They were standing indecisively in front of the pasta when a woman and her three sons came around the end of the aisle and stopped near the rice. One of the boys was Shaun Gilmore, and Danny saw him look up, noticed the sudden flicker of recognition. Immediately Danny felt his chest tighten. “How many types of pasta can there be? They all taste the same after all. Oh, these will do,” Dad said defeatedly, tossing a packet of spaghetti into the trolley and moving towards Shaun and his family. “Come on, let’s get this awful job over with,” he said as he sensed Danny’s hesitation. They stopped a couple of metres from Mrs Gilmore, Dad studying the shelf packed with every kind of rice imaginable. Shaun’s two older brothers were fooling about nearby, tossing a large tub of yoghurt back and forth between them like a football while their mum looked flustered and tried to concentrate on her list. Shaun was eyeing Danny, trying to appear menacing but only really succeeding in looking embarrassed to be caught doing the groceries with his mum.
