Jam

I was sitting in my kitchen the other day. Martin was out. My hands were wrapped around a large mug of hot chocolate. I was considering whether to turn up the heating when the doorbell rang. I looked up at the clock: 10 am. The postman had already been. I certainly wasn't expecting anyone. I thought I'd just ignore it, but a few moments later I heard a voice calling out, "Hello! Anyone in?"

I couldn't place it exactly, but the voice was familiar, so I put my mug on the table and walked across to the front door.

I opened it and was greeted by a smiling, elderly woman. "Oh, you are in. I'm not disturbing you, am I?" It took me a few seconds to recognise her: it was the woman from the house across the road, the one from which Martin and I think we can hear the baby's wailing.

"Oh, hi," I said, clearing my throat. "It's... Mandy, isn't it?"

She nodded, her smile widening. I noticed she was holding a carrier bag. "I'm not disturbing you, am I? Only, I thought you might like these?" She held up the bag.

I smiled back but couldn't think of what to say.

"Home-made jam," she continued. "I remembered your husband said he loves home-made jam, so I thought he might like to try some of mine."

I saw two large jars inside the bag. "Oh... thank you. That's really kind."

"Not at all. I made too much, I've still got plenty left over." She opened the bag. "You got some marmalade here, with real Seville oranges. This is the time of year for Seville oranges, you know. And the other one's blackberry. I have to say, I usually make blackberry jam in the summer with blackberries I've picked myself in our garden, but these were bought in a shop." She pushed the bag towards me. "They've made a fairly decent jam, though, if I do say so myself."

I found myself reaching out for the bag and taking it. "Oh, well, thank you. I don't really know what to say. You... you shouldn't have."

"Not at all. I hope you enjoy it. And I'm really sorry if I disturbed you. I don't make a habit of popping up unannounced, I can assure you."

"Oh, no, I wasn't doing anything at all. Just... sitting... having a hot drink..."

We stared at each other for a few moments. Her smile didn't fade for an instant.

"Would you...." I started. "Would you like to come in for a coffee?"

"Oh, I'd love one, to be honest!"

"Oh, well, please, come in." And that was when I realised that I was still wearing my dressing gown. I ran my fingers through my hair: it was in a complete mess. I pulled the dressing gown tighter around myself. I showed Mandy into the kitchen and said I'd be with her in a moment: I just needed to go upstairs "for something."

I ran up the stairs, threw the dressing gown on the floor, pulled on some jeans and a black T-shirt, brushed my hair and walked downstairs.

Mandy's brow furrowed as soon as she saw me. "Oh my goodness, you didn't need to get changed on my account! Oh, now I feel bad for just turning up."

I walked over to the kettle. "Oh no, no, it wasn't on your account at all. I was just about to get changed anyway. Tea or coffee?"

"Are you sure you don't mind my staying?"

I couldn't help smiling. "Absolutely. I wouldn't have invited you in otherwise."

"Well then, I'd love a coffee. And I promise I'll make it a quick one."

I opened the carrier bag which I'd placed on the table and pulled out one of the jars. "You really didn't have to do this, you know. It's very kind."

She smiled and shook her head. "Why don't you just try some. I'd love to know what you think of it."

I opened the jar; it was the blackberry. It certainly looked okay. "Ooh, smells lovely," I said. I looked up and saw her face beaming back at me.

"Have you got a scone by any chance?"

"Umm... no. And to be honest - and please don't take this the wrong way - I'm not really a jam person. I hope you don't mind. I never have jam. It's Martin who's really into jam. I'm sure he'll love it when he comes home. Do you mind if I... if I don't have any?"

Her smile flickered for just one moment, but she brushed my words away with her hand. "Don't be silly. It was mainly your husband I was thinking about anyway."

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all."

I turned away to face the kettle. I was sure my cheeks were burning red, but there was no way I was going to try some "home-made jam" from some woman I barely knew who'd suddenly turned up on my doorstep.