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“I do not know. Love. Angel. Juicy. Something awful.”

“I am now frightened of the underwear aisle.”

“Good. Fear will keep you alert.”

I put my coat on. “Right.”

I take one step towards the hall, then stop.

She is standing near the sofa, still too pale, still trying to look as if this is merely a minor logistical inconvenience and not a deeply annoying bodily ambush.

I go back.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“That is never true.”

“No.”

I bend and kiss her.

Just once. Soft. No heat behind it, not because I do not want it, but because this is not that kind of moment. It is a kiss before going to the shop. A Saturday kiss. An ordinary one.

Which makes it dangerous in an entirely different way.

When I lift my head, she looks slightly startled.

Then her mouth curves. “You are very committed to this errand.”

“I take instructions well.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I take yours well.”

“Debatable.”

I smile and leave before I say something too honest.

I am halfway down the hallway when she calls after me.

“Size twelve.”

I stop with my hand on the front door.

“Sorry?”

“Knickers,” she says from the living room. “Size twelve.”

I look back.

She has turned scarlet.

“Right,” I say.

I open the door. “Size twelve. No cartoons. No slogans. Fear will keep me alert.”