There’s months of wondering where she’s gone because you used to see her all the time. Before. A quick smile, passing each other at the entrance to the pool; or standing on the opposite platform some mornings, westbound to your east. Then Hamish’s wedding where you’d gone stag. Okay, who’s following who? you said, once you were sure she was alone, and as she laughed, tiny wrinkles appeared across the bridge of her nose, that you’d kiss later. And then every night.
Suddenly she’s there. She slides a thin plastic container from a hook before leaving the aisle. You walk over to the herbs before you realise you’re looking for clues, because it takes effort to disappear like that. Either sage or tarragon. You never saw her use either and you think, she’s trying something new. When you round the corner something new is kissing those wrinkles on her nose.