The little red man is adamant he’s not going to change. I actually feel a dead weight in my chest as I’m wondering what this person standing by me is thinking?

Am I weird? Do I mumble when I speak? Are my facets of information dull? Is my style too Tom-boy? Do I ask dreary questions?

I turn to her and she gives me a saccharine smile. I can see she senses my awkwardness just as much as I can tell she’d rather dive into the Co-op, behind us, and scrutinise every product on the shelf.

I don’t know her. I met up with two other mums at Nero for coffee and a natter and she’d come along and I hadn’t been fully prepared, mentally, for this impromptu gathering. Obviously she was close friends with Claire; both their daughters were best friends in school.

The little red man finally gave in to his small green rival. I felt a sudden sense of relief and the dead weight dissolve half hoping she’ll cross the road and go in the opposite direction?

To be fair she’d not said much at the coffee shop just chimed in when she’d felt necessary.

No such luck as she heads in my direction, home.

There’s some grocer stalls outside the working man’s club.

“They do great grapes there,” I pass on my honest recommendation.

“Yes. I go there sometimes I haven’t had their grapes though….”

I quicken my step. I’m at the end of my street.

“Have a good day then. Nice to meet you,” she’s lying, I can tell, as she’s practically sprinting across the road.