On Saturday morning, the Mornington Centre was a hive of activity, prompting Jean to steer Emma straight for a sizeable shop displaying goods destined for those possessing at least one of everything. ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ Emma asked, trying to imagine practical Amy enthusing over delicate china or a flimsy vase.
‘I’m interested in the items down the back,’ Jean replied, striding down the wide centre aisle. ‘Discounted stock.’
Emma hurried to catch up.
‘Same quality as the rest, but often old stock or slightly marked.’ Jean took Emma’s arm before leading her down several bare concrete steps to a narrow space where table linen, towels and bedding were stacked against the walls.
‘It looks like a storeroom. Are you sure these are sale items?’
‘Absolutely.’ Jean moved clo
