Back in the supermarket, buying a walnut-layer cake, I am served by the lady with braided hair from 1st February. I ask if she remembers me. She is coy but acknowledges our previous encounter. I ask if, today, she will give me the answer I am looking for. Again she passes the buck. "She's got one", she says pointing to a colleague who also has braided hair but hers is tied higher and tighter. She is perhaps a bit older. "It's Elizabeth". The colleague smiles and acknowledges this to be the case. They have worked together for ten years.
My check-out assistant asks for my middle name. I tell her but she still refuses to give hers in return. I leave more determined than ever to discover it before the year is through.
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