'Fridge.' the delivery man said, already three steps back up the driveway to his large orange lorry.
I fidgeted quickly around the house, closing doors on rooms of mess, picking up as much litter from the hall carpet as I could then went to the doorway again.
The back door of the truck rolled upwards with the sound of soft thunder. Inside someone was already shoving the huge brown-covered parcel outwards. The delivery man caught it neatly on his shoulder - like a Miriam or a Ruth carrying the clay water pitcher from the well. He came towards me: gracefully, balanced, unsmiling.
'Where do you want it?'
Behind him, from where the fridge had been, I had the impression of the silhouette of a man toppling silently towards the road: arms out, body arched.
I stood aside, my eyes still on bushes that hid that section of the road where the man had fallen. No sound, no sign - as if a dream had suddenly appeared in my mind and then gone again.
'Well?' He was frowning now, swaying a little with the weight , so I gestured him through, watching him as he lowered the fridge to waist height to go through the doors.
'Either that thing is surprisingly light or you're surprisingly strong.'
He grinned. 'Just here?'
I nodded. I was still thinking about the man on the road.
I watched him go back to the van. Thirties. Black jeans. White T shirt making a convex curve over his belly and then an overhang above his belt. He reached in to the driver's cab, pulled out a board with paper attached with a bull dog clip and brought it to the door way for me. 'Sign there, print there.'
'Is your friend OK?'
Perhaps it had been something else: a dog, a large bird. 'I thought he fell out the back.'
He raised his eyes skywards at me. 'Oh that. He always doing that.'
'Doesn't he get hurt?'
The stretched white T shirt shrugged up and down. 'Dunno. Don't think so.'