The hoarder next door

Tilly was lonely, until she made an unlikely new friend¼

When I left school last summer, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I applied to be a nurse. It was my calling the job I' d always wanted.

But although I was accepted for training and got the grades I needed, something went wrong with my paperwork and I was informed that, with regret, the university wouldn' t be able to take me until the following year.

It' s not fair,' I wailed to Mum. I submitted everything they asked for on time.'

Try not to let it get you down, Tilly,' Mum advised.

It' s not like they' ve rejected you you just have to wait for an extra few months.'

`A whole 12 of them,' I moaned.

With my friends all having gone off to halls of residence up and down the country, I found myself all on my own.

You need something to keep you busy,' Mum said. How about doing a bit of volunteering?'

As luck would have it, my auntie May called round, and mentioned that the charity shop at the back of the shopping centre was looking for volunteers.

There you are then it was meant to be,' Mum told me. Pop over right away and ask them if you can help.'

Although the other volunteers at the shop were all elderly, I seemed to fit right in.

They all thought I was a genius because I could show them how to do things on the electronic cash register that they' d never thought possible.

I enjoyed sorting the clothes and steaming out the creases. Whenever a new delivery arrived usually in black plastic sacks or cardboard boxes I pounced on it to see what treasures it held.

Tilly' s very keen,' I heard some of the older women whisper.

She' s a breath of fresh air,' replied another.

We had quite a few regular customers, some of whom came every day.

I soon worked out that the stout man in the herring-bone coat was only interested in our bric-a-brac shelves because he was hoping to find something we hadn' t realised was very valuable. He invariably walked away empty-handed.

The young mum with the big shoulder-bag was always on the look-out for children' s clothes especially jeans and jumpers. I asked her what ages her children were, wrote them down and taped the note under our counter

I could keep an eye on what came in that might be of use to her.

And then there was

Miss Lyons. We knew her by name because she was our landlord. She owned the shop premises and lived in the adjoining house it was something of a rarity to find a residential property right in the town centre, but it was old and I imagined it had been a merchant' s dwelling, in the past.

Who knew what Miss

Lyons would buy on any given day? But she always bought something. It might be a skirt or a blouse, but it could just as easily be a fireside companion set, or a novel, a bud vase or a James Bond DVD.

What on earth

You need something to keep you busy. How about doing a bit of volunteering?Õ

does she do with it all?' I wondered aloud.

She probably uses it for a while and then takes it back to a different charity shop when she' s tired of it,' my colleague, Doreen, replied.

It occurred to me that Miss Lyons might be one of those people who buy up items and sell them again online. But really, the shop was so busy that I didn' t have time to dwell on the matter.

It had been another hectic day at the charity shop. We' d had a massive donation from a family who were moving house, which had prompted them to do a huge clear-out. There were children' s books and toys, a stack of comedy DVDs, clothes for every member of the family, kitchen things and even Christmas decorations!

You get stuck into that lot and I' ll watch the shop floor,' Doreen said. You' re much quicker than I am.'

So I spent a couple of hours sorting, preparing and pricing all the goods and trying to find space for them among our displays.

Then I took over the till, so that Doreen could go for her break.

In the afternoon, it was time to change our window display, which kept me fully occupied, and in what seemed like no time, we were ready to turn the sign on the door to Closed' .

I was just putting on my coat and preparing to set the alarm, when a thought struck me.

We haven' t seen Miss Lyons today that' s a first.'

No, dear you' re right. She must' ve found somewhere else to shop for a change.'

Or perhaps she' s unwell. I hope not.'

We pulled the door behind us and I set off towards my bus stop, but before I got there, I turned back.

Perhaps it was the nurse in me, but I just wasn' t happy. Miss Lyons always came into the shop at some point. I' d never known a day when she hadn' t. Now I was worried that something was wrong.

I walked quickly back to her house.

Would she feel I was intruding, if I checked up on her? It was a risk I' d have to take, or I wouldn' t be able to live with my conscience.

I rang the doorbell and waited.

No answer.

I rang again, but no one came.

Not expecting to see much, I lifted the flap of the letter-box and peered inside.

There, on the hall floor, I could see what looked like a bundle of rags. But before I retreated, the bundle moved.

Hello?' I called.

The bundle moved again and I heard a soft moan.

Miss Lyons? Is that you?' Another moan.

It' s all right. I' m here. Should I call the police? Or an ambulance?'

Just come in,' the voice replied. The door isn' t locked.'

I tried the handle and, sure enough, the heavy door swung open.

