She tuts, disapproving of my attitude. ‘This one’s opened up,’ she says to me, jerking her thumb at David.

He grins at me smugly.

I snort. ‘Yes, but he hasn’t sold anything, has he?’

Dinah blanks me. She turns her back on me and holds out a wet hand to David. ‘Let me introduce myself. Dinah. Dinah Moss.’

‘David Westwood.’

‘Now, David, explain to me about these interesting boxes. Is it a game?’

David goes through his spiel and asks her when her birthday is. It turns out that both Dinah and Moss are air signs, both apparently capable of the power of the hurricane or the delightful caress of a summer breeze. ‘Gemini, Aquarius, you and your husband have perfect compatibility,’ he tells her.

‘It’s true! How we met was destiny, fate, true love,’ Dinah agrees passionately.

David picks up his box of drilled Perspex sheets and slots them into a box. ‘Now this is Aquarius, the water carrier. Look, you can see him bending forward with the jug in his hand—’

‘And I can see the water pouring from it!’ Dinah says excitedly.

‘That’s right! You’ve got a good eye for the heavens. And this is Gemini. See, they’re holding hands.’

‘I see it!’ Dinah says.

David says gently, ‘See these big stars in Gemini? This one’s called Castor and this one’s called Pollux. In Greek mythology, they were the sons of Leda.’

I’m staring out at the rain and only half listening as he starts telling the story of Castor and Pollux. I roll my eyes. It’s all a load of pollux, if you ask me.

For a self-confessed cynic, he’s very convincing, and his voice is gentle and almost hypnotic. As he talks about their perfect compatibility, Dinah agrees.

‘I was wearing scarlet lipstick and Moss said I was beautiful and asked me to dance. What do you say about that?’

‘I’d say he was absolutely right,’ David replies.

She swats his shoulder. ‘Oh, you! You are a charmer! I wasn’t beautiful, but he made me feel beautiful and I loved him for it then. I love him for it now,’ she said firmly, tossing her head as if he’s challenging her. She turns to look at me and says ecstatically, ‘Fern, you’ve met Moss. You know the man only, but I still see the boy. I’d do anything for him and he’d do anything for me. He’s my sunlight, my joy! I look after him and he looks after me.’ It’s a declaration of love and in the dark shadow of David’s stall, her face is radiant with happiness.

It’s depressing, that’s what it is. My relationship with Mick seems horribly superficial in comparison.

I wonder what David’s thinking. He’s frowning, too, and he’s still holding the light box tightly. The whites of his knuckles are powdered with wood dust.