‘Sorry,’ he explains. ‘I let go of the lead when I saw you struggling and my dog went back into the Stables to investigate the remains of someone’s burger. When I came back and I couldn’t see you, I kind of thought I’d better wait here, you know, as it was the last place we saw each other.’

I don’t know what it is about that sentence that melts my heart. It’s as if we’re old friends and that’s what we do, we come back to the last place we saw each other.

‘Thanks. Really. You don’t know what it means, to get my case back. It contains all of my best stock.’ My voice is wobbling with relief. He’s got a beautiful face. His nose is big and noble. He looks trustworthy and somehow sensitive, and his deep blue eyes never leave mine. The pink shirt sets off his tan. And he’s clearly kind. I grab the case, using it as a shield between the dog and me. ‘Thank you,’ I say to him again, because I’m still so relieved at getting it back.

‘My pleasure.’ He holds out his hand. ‘David Westwood.’

‘Really? Any relation to Vivienne?’ I ask, studying him with interest.

His blue eyes narrow as if he’s shortsighted and trying to focus. ‘Vivienne?’

‘She’s a fashion designer. Same surname.’

He laughs and shakes his head. ‘No, sorry. No relation.’

‘I’m Fern Banks.’ I jerk my head towards the entrance. ‘I work here.’

‘I guessed that when you talked about your stock.’ He looks interested. ‘So, how’s it working out for you?’

‘It’s early days,’ I reply; this is the reassuring fact that I hold on to in the quiet times.

‘I’ve got my name down for a stall.’

I give a shiver of serendipity. ‘Really? What are you selling?’

‘Light boxes.’ His gaze leaves mine for a moment. ‘I’m having a career change,’ he adds.

There’s something defensive about the way he says it that makes me glance up at him curiously, but I’m just happy that he’s not selling clothes; I’ve got enough competition as it is. And I’m still buzzing from getting my case back, so I say, ‘There’s a stall going next to mine. It’s small, though.’

‘Where exactly is it?’

‘It’s right next to the entrance to the covered market.’

He looks down at my case thoughtfully. ‘But there’s no storage, right?’