Petra squatted and started to collect up the books while the giggling man evacuated. She’d gathered up maybe three quarters into a pile and moved closer to the countertop to collect the ones closest to the toppled dump bin, shifting her weight, when she felt it. A distinct seepage, up her sock, a definite grind of gritty soil, as if there were boggy puddles in the bottoms of her shoes. Instinctively, without looking, she stuck her fingers into her sock, shoving them down her ankle, to wipe at whatever was causing that sensation. She moved to the next book, picked it up and slapped it onto a new low stack she’d made on the floor.

There was blood on the cover. Glistening, wet blood, streaked on by her fingers. She turned her hand and looked at her fingers.

She probably screamed or whimpered a little as she yanked at her bootlaces and flung her boots away from her, ripped off her socks. She should have thought more about where they landed, splatting as they did with their heavy load of fine blood-soaked sand, painting apocalyptic designs over the white-painted load-bearing columns, the white cabinets, the glass display cases, the books, the toys, the houseware.

Petra was standing barefoot and bewildered in the middle of the shop floor as Suki emerged from the back office.

‘Well, that was weird,’ she said, then swallowed her words as she looked around her, at Petra, down at her feet. ‘Um, maybe a bit less of the casual, darling? Probably best to keep your shoes on, at least when we’re open, alright? Aren’t you cold, anyway?’

Petra rubbed her eyes and looked around her – at the polished surfaces, the clean white paint, her dry, sand-free socks and boots jettisoned against the front display cabinet. Down at her sock-printed and somewhat puffy feet, the nail polish she’d applied a week before her first date with Vincent growing out and cracking. But no blood, not especially damp. The panic had dispersed as quickly as it had arrived, leaving her feeling foolish and cold-toed.

‘Sorry,’ she said, flinging together an excuse for her dubious behaviour. ‘I thought I felt a spider in my sock.’ Really? Both feet? It was the best she could come up with. She put her shoes back on, finished repacking the dumpbin, and walked back behind the counter.

‘So, Ben was really weird,’ Suki said. ‘We talked a little like normal, but when I asked him about Worthing, he clammed up, became rather cagey. There’s something there, but he’s not saying what it is. I know when he’s lying to me.’

‘What do you think it can be?’

‘I have no idea, but now I’m determined to find out.’