Albert laughed but shook his head. ‘Don’t use me to salve your conscience, young lady,’ he said with mock severity. ‘I expect your gran has her own ideas on what she would like to do whilst you’re away, and it won’t include a coach trip with a stranger.’ He did not say so, but he thought that the last thing he wanted was the company of an old lady who probably needed a stick to help her to get from one end of Heyworth Street to the other. Albert was a great walker, and one of the trips he had intended to take was a visit to Snowdonia, where he could be dropped off at ten in the morning and picked up again at six in the evening having walked for most of the eight hours, apart from a stop at a convenient hostelry for a pint of beer and a sandwich. Even more leisurely walks such as going up the Great Orme by tram and down on foot, he thought, would be beyond an old lady. But Tess was looking at him so hopefully that his heart smote him. She was a kind little thing, trying to find him a suitable companion for a coach trip whilst getting her grandmother a nice little holiday as well.

‘Oh, do consider it, Mr Payne! I’m sure you’d enjoy my gran’s company. I know you’ve never met her, but . . .’

‘No, I’ve not met her, but I’ve seen her passing my window and I knew it was her because you were carrying her basket,’ Albert said. He remembered the tiny, plump little woman who had hung on to Tess’s arm and thought that, delightful though she might be, she would hold him up at every turn. No, he really must discourage Tess from plotting. Why, the child’s grandmother must be old enough to be his mother, or if not his mother, at least an aunt.

When Tess took her leave, saying she was on her way to Lime Street to buy a third class ticket to Norwich Thorpe, Albert saw her off with mixed feelings. He knew he would miss her, knew also that his coach trips would not be such fun now that he had no one to go with. He had hoped that his ice cream parlour would widen his circle of friends, bring him into contact with others whose company he could enjoy, but his plan had come to nothing. He had visited the landlord of the empty shop down the road, but when he was shown over the premises he had realised that the shop was far too small for even the tiniest tea room. Furthermore, it had no water supply, which would have meant toiling up the stairs to the flat above every time one wanted to fill a kettle, so he had regretfully abandoned his scheme.

He was still mentally scanning his acquaintance for someone who might enjoy a coach trip when the bell above the door tinged as it was pushed open by a customer. Albert finished arranging his packets of Players and turned to smile at old Mr Grundy, a long-time customer. ‘Mornin’, Fred,’ he said jovially. ‘I’ve just had a delivery. Want some Gold Leaf?’