The scene: a lingerie shop. The air is deceptively neutral, but there is a whiff of something else; unworn cotton, perhaps. Newness. Hope.
My son steps up and stands beside a woman who has taken a bra off a display of many to touch and inspect. My son copies her, and tugs the straps indifferently.
“Mum. This is a grandmother bra. It’s for old people.” He hangs the bra back up and walks away.
The woman slowly, discretely, returns her bra to the same rack and I know that shop has just lost a sale.
