It had been more than a month since he’d seen her in the freezer aisle. He’d by now worked his way through the all the peas and fish fingers and green beans and chips and steak and kidney puddings. And each bite had sent him back there, stood stock still by the potato-based goods and vegetarian kievs, her by the ice cream at the other end. He’d Tippexed over the truth, what good would it have done her, it read, for me to have said hello. But underneath that chalky liquid paper, he knew he’d just been scared.