Page 100 of Who’s That Girl?

Two cups of tea and three shortbread fingers later, Oliver gets roped into helping his granddad pack up some of the heavier items for the imminent move. I offer my assistance, but I’m quickly rebuffed by his granddad.

‘Gracious, no, this is man’s work,’ he puffs from behind a life-size stuffed grizzly bear. Standing on its hind legs, it has its front paws outstretched and its mouth frozen in a silent snaggle-toothed roar.

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Normally I’d feel obliged to argue with such a blatantly sexist comment, but in this case perhaps not.

‘One, two, three, hup.’ With a loud grunt the bear is suddenly hoisted into the air and flung over Oliver’s shoulder in a fireman’s lift. His legs buckle. ‘Jesus, Granddad, this thing weighs a ton.’

‘Stop complaining. When I was your age, I could carry one on each shoulder.’

‘What? There used to be a pair?’ He grimaces as a cloud of dust envelops him.

‘Aye. I sold Fred in 1952, but there’s only Ginger left now.’ He sighs wistfully and strokes the scary-looking bear fondly as if it’s a pet.

‘She’s called Ginger?’ I ask doubtfully.

‘After the dancer.’ He nods proudly. ‘Both beauties, don’t you think?’

‘I think I’m going to collapse, that’s what I think,’ complains Oliver, still trying to lug the beast across the shop floor.

Quickly stepping out of his way, I take it as my cue to leave.

‘OK, well, I better be going. It was nice to meet you.’ I go to shake hands with Oliver’s granddad, but he’s having none of the formality. Grabbing hold of me, he plants a whiskery kiss full of shortbread crumbs on each cheek.

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a nice silver milk jug?’ he suggests. ‘Or a set of horse-brasses?’

‘No, thank you.’ I smile as I’m released from his grip. I turn to Oliver, but he’s still weighed down by a grizzly balancing precariously on his shoulder. ‘Well … um, bye.’

I sort of hover awkwardly in the middle of the shop floor, watched by the eagle eyes of his granddad and Welly, who both seem to stop what they are doing, be it sniffing the leg of a dining-room table or dusting a horse-brass.

Oliver pauses from grappling with the bear and sticks his head out from underneath the wide roar. ‘Oh, hey.’ He’s all red-faced and out of breath. ‘You’re leaving?’

If I’m not mistaken, he looks a bit dismayed. I feel a tweak of pleasure.

‘Yeah, I’m going to walk back.’ I nod vigorously, feeling flustered all of a sudden. ‘Keep looking for my watch …’ I trail off, and begin chewing my thumbnail, before realising and snatching my hand out of my mouth. What am I doing? I never chew my nails any more. Not now I have manicures. ‘You know, I need to …’

‘Retrace your steps.’

‘… retrace my steps.’

We both speak at the same time, then laugh at the coincidence, but the words aren’t lost on me. I don’t think they’re lost on him either, because he gives me a look. Or am I imagining it?

Probably, I decide, grabbing hold of myself. I mean, I’m not exactly at my most lucid right now, am I? I’ve barely had any sleep, I’ve just broken up with my boyfriend, I’m probably experiencing a sugar high from the ice cream and shortbread fingers, and I’m thinking all sorts about a barman I met ten years ago and who’s about to be suffocated by a giant stuffed bear.

I don’t remember this being one of the stages I read about in the glossary for the relationship book.

‘Are you OK to walk back?’

‘Yeah, fine, fine.’ I nod, hastily batting away his concerns with my hand. ‘I left my car at the pub.’

‘Do you have far to drive?’

‘No, I only live five minutes away, by the church, Spencer Avenue,’ I gabble. I’ve come over all hot and jittery, and feel the urgent need to go outside and get some fresh air.

‘Well, if you’re around, maybe pop in the pub later.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

There’s a pause.