And so, while he wasn’t particularly surprised that a stranger was crossing the floor to stand in front of him, he was intrigued by the words she chose to introduce herself.

‘That’s disgusting,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry?’ he replied, looking up at her and brushing the hair away from his eyes.

‘I said, that’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.’

‘What a bizarre way to initiate a conversation,’ he replied, cocking his head to the side. ‘Are you always this rude?’

‘You couldn’t have worn socks?’ she asked, looking down at his bare feet. ‘What if you don’t buy those trainers? You think the next person who tries them on wants to catch all your foot funguses?’

‘Firstly, it’s fungi,’ said Achilles, stretching his legs out and wiggling his toes. ‘And secondly, I don’t have any such disorders, thank you very much. I’m extremely hygienic and I pay particular attention to my feet, which is why they’re in such excellent shape.’

‘I hate feet,’ she said, turning away.

‘And yet you were mysteriously drawn to mine. You can touch them, if you like. I love a good foot massage.’

‘Vile,’ she said, rolling her eyes and walking back in the direction of the wedges.

This was not the sort of dialogue that Achilles was accustomed to. Typically, if a girl struck up a chat with him, the exchange would lead to a coffee, a kiss and either a quick shag in the disabled toilets or a taxi back to his for something more substantial. Instead, this girl had seemed repulsed by him, which he found both fascinating and insupportable.

Thirty minutes later, carrying the bag that contained his new purchase, he spotted her sitting in the window of a coffee shop and went in to join her.

‘Just to set your mind at rest,’ he said, holding the bag high, ‘I bought the trainers. So no one else will have to catch my horrible diseases. And I picked up some new socks too. You were right. I should have worn some in the first place. I apologize for my crimes against humanity. If you still feel you need to despatch me to The Hague to stand trial, I will completely understand.’

‘My father is a chiropodist,’ she replied, looking him up and down as she sipped her latte. ‘So I know what can happen when someone unwittingly wears shoes that someone else has worn before them. There are any number of afflictions. Warts, verrucas, athlete’s foot—’

‘I’m not much of an athlete.’

‘Corns, calluses, blisters, bunions, heel spurs, gout—’

‘Jesus, I’m not Henry VIII.’

‘I’m just saying.’

‘I knew a chiropodist once,’ said Achilles. ‘He bought me a pair of Bang & Olufsen headphones. The sound quality is tremendous. There must be good money in feet.’

Rebecca narrowed her eyes a little, sizing him up, before turning to look out of the window.

‘Well, if you’re not going to leave,’ she said, turning back to him, ‘then you may as well get something to drink. And I’ll have one of those marshmallow cakes at the front of the display case.’