‘But… I mean, there is no need to be sorry, because…’ Esther laughed uncertainly, thrown by this airbrushing of the broken agreement to desist from further communications. ‘Because…’ she tightened her grip on the trolley handle ‘…because… like I said… I mean, you shouldn’t have sent me any…’

‘I behaved like a complete knob on that date of ours,’ he interjected, shaking his head. ‘I wasn’t, as they say, in a good place. So, sending you a couple of goodies was the least I could do. I hope you enjoyed them.’

‘Well, yes, but…’ Esther faltered, picturing the red roses lighting up her piano top and the chocolates. ‘We had agreed not to be in touch any more though, hadn’t we? And to be honest, Chris, I was kind of… put out… that you had somehow got hold of my address. I mean, I re—’

He groaned, rolling his eyes in the manner of one acknowledging a misstep. ‘Oh God, Esther, forgive me for that. I am a thoughtless jerk. I was just so eager to make amends. I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable.’

‘But how did you find it out?’ Esther cried, curiosity getting the better of her and feeling more at ease because of how nice he was trying to be.

‘Oh God…’ He groaned again. ‘You are going to think me a total nutter but, when we met that time, there was an envelope with your address on, sticking out of your bag… I have a bit of a photographic memory, you see,’ he confessed sheepishly, ‘but please don’t hold it against me – I would take it back if I could. Erase it from my hard disk.’ He was swinging his head in self-castigation. ‘It was presumptuous and inexcusable, Esther. Mea culpa. The only defence I can offer is liking you and wanting to make up for having made a mess of things.’

‘Okay. Well, thanks. But now…’ She gestured at his full arms and her heaped trolley. ‘I’d better be on my way, and you too, by the look of things.’

‘Can I give you a hand with that? It looks heavy.’

‘No, I’m absolutely fine, thanks.’ Esther set off quickly, not looking back.

He accompanied her to the checkouts anyway, picking the next queue along to pay for his compost and then waiting for her. ‘I could at least help you get this stuff into your car. Then I promise to leave you alone. I’m a decent person, Esther,’ he added, with sudden, endearing urgency, as the swishing automatic doors released them both into the car park. ‘I’d hate to think you don’t realise that.’