‘Excuse me, coming through!’ I can’t see around the case, so I have to shout and hope that people move out of the way.

‘You’ve got your hands full there, Ivy. Can’t you get young Tom to help?’

‘Hey, Dot. How are you?’ I recognise her voice and slow down to let her catch up.

It’s mostly families that visit, but in winter we get older people who come for the free heating. Dot is one of my favourites. She wears an immaculate red wig with matching lipstick and hates wearing ugly shoes, but they help with her bunions. She usually brings a romance novel and will read it while eating pick ’n’ mix. I once made the mistake of accepting a jelly baby and then had to listen as she spent ten minutes describing a sex scene in alarming detail.

She ambles alongside me and whispers, ‘Shame to let a strapping lad like that go to waste. He’s a handsome specimen. If I was fifty years younger, I’d rip his clothes off and –’

‘Yeah, thanks, Dot. I’ll keep it in mind.’

The truth is that Tom would be more than happy to help me, but I don’t intend to give him the satisfaction. We’re the same age and started working here around the same time, about ten months ago, and we have this rivalry thing going on. Some days I think he only comes into work to wind me up. Besides, I make it a rule never to accept anyone’s help.

Dot lays an affectionate hand on my arm. ‘You’re too proud by half. You want to snap him up before someone else does.’

She hobbles off, presumably heading to her usual bench, and a huff escapes me. Tom’s a good laugh, but that’s as far as it goes.

When I get to the display table, I set down the case and then wipe my hands on my trousers. Sensing someone behind me I spin around, but there’s nobody there. Damn my stupid boss, always loitering and making me feel uncomfortable – it’s no wonder I’m paranoid. After checking he’s not around, I peek at my phone. Mobiles are strictly forbidden at work so I’ve set it to silent. I don’t want to get fired – I’m already on my second warning – but I have to answer if she calls. Not that I need worry: the screen is blank.

Nearly ten o’clock: time to start. I stand on tiptoes and raise my voice. ‘Hello, if I could have your attention, please? The talk will begin soon if anyone would like to join me.’ A couple glance over but keep walking. Maybe it’s my appearance – pastel pink bobbed hair, blunt micro fringe and nose stud – but people often seem surprised that I work here, even in my uniform. Or maybe seventeen-year-old girls are just easy to overlook.

I make my announcement again, louder this time, and a bearded man in a dirty anorak shuffles over, followed by a family, then two guys holding hands and a woman and her moody pre-teen daughter who come every few weeks. The woman wears her hair in a scraped-back ponytail and lives in leopard-print jumpsuits, which means I spend more time than I should wondering how she pees. We’ve chatted a few times, and now she waves and gives me a friendly smile. The girl sees me and rolls her eyes, seemingly convinced that Wye Valley Butterfly Zoo is lame and nothing I can say will change her mind.