The man was younger than Michael, and his shoulders were huge. The sleeves of his sweatshirt were rolled back to reveal massive, meaty forearms wrapped in bright tattoos. He walked awkwardly because his gigantic thighs forced his legs apart. Michael led him past nails and screws, and they came to a rack holding a variety of brightly coloured packets.

‘This is where I was,’ said the man. ‘I’ve looked here already.’

‘I know we’ve got something for plasterboard,’ said Michael. ‘What about these?’

‘No good.’

‘No?’

Michael had taken a little box from the rack, and looked at the diagram that showed how the contents worked. He put on his reading glasses, which were in the breast pocket of his overalls.

‘“Ideal for plasterboard,”’ said Michael. ‘I used these—’

‘You’re not listening to me,’ said the man. ‘There’s no point trying to flog me something that won’t do the job. I’ve tried them.’

‘You need something bigger?’ said Michael. ‘What is the job, exactly?’

He was trying to be helpful. He was trying to engage, but the man seemed to find the question intrusive.

‘It doesn’t matter what the fucking job is,’ he said. ‘They don’t work. They’re crap.’

‘They do say they’re for plasterboard.’

‘They don’t work.’

‘It says here,’ said Michael. ‘“The perfect fix for—”’

‘They don’t fucking work, mate! This is what you do, isn’t it? You sell people over-priced fucking crap, and you don’t know what you’re talking about. “What’s the job?” I told you what I wanted, and you try and sell me some… shit you want to sell me.’

Michael floundered.

‘They’re for plasterboard,’ he said lamely.

‘Oh, fuck off,’ said the man, turning away – and Michael couldn’t think of a reply.

He stood alone in the aisle, flayed, as the couple left him, and he replaced the packet with a hand that had started to shake. He tidied the area a little, though it didn’t need tidying – and what he didn’t find out until later was that the man had gone straight to the service desk and complained about him. Once again, he found himself sitting with Jo, Tom or Tim – whoever it was this time – having to justify himself, for the accusation now was that he was recommending the wrong item and had been patronising.

‘I thought it was the right item,’ he said.

‘Well, you have to be very careful,’ said Jo or Tim – who clearly didn’t want him on the team any more. ‘If you’re in any doubt, call one of the guys and get a second opinion. Graeme’s good. He knows a lot about fixings.’