I step in to cool off. It’s been humid today and even now, in the late afternoon, the air feels like a weary gasp. The store is almost empty, and it has two large escalators in the middle that lead up to a half-finished second floor. Purses, scarves, creams, perfumes for every budget, lots of salesgirls in green uniforms gossiping, leaning against the display cabinets. There’s a quarrel – one is rude, the other lazy – and a third woman who wants to intervene. ‘You’re so nosy, nosy, nosy!’ says the woman with long red fingernails to the older one, who has light brown skin and a low, sharp voice. ‘And today you left that thing wide open, you’re asking for – ’

‘Can I help you, miss? Time to get to work,’ she says, and her voice changes. I look at her, confused. No one seems to be in charge. ‘Do you have computer cases?’ it occurs to me to ask. Without a word, the second woman hurries into another corner of the store, near the underwear.

Studying case after case, she glances at me, asks what kind of model I’m looking for, then blurts to her co-worker: ‘Hey, Milady, niña – doesn’t she remind you of someone? She reminds me of someone, the woman who…’ The short woman speaks animatedly; the other one fixes me with a bored stare. ‘Are you the daughter of that super tall lady who sold insurance?’ She holds a hand high above her head and looks at me intently. I’m baffled. ‘See, I used to work with the Turk and your mum always went to the store around there, with her folders and her high heels, amazing shoes’ – she claps – ‘looking all elegant’ – she elongates herself again, and I feel my eyebrows shoot up, my mouth smiling in surprise – ‘Yeah, her! She hasn’t come by in a while, right? But you look just like her, identical! Aw, I remember when you were little,’ she says tenderly, and I have no idea what to say or when to say it.