The hut with the blue door

An original literary non-fiction-style account of helping a neighbour close a beach hut at the end of the season.

The beach hut was not much wider than the blue door through which we entered. Inside were two folding chairs, a shelf, a kettle and a row of hooks. My neighbour, Elsie, called it her summer house. I had imagined something larger until she opened the door and stood aside with the expression of a host showing me a generous room.

We carried the chairs outside. Their feet sank unevenly into the shingle. Elsie unfolded one and sat down to check its canvas, though there was little doubt that she also wanted to sit in it. The sea was a grey strip beyond the empty beach. She asked whether I wanted tea before we began putting things away. I reminded her that we had come to put things away. She said that the kettle was still there.

The jobs were small. We washed the cups, wiped the shelf and folded the chairs. Each removed object left more space and less of a room. A faded square on the wall showed where a calendar had hung. Beside it, pencil marks recorded the heights of three grandchildren. Elsie left those untouched, moving the cloth around them without comment.

Outside, she checked the blue door, then ran a finger along the lower edge. I asked whether she worried about the winter weather. She said she always worried a little, but it would be silly to spend the summer worrying about winter too.

She locked up and slipped the key into her coat. On the walk back, she told me which biscuits she would bring when we opened it again. Behind us, the hut looked like a shut wooden box. I found that description less accurate than it had been an hour earlier.

How does the writer present Elsie’s attachment to the beach hut?