– Absolutely, that's right. Do you need any supporting documents? – I walked up the stairs and opened the door.

– I would have given you the parcel anyway, but rules are rules» the man said, smiling good-naturedly.

– Then you'll have to wait until I find your passport.

I went into the house without inviting the postman in and found the passport. The postman looked at the document, made sure I wasn't deceiving him, gave me the passport and went down to his van to get the parcel.

When he walked into the hallway with a large box in his hands, I couldn't hold back a smile: how funny! A man helping me with the delivery of the blood of his own kin!

– Where should I put it? – He asked, with a flushed face: the box must have been very heavy.

– You can put it right here» I replied, pitying him.

– It's very heavy… I'm not sure that a girl so frail could lift it and carry it to another place. – He wouldn't let go of the box.

– Put it here, I don't live alone» I said insistently, so that the gallant man wouldn't stand like that.

The postman put the box on the floor with a clatter, gave me the papers to sign, wished me a pleasant day and left. I closed the door behind him, waited for his car to drive away from my house, and only then opened the box. In the box was a rectangular steel container with an interactive panel, and next to it was a note from my mum with the code to the lock. I entered the numbers and opened the lid: inside the container, in a thick mass of crushed ice, lay my «humanitarian aid» in the form of two-litre tomato juice packets. I counted them: eight bags in all, so I had sixteen litres of blood for the near future. Closing the lid, I carried the container into the kitchen, placed the 'juice' packets in the fridge and set the fridge temperature to four degrees centigrade.

«What about Mary? What if she decides to try this 'juice'? What should I tell her? What a dilemma! We have to think of something before she comes back!» – I thought.

After all, it's so natural: Mary might see packets of fat-cheeked red tomatoes with the Polish inscription «Sok pomidorowy» on them, decide to try it, open one of the packets, pour the juice into a glass, and instead of juice it will pour out…

What can I think of?

I tapped my fingernails on the fridge, thinking of something plausible: I couldn't let Mary see that blood and find out I was drinking it. In the end, after much deliberation, I decided that I would just ask her nicely not to open my «juice» packets-she was a decent girl and wouldn't poke her nose where it didn't belong.

While Mary was away, I decided to move my clothes from her wardrobe to my room, but it didn't take me long, so I had to sit by the window for about an hour, waiting for my neighbour to arrive and listening to what was going on around me: all the English conversations gave me a pleasant feeling of something new and unusual.

At last I saw Mary walking hurriedly towards our house, and I sighed with relief: it is very boring to wait for someone.

The door opened, there was a commotion in the hallway, and then Mary came into the living room with a large bag in her hands.

– I'm home! I went to the supermarket to ask if you'd been in, but they said you hadn't» she said, setting the bags on the floor. – I bought everything!

– Oh, I think I really forgot to go in there! – I pretended to be embarrassed, but I was immensely surprised by Mary's enthusiasm: she had bought the groceries herself! How embarrassing! I had absolutely no intention of buying anything!