He’d expected they would recognise each other: that there would be a jolting instant for both of them as that happened, but the man was a stranger, and not only that, although his eyes flicked briefly to Pearly, he just kept on talking, unperturbed, in his unmistakable way. Pearly was at a loss, left standing irresolute before the shelves. He’d been prepared to interrupt the man with an accusation, but his certainty faltered. He didn’t know the guy and had received no sign of recognition or discomfort at Pearly’s appearance. Surely the caller knew Pearly well enough to hate him?

Helen came to the head of the aisle. ‘Pearly, what are you after?’ she said.

‘Nothing,’ said Pearly.

‘Friggin useless dickhead, eh? I ask you,’ the guy said. His companion laughed uneasily again and shifted the plastic basket at his stomach. Pearly walked close by them both and nodded to the speaker. On impulse he held one finger up in admonition as he passed as a teacher might before a junior student and then rejoined his wife. Both men gave just a quick glance of non-recognition and momentary puzzlement before resuming their conversation.

‘What are you looking for?’ Helen asked him again.

‘That guy — his voice reminded me of the idiot who rings and abuses me. Do you know who he is?’

‘Never seen either of them. Are you sure it’s him?’

‘I thought I was, but he didn’t seem to know who I was either. I didn’t say anything in the end.’

Pearly reclaimed the trolley and they moved away, but the talking followed for a time just as he’d first heard it. Pearly couldn’t figure it out. How true the voice was to his recollection of the phone calls, yet the man had given no sign of realising who Pearly was. In the abuse had been familiarity with Pearly’s life, yet his appearance evoked no response. Pearly pushed the trolley slowly behind his wife and wondered what else he could have done. At least he had a physical description that he could repeat if he were ever abused again and could gauge reaction. Maybe that could be a deterrent, if indeed it was the right man. Deprived of the satisfaction a confrontation would have brought, Pearly was unsettled. He put wine and olive oil bottles the right way up in the shopping trolley just for some trivial release. He couldn’t hear the man’s voice any more, just the normal undertone of supermarket white noise. The incident annoyed Pearly. A lack of resolution that he felt was too often an aspect of life. Why couldn’t things be explicable? Why were pieces always missing and so many issues unresolved? ‘Beats me,’ said Pearly.

‘What does?’ said Helen, slightly ahead and appraising an array of dried fruit.

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re always talking to yourself.’