‘What? Are you serious?’ I said, laughing nervously.

‘Oh yeah, she’s serious,’ said Margaret Rose, and looked down at her own pair.

I had a spare large black-and-cream Wonderbra shoved in a bag under my bed, that the ambulance staff had snapped off me. It was encrusted with pink star diamantés across the cups. ‘Babe’ times two. It was a hideous thing, really, with empty hooks for the missing straps. I lifted it from under my bed, and pulled the cups together in a rather vain attempt to make it look a little more innocent, or perfunctory. I tried to pluck off the diamantés, but they were stubborn. It was monstrous, but I hated nipples uncovered underneath my clothes, so I could empathise with Jane. Any bra is better than no bra at all, except at airport scanners with the metal wire and all the confounded beeping.

‘Jane, here, this is all I have and really I’m awfully sorry about it, and …’ I said, ‘I’m sorry, but there’s no straps.’ I paused. ‘Well, see, it’s … strapless.’

‘Oh, my,’ she said, grabbing it, ‘you see, look at this now, isn’t it marvellous? Thank you, thank you ever so much, dear.’

Jane ran her hand over the diamanté stars and walked across to her cell, pulling around her curtains, as though it were a changing room in an old drapery store. She stirred behind the curtain. ‘Oh my,’ she said as she emerged and strutted forwards to me, her shoulder blades folded back like a mangled book. She had entirely abandoned the idea of the cream blouse. The skin on her belly fell downwards like a deflated wasp nest.

‘Success,’ she applauded, as her small belly wiggled. ‘Oh, my, that’s better, ever so much better. Ah. Great success. This is a very lovely shop you have here, dear. Will you parcel it up for me now?’

‘Would you not prefer to continue wearing it?’ I asked.

‘Ah, yes, great idea, now, thank you, dear. Ah yes, sure I’m wearing it, no need for the fuss or the parcel. My apologies.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Enjoy it.’

‘Oh, I sure will.’

In terms of a successful transaction, it was daylight robbery but it was the best this boutique could offer to Mrs Jane Lohan. She was delighted, but only so briefly a satisfied customer for next she put her head down, as though I had been caught laughing at her, or told her a dreadful lie, or done some other atrocious thing to embarrass her.

‘You OK, Jane?’ I said.

‘Ah,’ she said, applauding her memory, ‘I almost forgot. The call, we need to make it. I knew I was forgetting something. You see, I’m ever so hot and bothered now. I don’t like shopping so very much and I got ever so distracted. Now we need to make it before our swim. Could you dial it up there for me?’ she asked, expeditiously.

I hesitated.

‘I’ll pay you up for the units,’ she said, noting my apprehension. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you timed me, set your watch there, dear, I have money, I’m good for it, then we’ll know how much I owe you.’