On the way home from work, I stop at the grocer’s because I promised the others I’d make moussaka. Mrs C gave me a recipe not long after I moved in and it’s my favourite thing to cook. Plus I can make a huge batch that feeds everyone for dinner and usually allows for leftovers the next day.

The grocer’s is busier than it usually is at this time. There are at least ten Greek women standing in front of the counter, talking – in Greek – and I spot Mrs C in the middle, her wicker shopping basket hanging over her arm.

As I pick oranges out of a plastic crate and put them in my own basket – not a lovely wicker one, just the plastic one provided by the shop – Mrs C glances over and says, ‘Ah! Sweetheart!’

I smile at her. ‘How are you?’

She shuffles past the other women, touching them on their arms as she does, and appears in front of me. She reaches into the basket, takes out an orange, squeezes it and shakes her head at me.

‘These oranges are better.’

I put my oranges back and take some of the oranges she recommended.

‘It’s busy in here today,’ I say.

She nods and points at one of the younger women. ‘Melina is having a dinner, so we all help her choose.’

I walk around the vegetable stand and she follows me, picking out an aubergine and putting it in my basket.

‘For the moussaka,’ she says, smiling at me.

‘That’s what I’m making!’ I tell her, taking another.

‘You ever make briam?’ she says, cocking her head on one side like a bird. ‘Like Greek… ratatouille. But no rat!’ She grins.

I shake my head. ‘I only ever do moussaka. I’ve been wondering about making battered aubergine like the ones from—’

‘Oh!’ she says, her eyes rolling back in her head. ‘From deli? They are so good! But you can make yourself. So easy! Flour and egg and salt and pepper and fry in good oil. You have good oil?’

I nod. We have oil. I don’t know if it’s good, but it’s oil.

‘You can keep the batter. In jam jar. Make a lot of aubergine.’

‘I’ll try it,’ I tell her. ‘Thank you.’

‘You take these too,’ she says, putting stuffed vine leaves in my basket. ‘No worry. I pay.’

‘No!’ I tell her. ‘I can pay!’

She shakes her head and reaches up to pinch my cheek. ‘A gift. For my favourite girl.’

She follows me while I get the rest of my shopping, making suggestions, commenting on my choices, adding a few things she says I must have. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had buying groceries. We both leave at the same time and as we walk up the main street – she lives a couple of roads away from us – she says, ‘I think I see you with a boy one day? Not Henry. Lovely boy. Or Adam.’ Her eyes twinkle. ‘Cheeky boy.’

I laugh. ‘Maybe Dan? I’m sort of seeing him.’

‘Sort of?’ She frowns. ‘Very handsome boy.’

I nod. ‘Yeah. He is.’

We stop at a side road where a Tesco delivery van is pulling out.

‘But not boyfriend?’

‘Not yet. Maybe. I’m not sure.’

She wraps her hand around my upper arm and squeezes. ‘You have to be sure. So make sure. Before my Nikos there was a boy. He liked me. When I was young, I was…’ She describes the shape of an hourglass figure in the air with one hand and grins at me. ‘And the boys were crazy for me. And one boy – he follow me and talk to me and buy me things and always trying to kiss me. And he is so handsome. And my Nikos… not so handsome.’ She giggles. ‘But when I let him kiss me… eh.’ She pulls a face, her mouth turning down at the corners. ‘And then when I kiss Nikos… pyrotechnimata. You know?’ She makes the sound of an explosion and then widens her eyes and says, ‘Oooh! Aaaaah!’

‘Fireworks?’

The van pulls away and we cross the road.

‘Yes! Fireworks! So much fireworks with Nikos. Always.’

‘I knew it!’ I say, before I realise that might not be the best idea.

‘What did you know?’

I blush. ‘I knew you were still in love.’

She smiles at me. ‘Oh yes. We have hard times. Sometime no money. Sometime with babies. And the cafe.’ She shrugs. ‘But he is the one for me. Only.’

I nod. ‘I’m glad.’

She puts her hand on my cheek again. ‘You have to find your only one. Maybe handsome boy? Maybe not.’