My supermarket trolley ran over her feet before I could stop myself. Between the frozen peas and special offer for sausages I’d spotted her, the woman who’d beaten me in the short story competition. I offered no apology, since she didn’t either.
“Haven’t seen you at our writing circle for a while.”
“No. I’ve been to Australia,” she said, inspecting crushed toes and ruined stockings.
She didn’t even blush. £3,000 prize money spent on getting a sun tan in winter. My story would have won if I hadn’t allowed her to proofread it.