‘No… I mean… it’s fine. I like yer accent, it’s just… surprising.’

‘You didn’t know Americans were shoplifters.’

‘Not that, what I didn’t know was Americans were bad shoplifters.’

And she laughed. The kind you never expect a woman to have, deep and downright bawdy. Where she goes all the way with it and doesn’t give a toss how she appears. A real whack-it-for-all-its-worth job. I liked that a whole lot. She asked, ‘So… my hero, my saviour, you got a name, we’ve already established you’ve got balls, yeah, ask Bert… See if I’m wrong?’

A woman uses words like that to you… you’re usually paying for the service. I said, ‘It’s Cooper.’

‘That’s it… you were born at High Noon?’

‘Very snappy… with wit like that, you’re wasted in Marks and Spencers… and what’s your name?’

‘Cassie.’

‘Short for Cassandra… yeah? So, they call you Cass.’

She rummaged in her coat, took out a crumpled soft pack of Camel Lights, shook one free and using a matchbook, lit up, dragged deep… said, ‘You’re hard of hearing? Or is it an English thing? My name is Cassie, you got that?’

‘Jeez, over and out, bit testy are you. You’d love my mate, the Doc.’

‘He’s a doctor?’

‘Doc Marten… he’s a villain, thing is… he wears Docs, always did and long before they became a fashion accessory. The traditional black-laced jobs, with steel hubs and tops. Built for kicking… and hard.’

The coffee came, it looked a little like the ketchup and Bert slapped a bill down. I said, ‘Hope you included service.’

He grunted.

She said, ‘Louis MacNeice’s mother died when he was seven.’

I didn’t know how much grief she’d anticipated.

‘Jeez, tough break. I guess I’d be more broke up if I knew who he was.’

‘Don’t look now but Bert is shooting the bird.’

‘He’s what?’

‘It’s an obscene gesture, don’t you guys speak English?’

‘Sure… and if you stick around you’ll learn some.’