“I must try once and for all to overcome this fear”

A FRIEND waylays me in town.

She asks if I fancy minding her vintage shop next Tuesday. My objections to this idea surface in the form of fear; simple fear that coils around my organs like a snake, before slithering up the back of my throat to my brain, where it paralyses all cognitive function.

I call to mind her shop, all pink and sparkly. Selling all manner of pretty vintage goods — from fur tippets to brocade swing-coats — her shop is warm and inviting, with ambient lighting.