1.Pips

"Honey." My friend Lina stood in the supermarket aisle in front of my display stand, with the stacks of tinned vegetables on one side and assorted baking supplies on the other. Behind her, I could see her cashiers getting ready to open up the till points, and hear the jingle of coins as they counted in their floats for another professionally-smiling, back-aching, lips-pursing day in the bizarre and always challenging world of customer retail. Lina's clenched biceps creased the bright blue uniform tunic over her chest, as she took her usual confrontational pose.

I frowned at her, but she just shrugged.

"I mean, Pips. Really?"

"This is fine," I said. "I can work with this."

Her frankly disbelieving gaze ranged over my workstation. I was standing duty behind a small, collapsible table with a long cloth thrown over it. The table hosted a large, glass mixing bowl, several lidded pots of ingredients, a jug of assorted kitchen utensils, and a pile of discount vouchers for tomatoes and onions. Oh, and let's not forget the huge banner in the same eye-watering turquoise as our tunics, draped across the end station.

IT'S DEMO DAY AT "YOUR BETTER BUYZ!!!"

Biting back a grimace, I tugged down my uniform. Seemed I was too skinny to get a tunic that fitted my shoulders and also covered my arse. Not that I should have been worried about displaying my arse. I'd had more than a few compliments on it, in the past. But the way my year was going, I wasn't sure that if a genuine Mr Right ever arrived with that easy smile and the baby-blue eyes I loved the best, he could possibly fall head over heels for a guy in skimpy nylon weave with YBB over his right tit. In comic sans font.

When I fixed the hygiene bonnet over my curls, Lina raised her eyebrows even farther. "Did you really volunteer for this?"

"Someone had to, didn't they?" I said smartly. "When a marketing initiative comes down from Head Office, we all know it's not a suggestion."

Lina scowled. She worked hard for the store, but she had a short fuse when it came to new campaigns. And we'd suffered more than a few daft ones this summer.

"None of us voted for it, Pips. I'm pretty sure our customers don't want Demo Days. They want good quality produce, reasonable prices. Whatever is in season instead of trying to con them into wanting strawberries in November or parsnips in March. They want staff who like working here, who'll help them out, or just offer a friendly face. The store is part of the community."

"I know, I know." And I agreed with everything she said. Which was funny, in a way, because this was only meant to be a temporary job for me while I worked my way back from the previous disaster—though I wasn't dwelling on yet another blot on my resume. But it was surprising how settled I felt sometimes. And…. yeah, okay. That's how I ended up here, behind the Demo Day table. Lucky old me.

Lina cleared her throat. "Well, I have aisle 4 to finish stocking. Or let's say, re-stocking."

"Mr G's been helping out?" I guessed.

"Exactly. I now have to shift three shelves of soft cheeses away from the smoked fish display. But I thought I'd come and see you first, in your new role ."

I would have tossed back my hair if not for the unflattering cap. "Sweetheart, I'm the perfect Demo Diva. And it's fine," I repeated. I grabbed a wooden spoon from the jug and held it aloft. Maybe less like a victory spear than the last desperate wave from a man about to be thrown to a horde of supermarket bargain-chasers.

Lina frowned. "Wait a minute. Weren't you taking holiday this week?"

"Of course not." Did my voice wobble that little bit? "I'd much prefer demonstrating how to make gazpacho to the passing public in our very English, very genteel village of Kingsmere, to sunning myself in Ibiza. Who wouldn't?"

Dammit, she wouldn't be deterred.

"What happened, Pips?"

"Nothing important," I said, determined to make that sound true. "Suffice to say, my ex and I—"

"Your ex ? But you've only just started seeing this guy—"

"We are no longer in communication. The holiday is cancelled." I kept my smile as firm as I could. "I told him to sling his lying, cheating hook. And to take the two guys with him I'd thought were my friends, but were wrapped around him like clingfilm in the loo last Saturday at Weatherspoons' chucking-out time. Good riddance, I say."

Lina had gone very quiet. In the background, the overhead speaker pinged as one of the morning's cashiers tested it out with a couple of lines from Taylor Swift's latest. Then she spoiled the effect with a tinny giggle.

Lina sighed. "That's two—no, three—boyfriends this year already, Pips. You just don't have the luck, do you? A sassy, good-looking guy like you should have better odds."

I appreciated the rather blunt vote of confidence. Sort of. "It's no problem." I gabbled on, stacking the pots of ingredients in a neat pile. Then restacking them. Twice, just to keep my hands busy. "It suits me fine. You know me, Mr Variety. Never commit, never stagnate. Always moving on to the next and better opportunity."

"I'm sorry, honey," she said, in a much softer tone. "Are you okay? You seem very tense."

"Me? Of course I'm okay. I'm well suited to being single and fabulous. Now let me get on with my marvellous new career. I can be fabulous at this too, right?" And yes, I tried a careless head toss, but the cap slipped immediately over my left eye.

Lina's mouth twitched at the very edge. "I'll just go check on aisle 4," was all she said as she turned and left me to get on with things. She hadn't looked convinced by my protestations.

I wasn't sure I was, either.