Thomas checked himself in the hallway mirror. His shirt had been ironed a thousand times and his clean cords were old and faded. He looked through into the lounge where his friend Charlie was watching TV.

“I’m going to the shop Charlie.”

“OK.”

They lived in a suburb of London that you are unlikely to have visited unless you live there yourself. It was bombed in the war and the old houses and slums had been replaced with brash bright towers, which gradually peeled and blended in with their surroundings.

Thomas left the flat. It was late afternoon on a warm summer day and the people he passed on the estate were not in a hurry to get back to their flats. A group of children who occupied a small park let him pass undisturbed. He chose to walk to the further of his two regular shops. The towers were relaxed in the still air.

The shop was a dingy maze of unpacked crates and aisles stocking exotic produce. The air was full of earthy spices and the smell of cold meat from a butcher counter hidden in an alcove. Thomas toured the shop and picked up some essential items. There were a couple of other shoppers. One boisterous lady pushed past him, and he squashed against a pile of rice sacks. Thomas did not think she took much notice of him.

His performance at the checkout had been fine.

“And two Lucky Dips. Please”.

Thomas glanced up at the assistant. She rung up the scratch cards and the rest of his shopping without looking at him. She gave him the bag of shopping, treating him like any other customer.