As Adam went into the newsagent’s the bell over the door rang. He paused, savouring the mingled smells of tobacco and sugar confectionary. A middle-aged woman behind the counter looked up and smiled. He didn’t recognize her. He went over to the counter and picked up some chewing gum.
‘Wasn’t this shop once owned by George Curtis?’ he asked casually. ‘I noticed the name over the door had changed.’
‘I couldn’t tell you,’ she said. ‘I haven’t lived here long.’
Her accent, he realized, wasn’t even Cumbrian. She sounded as if she was from Newcastle. He smiled, feeling foolish, and went back outside. As he walked back towards the square he watched people pass by, searching for a familiar face. Across the road a woman came down the steps from the bank. She was fishing in her bag, perhaps looking for her car keys because she stopped beside a Renault parked by the kerb. He watched her, his heart beating hard in his chest. At that moment she looked up, and their eyes met.
Her hair was still long and pale blonde. She wore jeans and a dark jacket, and his secret fear that the years would have changed her was swept away. She broke their gaze and found her keys, but then as she was about to get into her car she looked again, and this time her brow creased in a puzzled frown. All at once her expression slowly dissolved. She gave a small, disbelieving shake of her head and smiled uncertainly. She began to cross the road, and as he went to meet her, her smile broadened.
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