It was finally my turn at the till.

‘Would you like any help with your packing?’ the checkout girl asked, pulling the Co-co Pops across the scanner.

‘No, I’ll be fine thanks’.

I grabbed the reusable bags from the trolley and opened one out. It was from Iceland. Shit.

She caught sight of the rogue bag and stared at me.

‘My mum shops at Iceland’, she told me.

It felt like daggers were wedged in my chest. She was disappointed.

The rest of my shopping hurtled along the conveyor belt, piling up at my end as we worked in silence.


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