One of the racks falls with a clatter. Twelve jackets sprawl among their coat hangers on the green grey carpet. The lady who is helping me put tupperware containers into a shopping basket looks up at me with big eyes. “People are in too much of a rush,” she mouths.
The woman (who may have been rushing or may just have misjudged the bulkiness of her handbag) is busy righting the rack and picking up jackets. Lady Eyeball turns to help her and I juggle with my tupperware and the basket.
Just then Mrs Manager appears, sharp haircut and sharp face. “Why is there a donation here? No donations after 4pm!” She glares at me. “I suppose you want to leave that tupperware too.”
Rushed Woman steps forward. “It was me who left the donation. I can take it back if you want.”
Lady Eyeball intervenes. “That lady is buying the tupperware. I said the donation was okay just this once. It’s here now. No point in sending it away again.” Lady Eyeball is small but insistent.
“We don’t take donations after 4pm.” insists Mrs Manager as though nobody had heard her. Her glare is still fierce and, even as a paying customer, I’m not above suspicion. Lady Eyeball stands her ground. Mrs Manager disappears again and her frown follows.
It’s four oh five fat drops distort the view, blindfold for tonight’s moon