I’m desperate to talk to him, but Dinah’s still reading the paper, commenting loudly on things that she thinks are ridiculous or outrageous. ‘Heh-heh! Why would a person want to knit a twenty-foot scarf?’

I wish I’d brought a book with me. I’m like someone on a blind date that isn’t going well, looking eagerly at everyone who comes along the yard just as a distraction – my spirits sinking as they glance away and walk straight past. I’m looking out for my ideal customer – Kate Moss or Paloma Faith or Demi Moore – but she hasn’t turned up yet.

Eventually, to my relief, Dinah pats David on his cheek and says she’s going to do her shopping in Sainsbury’s.

Time for the apology.

But David picks his book up and shuts me out.

I get up and stand in front of the shop and try to see it through a stranger’s eyes. Even though this is something that happens every day – David reads his book and I rearrange the dresses – today, our actions seem forced and unnatural. Already I can’t remember what it’s like to feel normal with him. To take my mind off it I arrange the dresses in order of colour. I love the rainbow effect and I wait eagerly for customers with my arms folded. There are so many people in the market today the crowds look pixelated.

‘You’re putting people off, you know,’ David comments, using his finger to keep the page.

I unfold my arms. ‘I thought you were reading your book.’

‘I am.’

I say, all of a rush, ‘David, I’m sorry about last night. I know I took advantage, but there’s no need to be mean about it.’

He frowns.

Now I’m irritating him. I wish he’d go home and take his misery with him. He’s making the hours drag. He’s even making the seconds drag.

A girl stops to look at the blush dress that’s still on Dolly. I’ll be glad to get rid of the dress, to be honest. I’m sure it’s not helping David, having it there as a reminder of the wedding in Camden Town Hall that never was.

She’s seventeen, maybe. Young, fair, no make-up. Her grey sweatshirt is baggy and hides her figure. She has an unfinished, cautious look about her, combined with the cockiness of youth.

If you’ve ever tried to coax a sparrow to eat bread from your palm, that’s the feeling I have looking at the girl. So I sit back in my chair, close my eyes and listen to a long goods train rattling by so that she won’t fly away.