He knocked, waiting for her to answer the door. Minutes passed by, time had eroded her speed. Or perhaps her hearing aid was off. He knocked again, and again, before hearing the key rattle in the lock.

“Aaron! What are you -“

He shrugged. She wrapped her tired arms around his small body.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Go where?”

“You know where, Grandma, don’t be silly. I’ll get your coat for you!”

He ducked under her arm and into the kitchen, slid through the door in the hallway and narrowly missed running straight into the bannister where her coat was hanging. It was closer than he had expected. On the wall behind it was a photograph of the two of them together, smiling. It must have been a happier time.

“Here you go,” he said, lifting her coat.

“Put that down,” she said. “I’ve got a cake in the oven, it’s almost ready.”

“But it’s time to go.”

“You’re just going to have to wait. It won’t be long.”

He let out a sigh before opening the door to the green-carpeted living room. The fire was dying down, slowly running out of fuel. He had once plucked a magpie from her chimney. Her crossword was open on an armchair. Almost finished, he noted.

“It’s been a while, Aaron,” she said. “It’s nice to see you again, but where did you go?”

She placed a glass of juice down on the table in front of him. Ribena. She had remembered his favourite.

“You know where I went, silly.”

“Do I?”

“Of course you do, they took me to the city!”

“I suppose I do. Do you want some cake?”

“We don’t really have time for cake. We have to go.”

“Everyone has time for cake,” she said. “My Aaron would never say no to cake. I’ll cut you some.”

“Ok then,” he said. “But just once slice.”

She smiled, her face sharing the same shade of pink as the dahlias on her windowsill.

“Come on then,” she said.

In the kitchen, she put the kettle on and cut them a slice each. They ate in silence, sharing time and space.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I might like a second slice,” he said. “Can I have one?”

“Help yourself,” she said.

While he picked up the knife, she went to get her woollen coat from the bannister, buttoned it up and slipped on her shoes. Peering into the kitchen she saw him eating forkful after forkful. She waited until he had finished, looking at each of the family portraits lining the wall.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked.

“Ready!” he said, crumbs still falling from his mouth.

“He never could speak, you know?” she said, locking the door behind them.

“Who couldn’t?”

“Aaron couldn’t.”

“He can now.”

She followed Death down the garden path.