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Ford across Lea River.
    Recognising him as one of the doctors from the hospital, a number of the stallholders touched their forelocks as they cried ‘pippin, luverly pippin’, ‘new water fresh’ or ‘three a penny Yarmouth Bloaters’. The salty smell of fish mingled with the sweet scent of early flowers, while the meaty aroma from the tray balanced precariously on the top of the pieman’s head made Robert’s stomach rumble.
    He turned west towards Aldgate. As he made his way past the stalls his mind settled. He relegated Ellen O’Casey and her cynical opinions to their rightful place in the grand scheme of things. He had even begun to see the whole incident in an amusing light.
    Then he saw her.
    She was standing by a fruit and vegetable stall dressed in a homespun, brick-red day dress and a short black jacket with worn elbows. Her face was shielded from the sun by a narrow-brimmed straw bonnet secured with a tie to one side. The whole ensemble was probably second- or even third-hand. As she stood, the wind billowed her skirt, then flattened it against her body, giving Robert a new image to turn over in his mind. She and the rotund stallholder were deep in conversation. He stood for a moment watching her, then walked towards her.
     
    Ellen scratched the skin of the new potato to reveal its white flesh beneath.
    ‘Are you going to buy that, missis, or are you just making it ’appy by giving it a feel?’ asked a rasping voice beside her.
    ‘I’ll have it and two of its friends, if you please, Jimmy Flaherty, and knock the mud off before you weigh them. I’m not paying for dirt I can get free on my boot,’ Ellen answered.
    After collecting the sacks of washing from the regular houses, Ellen was relieved to find her mother almost her old self when they returned. She had left Bridget and Josie scrubbing in the backyard.
    She had decided to walk to the Waste, as the scrub land between the city and the Essex countryside proper was called, to get dinner and a bit of something for tea. Watney Street was a nearer market but the stall near the white chapel of St Mary’s often had fresher fruit and vegetables. Many of the journeymen from Essex skimmed goods from their loads and sold them to the stallholders as they passed by on their way to the City.
    Ellen eyed a couple of cooking apples. They were old stock and had probably been kept over from the last harvest but they looked whole enough. If she baked them, they’d do for tea.
    ‘I’ll have those three as well,’ she said, pointing at the apples, ‘and an onion, two carrots and half a swede.’
    Jimmy grinned at her as he hung the apples in the scales, ‘Ow’s yer mother?’
    ‘You know my mammy.’
    ‘And that pretty Josephine?’
    Ellen smiled. ‘Growing like a flower in an Irish meadow.’
    Jimmy turned his round, jovial face to the sky. ‘Spring’s round the corner, wouldn’t you say, Ellen?’
    Copying Jimmy’s movement Ellen too tilted her face to the sun and took a deep breath in. ‘I certainly would,’ she said, and caught him looking beyond her. Wondering what the stallholder was staring at, she turned.
    ‘Good day to you, Mrs O’Casey.’
    Having tried - and failed - to remove the image of Doctor Munroe from her mind all night, seeing him standing in the fresh morning sunlight not two foot from her was more than a little disconcerting.
    ‘Doctor Munroe,’ she said, hoping only she could hear the tightness in her voice. She gathered up her basket from the cobbles and balanced it on her hip. ‘Are you buying your su ... supper like the rest of us?’
    A smile spread across the doctor’s face.
    ‘No, just a small gift. Two Seville oranges, if you please,’ he said to Jimmy. He smiled broadly at Ellen. ‘Oranges are very good for you, you know, if you’ve been poorly.’
    The stallholder wrapped the oranges and handed them over. Adjusting the package under his arm Doctor Munroe paid for his purchase and turned back to her. His eyes