Recognition

I unpack my basket of shopping at the checkout and just as I finish, a man queues behind me with a lemon, a bottle of white wine and a bag from the fish counter. Looking at his three items, I ask him if he would like to go in front of me. He accepts, surprised and pleased at my thoughtfulness. Looking at him square in the face, I realise we've met before, but I can't place him. As he completes his transaction, I know we've met, and I have a bad feeling it wasn't pleasant - an argument of some sort, I think. He pays, then turns to me and thanks me again, leaving the supermarket with a bounce in his step, but I'm discombobulated. Over the next few hours, I puzzle away and eventually it dawns on me; it's him.