stressful time.’
‘Right,’ she said warily, not stepping aside. She was wearing a pair of wrinkled green tracksuit bottoms that screamed ‘working from home’, and I wondered if she was weighing up the time commitment. She stared at me, birdlike. ‘Are you okay, Lily? You look a bit… not quite yourself.’
It took all my wherewithal not to look her up and down and make a joke about ‘casual Tuesday’. Instead I pressed home the advantage.
‘Not entirely,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘That’s why I need to talk to you. Can I come in?’
Deborah’s face melted and she stepped aside. I hadn’t lost my touch with everyone, it appeared.