Clare

Buying a baguette and some salami in the supermarket, I am served by a lady with braided hair tied back in a loose bun.  It is cold outside.  For no apparent reason she pulls up her fleece to reveal the hot water bottle she has strapped round her waist.  'They say they're trying to preserve energy', she tells me when I ask whether someone could put the heating up, 'They don't care about us'.  I decide to take the opportunity.  She looks around as if for help.  'I don't have one', she replies unconvincingly.  'Really?',  I ask.  She points at the heavily pregnant woman behind me in the queue, 'She does!'

I apologise and ask if this is true.  The buttons of the woman's black coat are done up tightly over her belly.  I wonder if she has a hot water bottle under there too.  'I don't like it', she says, 'it was too popular.  There were seven of them in my class'.  Then she qualifies, 'Not that I ever use it'.  I have paid and her items are now being scanned by the shop assistant who had facilitated the encounter.  She tells me that her daughter's middle name is going to be Constance, after her grandmother.

The shop assistant pipes up, 'You wouldn't remember mine anyway'.  I remind her that she had told me she didn't have one.  'It's African, you wouldn't be able to spell it'.  'I'm sure it's much more interesting than mine', says the pregnant woman.  'I'll tell you next time.  I promise'.  I tell her I'll bring a pen and paper.