Gusset dryness = history.

She hooked her finger towards me and led me towards the back of the shop where she rooted around in her pocket for a key to unlock a set of drawers beneath the cash register. ‘When he was here, he came to the gallery every day hoping you’d turn up. He said he’d told you about the place.’

‘Yes, he did. I didn’t think he would remember me.’

‘Well, he did, and he was a little disappointed you didn’t show up. I said if you ever did come in, he should leave a note for you, you know, on the off chance that you might want to see him again.’ She fished out a small scrap of paper from the drawer. ‘Here it is.’

She handed it to me. I opened it out:

Hey, Maniac. I came down here a few times but I must have missed you. Maybe you’re busy. If you want to hang out anytime, ask Sal for my number. Been thinking ‘bout you, that’s all. Rafael ☺

‘Oh shit,’ I said, reading the message again, before Salomé grabbed it from me and scribbled down his number on the back.

‘Only if you’re interested, of course,’ she said, going to hand it to me but withholding it at the last second.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I spluttered, ‘of course I am,’ grabbing the note from her and holding it as though it was the map to the lost city of Atlantis.

‘Good. Because if you hadn’t been I’d have thought you really were a maniac. He’s special to me. And he’s been hurt before.’

‘Me and him both.’

‘He’s coming here in a few weeks to help me move premises. Maybe you could spend some time with him? He’d love to show you around the place.’

‘You’re moving?’

‘To a bigger spot, a few doors down.’

She was waiting for something – for me to commit to a definite yes. But I couldn’t decide if I wanted to inflict myself on Rafael. He seemed like a decent guy, despite obvious artistic dyslexia. And no good man deserved me.

So I said it. ‘I don’t know if I’m… what he needs.’

Salomé stepped back, seemingly shocked. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘I’m kind of high maintenance. Every rose has its thorn.’

‘Is that Jung?’

‘No, Miley Cyrus.’

She laughed. ‘Well, here is another one for you – every heart sings a song incomplete, until another heart whispers back.’

‘Ooh, that’s good.’

‘Plato. I think. Or the other one. Socrates. No, I think it’s Plato. My philosophy is a little rusty.’

‘Well, it was nice to meet you, Salomé. I hope to see you again.’ I pocketed the note.

‘Yes, I hope you see you again too, uh— sorry, I missed your name…’