Although she could not read minds, Adelaide knew, from the way the woman’s made-up eyes flicked a look in the mirror and then another not quite at Adelaide, that she, Adelaide, should not have said to this black-haired woman whose lipstick was on straight: oh, I have a shirt like that isn’t it a beautiful blue.

Next time, thought Adelaide, she, Adelaide, would almost smile in the mirror, let the woman almost smile back; and then they would both look down to their hands, make sure they had rinsed off the soap, before they both reclaimed their trolleys and their own Saturday lives.