As I pass it, I notice that the stall next to mine is in the process of being set up for the ten o’clock opening time. It’s lined with black fabric, and wooden and Perspex boxes are stacked up neatly inside. There’s no sign of the new occupant, though.

I unpack my suitcase, store it under the counter and hang up my surviving dresses, grouping them out so they don’t look so sparse. Humming to myself, I fix my banner, Fern Banks Vintage, on the skirt of the stall.

As I’m working, someone comes up behind me.

‘Morning, neighbour!’ he says.

I turn to greet him and to my surprise, it’s David Westwood. Oh, he’s gorgeous! I’m struck dumb by his ridiculous good looks. His hair is short at the sides, longer on top, thick and wavy, springing up from his clear brow. His eyebrows are straight and stern. He’s wearing black, which makes him look edgy, and I like edginess in a man. His eyes are the deepest blue. Probably contact lenses, I tell myself.

‘Hello! What are you doing here?’ I ask, feeling flustered and breathless and entirely losing my Lauren Bacall calm.

‘I thought about what you said about through traffic,’ he replies seriously.

‘Did you? Well! Good. Welcome to the neighbourhood.’ I’m feeling uncharacteristically buoyant at having a friendly stallholder next to me. We can look out for each other, watch each other’s stalls as we’re having a quick break …

‘Have you got a minute?’ he asks.

‘Sure.’

He beckons me over to his stall. ‘Take a look at this.’

With the flick of a switch, the rows of boxes, the source of his illusions, disappear and a constellation of stars shines brightly – the stand has been transformed into the night sky and suddenly we’re staring into the universe.

‘What do you think?’

‘Wow.’

‘Yeah.’ He looks pleased and he hands me a light box to look at.

I take a neighbourly interest. It’s five-sided, wooden, with the light fitting inside.

‘See the way the sides fit together?’ he says, smoothing it with his thumb. ‘These are dovetail joints.’

‘Nice!’

‘And then …’ He slots into the front grooves two removable dark blue acrylic panels with a pattern of holes drilled through them. Switching it on, the light shines out to create two constellations side by side.

‘Neat. I suppose the idea is to sell the whole set of boxes, so that a person could have a whole night sky for themselves, is that it?’

‘No, this is just the display. They’re star signs. Like, for instance, you’re Virgo and if you happened to know a Sagittarian, I’d slot this one in. See? They make a great engagement present. I can also personalise it with lettering underneath and the date.’

‘Romantic,’ I say dryly. ‘I’m not a Virgo.’

He shrugged. ‘Yes, well, you get the idea.’