It was then that my stall at Camden Lock began to really take off, and I began to rent the space for the whole weekend plus one day in the week. Some jewellery I had made, some I sourced at trade price. Weekends at the market were buzzing with people, many tourists, eager to buy a trinket to take home with them. I found I had a good eye for purchasing what would sell and the stall grew to be a huge success. Heather, who was eager to find flexible work so she could be home with the daughter that she and Anita had adopted, came in with me. As I made money, I started travelling, and Graham was happy to accompany me. We went to Turkey, India, Bali, Morocco, and always returned with contacts and merchandise to sell.

We had a comfortable life – not rich, not poor, not passionate, not dull. I could see myself growing older with him; greyer, more wrinkled, always at each other’s side.

After three years, one morning, he got down on one knee. ‘And will you, Bea Brooks, take this old codger to be your lawfully wedded wotsit?’

‘I will,’ I said.

We planned the wedding for the following month, a small do in the local register office, sausage and mash later at the Old Bull and Bush near the Heath. I bought a dress from a boutique in Notting Hill that specialized in vintage clothes, a slip of ivory silk and lace, and I found the most divine and delicate hairband made of tiny seed pearls, miniature white fabric roses and leaves made of old white lace. It was perfect. I glanced down at the photo in my hand.

‘Where are you now Graham?’ I said out loud as tears spilled down my cheeks.

*

My trip down memory lane was halted when Heather suddenly appeared in the lock-up’s entrance. ‘I thought you’d be in here. I hope you’re not getting maudlin on your own.’ She picked the photograph out of my hand. ‘Ah.’

‘I was just wondering if Graham was The One.’

‘Of course you were, we’ve all wondered that, but I think Saranya Ji would have said something about that, surely?’

We sat in silence for a while and looked through the album. No words were needed.

20

Late afternoon one Saturday, Stuart dropped in with Monty to see me at the shop. ‘Just thought I’d see how it’s all going,’ he said as he looked around the shelves. He was wearing the long grey herringbone coat that he’d been wearing the first time I met him, and had his thick red scarf wound around his neck.

I put on my smiley face. ‘Sales are great, better than great, though it feels a bit sad to think that this is the end of an era and I’m still not sure what I’m going to do next.’