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apologise but he brushed it aside. He spoke with what she thought was an Eastern European accent.
    ‘I can see from your uniform that you are a nurse, a profession I admire very much. Please take your time to choose what you want – there is no rush. Have you been working at the hospital?’
    ‘Yes, she said, ‘at Charing Cross, and I had to stay on. I thought there would be plenty of time to get my shopping done on the way home, but now it’s rather late. Are you always open at this time?’
    ‘I am open until 6 pm, six days a week.’ He said. ‘I, too, believe in hard work. Can I help you in any way?’
    ‘I’ll have some eggs,’ she said. ‘They will be quick to cook.’ She thought about bacon – that would have been rather nice – but her nurse’s pay did not run to any luxuries. He put the eggs in a brown paper bag and waited for any further items. She bought some butter, which he weighed on to a piece of greaseproof paper, and wrapped, and a small loaf of bread. That would have to do.
    ‘This is with my compliments,’ he said, selecting four rashers of the best bacon, ‘and in gratitude for the work you do. Both my parents were nursed at Guy’s hospital before they died and I shall always be glad that they had such good care.’ She tried to protest, but he would not hear of it. ‘There is one more thing – I am trying a new brand of jam, and I am asking my customers for their opinion. There, it is in your bag, and I would be so pleased if you would call in and say if you thought it was good – when you have time, of course. Now I will carry your shopping outside for you.’ He held the shop door open for her, and placed the items in the basket on the front of her bicycle.
    ‘Thank you, Mr Allan. Thank you very much,’ she said.
    ‘No, no, it is Allan. That is my first name.’ He smiled disarmingly, and returned to his shop. She had thought at the time that it was a very English name for someone whose slight accent betrayed the fact that English was not his first language.
    She began to wheel the bicycle across the pavement towards the road, but at that moment a small boy suddenly hurtled round the corner and cannoned straight into the side of it. The force of his body knocked her over, and the bicycle out of her hands so that it fell, skidding along the pavement, and scattering the shopping in different directions. The boy was momentarily entangled with the bicycle on the pavement, but he extricated himself with amazing speed, and ran off, so she had to presume he was not hurt. She rushed to retrieve the eggs, but knew before she picked up the bag that they were broken from the stream of yellow liquid that was beginning to trickle out. Miraculously the jam jar seemed to be intact – it must have been cushioned by the basket in its first impact with the pavement.
    The next moment Allan appeared beside her. ‘Oh dear, dear, good lady, are you hurt?’ He seemed most concerned. ‘I heard the crash, but I did not see what happened.’ He helped her to her feet and began to pick up the bicycle. ‘Perhaps you would like to sit down for a few minutes? I have a chair in the shop.’
    Marjorie felt embarrassed, and tried to protest that she was perfectly alright, and not at all damaged. By this time he had spotted the mangled eggs, and set about scooping as much of the mess as he could back into the bag.
    ‘Is the rest of the shopping in good order?’
    It seemed it was. He asked her to wait there and took away the dripping bag. In a moment he was back with another containing six fresh eggs.
    ‘Oh no,’ she said, horrified. ‘You mustn’t. I can’t accept them – it’s not fair on you.’
    ‘Please.’ His eyes were pleading. ‘I wish so much that you take them. Please do.’
    ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
    ‘That is not necessary, but I hope you will come and tell me about the jam.’ Then he picked up her bicycle, and began to straighten the handles. ‘I think that should be