There on the tiled hallway floor lay Miss Lyons, surrounded by mountains of¼ well¼ everything!

There were tall towers of old newspapers, stacks of books, and dozens of tins of food. There were vinyl records, a whole collection of coal scuttles and many, many framed pictures that hadn' t been hung on the walls.

The effect was mesmerising. My first glances clearly only scraped the surface of what appeared to be a sort of less shiny

Aladdin' s cave.

But my priority must be Miss Lyons.

How long have you been lying here?' I asked her.

Since this morning. What time is it now?'

Almost six,' I said. What happened?'

I tripped over the pile of towels on the bottom of the

stairs,' she said.

And you' ve hurt yourself?'

My leg, yes.'

I checked if Miss Lyons had banged her head in the fall, but she assured me she hadn' t.

Right. I' m phoning for an ambulance,' I told her.

But if you could just help me up¼'

I don' t want to move you in case I do any more damage,' I insisted, and took out my mobile.

It was half an hour before the ambulance reached us. I tried to keep Miss Lyons' s spirits up by chatting, but she kept interrupting to apologise.

You must think me odd,' she said. I know decluttering is very much the thing, these days, but I' m afraid I' m what people call a hoarderº .

I wasn' t always this way when I was a little girl I kept my room here like a new pin. My dolls were lined up on the window-sill and I had a single wardrobe and a chest of drawers for my clothes.'

So when did you start¼ collecting things?' I enquired.

It was when my parents died. I' d never married, you see, and I felt alone and vulnerable. Somehow it seemed that, if I surrounded myself with things, I would be safe.'

I thought for a moment. Do the things still make you feel safe? Or would you like to stop?'

I' m desperate to stop!' Miss Lyons exclaimed. But I' m frightened.'

Once Miss Lyons' s leg was mending, she began to see a counsellor.

Barbara is marvellous,' a thrilled Miss Lyons reported. She lets me talk and talk and sometimes we have a little chuckle.'

I was glad she was finding it helpful.

Meanwhile, Miss Lyons had asked me to assist her with emptying her home of all the purchases she' d accumulated.

Reluctant to treat her belongings like junk, I tried to find the best possible way to deal with them.

So we gave all the old newspapers to a social history project, which was glad to get them. We sorted through the tins of food and found lots that were still in-date, which we donated to the food bank.

I snapped up the better bric-a-brac and clothes for our charity shop, and we put the less appealing garments into rag-bags for recycling.

I lost count of how many mugs we gathered up and passed on to the homeless shelter, along with carrier bags of brand-new toiletries that Miss Lyons couldn' t possibly get through in years.

How do you feel?' I asked, as we put our feet up with a cup of tea.

Elated,' she said. Well, I do now, while you' re here. I might go to pieces when you' ve gone home.'

I can' t say it was a completely smooth journey. There were days when tears were shed and times when I could sense the panic behind Miss Lyons' s eyes as she looked around at her rapidly emptying home.

But she was determined. The ambulance crew had looked at the clutter and warned her she could easily have another accident, and

I' d pointed out how difficult she would be to locate in the event of a fire.

I know it' s for the best,' she agreed, even if she still sometimes looked a little rueful.

`Although what am I going to do with myself, once the big clear-out is finished?' Miss Lyons wondered. I' m used to spending my days poking about in shops like yours, looking for new things.'

I' ve been thinking about that,' I told her. And I' ve got a suggestion.'

ÔI felt alone and vulnerable. It seemed that, if I surrounded myself with things, I would be safeÕ

My bags are packed and I' m ready to leave for uni and my nursing degree.

I' ve decided my year out was a good thing, after all, as I' ve met so many interesting people through working in the charity shop.

The good news is that I was able to find my own replacement before I left

Miss Lyons now volunteers there, five days a week.

She tells me she loves the company of her colleagues and getting to know the regulars, like the man in the herring-bone coat who never buys anything, and the young mum whose children keep growing out of their clothes.

There' s always someone to talk to, Tilly, and it keeps me out of mischief,' Miss Lyons said. I particularly like Doreen. She' s going to come round for coffee at the weekend now that I can finally have people in the house again.'

That' s great. Do you have any other plans?' I enquired.

Only this if I notice someone coming in a little too often, buying a few too many random items, I' m going to make it my business to have a chat. Maybe they don' t need to buy one more thing maybe they' d be better off making one more friend, instead.'

I' m glad we made friends, Miss Lyons.'

I' m glad, too, Tilly.'