He looks at me a little longer and when he realises that I’ve come to the end of my statement, he says, ‘Oh, good,’ and goes back to his sanding. He’s got one of those little fold-up silver mesh baskets and he drops a piece of used sandpaper in it then cuts himself a fresh piece.

I like watching him work. ‘That was Mick on the phone,’ I tell him, in case he thinks I’m staring at him because I fancy him. ‘He’s been on tour.’

‘Good,’ he says again.

‘So, where did you and Gigi meet?’

He looks up patiently. ‘In an Argentinian steakhouse.’

‘Really?’

‘She was trying to get a vegetarian option.’

‘Oh, okay. And then what?’

He puts the woods down and sits back in his chair with his hands behind his head. ‘It was love at first sight. Wham! It hit me right between the eyes.’

‘Wow. What was she wearing?’ I asked, eager to fill in the details.

He pulls a face. ‘I don’t know, something, some kind of skirt, I expect.’

It’s not the most satisfying love story I’ve ever heard. Maybe he’s not telling it right. ‘Usually, love hits people in their hearts; but you felt it between the eyes, did you?’

‘Fern, that was a joke. I don’t believe in love at first sight.’

‘Don’t you? Me neither.’

‘But I found her interesting and slightly …’ He tails off thoughtfully and shakes his head.

‘Slightly what?’ I prompt.

‘Unknowable,’ he finishes. ‘Still waters run deep.’

Gigi, in my opinion, has about the stillness of a Jacuzzi on full power, but obviously I could be wrong about this. I don’t know her that well.

‘That’s why I’m doing this,’ he says, gesturing around him. ‘I was a headhunter until I met Gigi. I’ve spent the last few years finding perfect people for perfect jobs and now it’s my turn. Thanks to Gigi, I’m following my dream.’ His face creases into a smile and his eyes meet mine. ‘It’s a good feeling.’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ I say, realising I’d completely underestimated Gigi’s empathy.

There’s the splash of high heels in puddles and to my surprise, Dinah Moss is coming along the alley wearing a red raincoat, a black trilby, black stockings and red patent court shoes. (And it works.)

She sees me and waves happily. ‘Fern Banks!’ Coming under the awning with David and me, she lowers her red umbrella and flaps it wildly. ‘This weather!’

‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to thank you. You have given Moss a new interest in life.’ She looks at the stall in dismay. ‘What’s this with the boxes? Where are your clothes?’

‘Next door, but it’s too wet to open up. We haven’t seen a soul yet, apart from you.’