I have mistakenly left my black Lowe Alpine rucksack on the floor beside a dresser filled with a selection of mismatched cups and saucers. A girl trips over it, she curses at me but when she realizes that Joey, Mikey and Maeve are in my care, she softens and asks what happened to Joey’s foot. I allow her to buy him a gingerbread man seeing as she’s offering. Women never fail to go soft on a man caught in the act of fatherhood.

An Arista Coffee Roasting Company sign is suctioned on to the window. I look at the floorboards with a certain amount of pity as they are composed of fake plywood. The circles of sourdough are stacked neatly facing outwards, each one has a beautiful imprint from a special basket called a banneton which is used to let the pungent dough rise. I know this because I like to make my own bread when I can, the pleasure to be found in such an activity is immeasurable. There are Goodness Grains on sale here, I presume it’s a kind of porridge. I rather like the idea of porridge being good.

The girl behind the till is very beautiful, young, I notice. Her pale fingers tremble slightly as she handles the rings of sourdough, as she tidies crumbs away, as she cleans the display counter that holds a selection of goods filled with cream. I see Joey avert his eyes from the cream, as the very act of even looking at it causes him to become nauseous. When the girl has finished arranging the breads she places a device that looks like a meat thermometer into a bowl of coleslaw presumably to monitor if it is still edible. I know the dangers of coleslaw. I have been poisoned by it before and it is not a pleasant experience. It crosses my mind to tell her that if she is in any doubt at all about the safety of the coleslaw, that perhaps she should cut her losses and discard it, that way she can sleep in peace. I notice that her nail varnish is black and that this is not what I am expecting. I imagine her nails would be better painted a gentler hue, possibly a purple or a salmon pink.

Metallic tongs like miniature fish slices are on a table so customers can help themselves to whatever they want. Maeve still hasn’t made up her mind about what she would like. I don’t really mind that now because I am slightly mesmerized by the girl behind the till. It is more than the fact that she is beautiful, it is more. I re-tell Maeve the story about the woman who stuck her hand into the toaster in Donnybrook and died. It’s an old favourite.