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night.
     
     
     
    Monday was Laura’s shopping day. Most people chose Saturday, largely because that’s when people didn’t work and had the added benefit of the street market. But she didn’t have to work so she chose Monday. Langbridge was quieter then anyway. Not as many people in the street or in the shops. So she drove her little Hillman into town and parked in one of the two small car parks. Always the same space, if she could manage it, arriving around 8.30am to ensure she secured it. She popped into the butcher’s shop first.
    ‘Morning, Miss Leach,’ said the butcher. He seemed to come from the same mould as all butchers, thought Laura; large of frame, belly pushing at his white apron, pink-cheeked, looking smiling and happy even with a meat cleaver in his hand. He was hammering out lamp chops. ‘Usual, is it?’ He’d already wiped his bloodied hands on his stained apron, adjusted his straw hat and was piling brisket onto the weighing scales. ‘Lovely day,’ he said.
    ‘Yes,’ she replied, looking away to avoid his pebble eyes. ‘Beautiful. Set to last, too.’
    ‘Too hot for me though,’ he admitted. I’ll be glad when it cools down.’ He popped the meat into a bag, hand automatically going to the sirloin. ‘I hear they’re planning on closing down the Empire,’ he said absently, making conversation.
    ‘Oh no!’ she said, horrified. ‘Where on earth did you hear that?’
    ‘Oh, here, there and everywhere. I can’t rightly remember now, as you ask. But it’s been on the cards a while, I reckon.’
    ‘Well they can’t do that!’ she said shrilly. ‘They just can’t!’
    He glanced uncertainly at her outburst as he rang up the till. ‘Not up to us now, is it? They can do as they please,’ he said with an air of finality, taking her money and handing back change. ‘Still, who needs them, cinemas? We’ve got telly now, haven’t we? And let’s face it, these days it’s all a load of American rubbish they’re showing. What’s happened to good old British films? Where are the Norman Wisdom films? Bring back the Ealing Comedies and all that.’
    ‘What? Ealing?’ she said vaguely. ‘I love America !’ she cried and he smiled awkwardly at her. ‘They are so – so colourful and positive!’
    ‘Well, yes, I suppose they are, if you like that sort of thing.’
    Laura wasn’t really listening now. She went out of the butchers and into the newsagents, buying a Langbridge Gazette, the local paper, and hurriedly scanning the pages for news of the supposed closure. But she didn’t find one solitary article about the Empire. She was in a half-daze throughout the remainder of her shopping, feeling she wanted to burst into tears. How could they? Whoever they were, she thought acidly. Petty, faceless bureaucrats making decisions in back rooms that affect people’s lives. She hated them! She hated them all!
    She backed the Hillman out of the parking space and there was an almighty bang, the car coming to a juddering halt as the engine stalled. Startled, she turned around to look over her shoulder and saw that she’d run into the back of another car that had also been reversing out.
    ‘Oh my God!’ she said in alarm, her hand pressed into her mouth, unsure what she should do.’ Oh my God, what have I done?’ She began to panic. Froze to the spot, terrified of getting out. She glanced fearfully in the wing mirror and saw a man emerging from the car behind her. ‘Oh my word! This is terrible! Terrible!’
    The man came slowly round to her window. She heard a light tap of fingernail against glass. Without looking up she wound the window down, expecting the worst. A loud, blazing voice, a torrent of verbal abuse.
    ‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘We appear to have a little problem.’
    Her heart crashing, her chest feeling as if someone were stamping all over it, she turned her head to look at him. It was a handsome, smiling face that greeted her. Blue eyes, blonde hair, a set of