I dripped milk into my coffee, left the sugar sachets untouched. Stirred. And I was almost ready to raise the cup, put it to my lips, when the girl at the table next to me leaned across and said, ‘Excuse me, but I don’t suppose you know what “modicum” means, do you?’

She had a pleasant face – no, a pretty one. Her skin was pale and she was blushing slightly, just below the rims of her glasses.

She said, ‘I’m sorry to interrupt. It’s just I’m reading this book and it’s got this word in it I don’t understand and I thought you looked like you might know.’

I let go of the cup’s small handle. She was holding a novel, which had closed around her thumb. Her hands were small and long and her fingers were naked.

‘Sorry,’ I said, and then, ‘Sure. What was the word again?’

‘Modicum,’ she said. She looked down at her hand, as though embarrassed so I smiled at her, hoping she’d catch it when she looked back up.

‘I think it means something small,’ I told her, ‘but I’m no expert.’

For a moment she was silent, a slight frown on her face like she was processing what I’d told her, like she was seeing how it fitted. Then she nodded, and smiled and said Thanks with her pink lips. And as I told her it was no problem she straightened, moved back to her seat and opened her book.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That could be it.’

I sipped my coffee, occasionally glancing over at her, hoping that there’d be other words in there she wouldn’t know. I ordered another coffee, a pot this time, even though I’d not yet finished the cup I was drinking, but she left before it arrived, with a thin and warm smile and I wanted to touch her.

I watched her all the way to the door, watched her skirt ripple around the backs of her knees, and the breeze catch her hair when she stepped out onto the street. And then, she was gone.

*

I was, I discovered, only familiar with one aisle of the book shop and I had to ask for assistance twice; first to find out where the dictionaries were and then, a pocket-sized one in clammy hands, where I might find the novel I’d seen the girl reading.

Outside, in the high street, holding a plastic bag containing my new books, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to go home though, I couldn’t, so I walked back to the cafe.

*

When we made love that night it felt different. I was softer, slower; I felt things more. Afterwards, we lay there in the twilight, Julia’s head resting against my chest, my fingers pushed through her short crop, touching her scalp. She’d left the windows open so the curtains swished gently, making me think of the girl’s skirt and her lips.

Julia said, ‘You’ve cheered up,’ and I said nothing, kept my gaze on those curtains, thought about her skin.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

And I said, ‘I’m thinking about a word.’ I felt her head shift slightly, tilting.

‘What word?’

‘Modicum,’ I said. ‘It means a small quantity of a particular thing, especially something desirable.’

I felt her smile then, and you know what, I smiled too.