Her hand was on a book not more than ten inches from my ear.

I looked back at Roses – an Expert’s Guide. Chapter Five. There was an illustration of a Gertrude Jekyll, its petals pink and giving. An excellent all round rose, read the caption. Good scent and even blooms.

Kathryn’s knee clicked as she knelt to a low shelf. I wondered if she could see my sock through the gap, and I tried to remember which pair I had put on that morning.

She sighed again and stood up, then selected another book from the trolley. I looked through the gap in the shelves. As she reached for the top shelf, her blouse lifted above the waistband of her skirt and revealed a section of rose-patterned petticoat. It was black and lacy; big petals and leaves curled up her side. Through the lace, the whiteness of her skin was just visible.

I stared at these white patches of flesh until she stepped back on her heels and the blouse settled against her waistband. It can only have been a few seconds, that time I had with Kathryn’s side right there in my eye line, but I remember every detail of that lace, the way the rose stretched as she stretched, its holes expanding over her skin and sighing back into place.

The squealing started up again. I looked back at my book. Blooms guaranteed throughout the summer, if you treat this species with respect.

Click-clack, click-clack, squeal. She turned the corner and then she was right in front of me, standing beside the trolley. The air around us seemed to sway slightly as she breathed in and out. She selected a book on tulips and clutched it to her chest.

She stood there for a while, gazing over my head. I looked at her hand, the way each finger stretched over the big red bloom on the cover.

Then she spoke. ‘What’s that you’re reading?’ Her voice was small but firm, each word clearly pronounced.

I looked down at the book, then back up at her. Sweat prickled on my forehead. Her eyes were on my mouth as I forced out a word. ‘Roses.’

She nodded. ‘My dad grew them. All along the front of our house.’

‘I know.’

She looked surprised.

‘I mean, I remember.’

Above us, the light hummed.

‘Do you have a favourite?’ she asked.

‘Favourite?’

‘Rose.’

I searched for a name. She began to drum her fingers along the tulip. I noticed that she still wore her wedding ring.

‘Gertrude Jekyll’s very good.’ I took a breath. ‘It’s the best all round rose. Blooms guaranteed throughout the summer. Easy to care for. But the best thing about it, of course, is that it’s very, very beautiful.’

‘Hmm.’ She began to smile. ‘A bit pink for me.’

‘You know it, then?’

She nodded. ‘My dad had them all over the place. Flirty Gerties, he called them. But red’s my favourite.’

I looked at her blouse. ‘I thought so.’