Without really looking for it, I find the diner I’ll be working at. A full diner, like a movie set, sloping curved lines instead of ninety degree angles, the outside a bright seafoam green. A paper sign hangs from the front window that reads CLOSED. The windows curve all the way round the exterior, the shape a perfect rectangle but with soft corners – the sort of place new diners hoping to capture a sort of retro vibe would seek to replicate. There’s a familiarity to it – nostalgia for something I never experienced.

A woman and a man are locking up the front door. The woman is the one with the keys, maybe in her late fifties, wearing a white tank top and a long floral skirt, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. The man beside her looks around the same age and stands with a slight hunch.

After a moment the woman clocks me looking. ‘If you stand there starin’ any longer I’m gonna have to charge ya.’ She has a voice that strikes me as the opposite to Roxy’s – too young for her, too high.

I blink. ‘Sorry,’ I call, ‘it’s just – I start working here on Monday.’

‘No kidding. What’s your name?’

I saunter up nearer to them, through the parking lot. ‘I’m Mona Perry.’

‘That’s right,’ she says, realizing. ‘You’re our new front girl.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to butter me up,’ she says with a deep chuckle.

Up close, the woman is sturdy-looking, strong but feminine features offset by the width of her shoulders, which are darkly tanned and mossed with sunspots. She smells faintly of smoke. ‘It’ll be the worst part of your summer, I’ll tell ya now. I’m Mary Anne, anyways.’ She doesn’t offer a hand to shake so I don’t offer my own. ‘I own the joint.’

I glance at the man, maybe expecting him to say something in confirmation. Though gravity has been unkind he looks like he’d once been handsome; a sort of wide, Elvis-like face wracked with worry, two deep lines running between his eyebrows. His mouth turns downwards. Even just from the nervous, sideways glance he gives me, I catch his pale blue eyes. Mary Ann must notice me looking and says, ‘Archie’s my nearest and dearest. Helps out in the kitchen.’

I take the man’s hand to shake and it’s rough against mine, but he’s not looking at me – he doesn’t seem particularly to be looking anywhere. I can’t place the emptiness. ‘Archie,’ he says, and that’s all.

‘Nice to meet you both,’ I say.

‘All right, well, enjoy –’ she casts a glance around us – ‘whatever it is you’re up to and I’ll see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Monday morning.’

‘Will do. See you then.’