‘Farings,’ a woman said to her husband who huffed and puffed impatiently. ‘Audrey’s partial to a ginger nut so she’ll love a Cornish Faring.’

‘Does Audrey really need something? We’ve only been away three days.’

‘She watered the plants yesterday and I’m sure she’ll have picked the post up off the mat. That deserves a Faring at the very least.’

The woman then leafed through the postcards on the revolving stand. Some of the cards shouldn’t have been there anymore, curled and yellowed with sunlight, a fine layer of dust dulling their sheen. The woman chose one of Cape Cornwall, two of Botallack and two of the war memorial clock tower in the centre of St Just, which was a copy of a photo taken in the sixties. She looked up from the cards and caught me staring at her.

‘Such a quaint little town, isn’t it?’

I didn’t reply.

‘Do you live here?’

I nodded.

‘Lived here long?’

‘Yes.’ But I couldn’t be bothered to expand, so I turned my back on her and took another handful of Marathons out of the box and arranged them on the shelf so the letter Ms lined up.

‘Bit rude,’ the woman whispered loudly to her husband. ‘There are some rude ones down here you know. You wouldn’t expect it, would you? Not in such a pretty place.’

She marched past me and set her rock, postcards, and the tin of Farings on the counter with such force I reckon she must have broken the rock all the way through. ‘John, bring the box of fudge over here and let’s get it paid for. If someone’s going to come and open the till, of course.’

‘Tamsyn, can you ring that up?’ Ted gestured in the direction of the till as he carried a couple of empty boxes through to the storeroom.

I went behind the counter and smiled at the woman, but she wouldn’t look me in the eye.

‘Careful,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘Most of us are witches. You don’t want to go and upset us.’ She glanced at me and I winked at her and began to ring up the shopping.

Her eyes grew wide and she rested a hand against her chest, her mouth making a perfect O-shape.

‘John,’ she said. ‘We’re leaving.’

She grabbed her husband by the arm and scurried out of the shop, eyeing me over her shoulder as she went.

I poked my tongue out.

‘What’s up with them?’ Ted emerged through the plastic strips in the doorway carrying a full box of crisps. ‘Changed their minds?’

‘Londoners,’ I said, unsure if they were or weren’t, but knowing Ted wouldn’t question the lost business if they were.

As predicted he rolled his eyes and tutted.