11. trying to put it into words

It is half past six, approaching dusk, when an American man walks in, dressed in jeans and a baseball cap over his bald head. His glasses are from Cubbitts: I recognise the little silver hourglasses at the temples, and trailing behind him are two dogs, labradors both, sniping at one another and wagging their tails blissfully oblivious of bookshop etiquette.

He browses the new non-fiction section for a while, picks up and then puts down a book on Putin. Then a book on octopuses, their hidden lives. He lingers suggestively around the books of the month but decides he isn’t really interested. At the till, I pretend to pore over something important on the computer while I quietly observe the dogs, who are following him around with an air of disdainful cooperation I remember from my own childhood. When I had to follow my father around Arrow and Nautica and Peter England as he shopped for trousers. Peter England was always the worst, not just because it was the last shop before we’d drive home, but also because he despised everything they sold. Sometimes, it felt like he had walked in solely to excise the frustration of an evening of futile shopping — complaining to my mother about the quality and slim fitting cuts, as my brother negotiated an ice cream for the road.

The man brings to me two books: a British thriller I don't recognise and another about how to stop fascism. His dogs are now reclining on the floor, pawing at each other sleepily as he approaches my desk.

Do you need a bag, I ask, most of my attention still on the dogs.

Yes please

Do you have a Waterstones card

He looks around in his wallet while I scan his books.

I used to have a dog, I want to say.

I process the payment; the dull thuds of fingers tapping against a glass screen.

He was my best friend and I left him behind when I came to this city and I never saw him again.

Would you like a receipt, I ask as I scan his card. As if responding to my thoughts, my voice perks up on its own, my face begins to smile.

It dawns on me for the first time that I have — unconsciously and against all odds — gotten quite good at this.