Raymond Battersby hated shopping with his sister Olivia; she loved charity shops and nagged him to buy clothes. They could have been enjoying a pleasant walk along the sea front.
Olivia grabbed his arm and dragged him across the road. ‘Quick, over there,’ she urged.
‘Where to now?’ protested Ray.
‘I’ve just spotted a BHF.’
‘A what?’ gasped Ray, as he stumbled up the kerb after crossing a busy road.
‘British Heart Foundation shop. They have good stuff. Come on, Raymond.’
Olivia pushed open the shop door. Following her in, Ray looked in dismay at the cramped space and several women studiously pulling coat-hangers off chest-high carousels and holding them up. A strong smell of dry-cleaning fluid assailed his nostrils – he hoped fervently that this would be the last shop.