shelf were Halloween masks, a bow and arrow set, a cowboy outfit, board games, cap-guns, pretend weapons . . . and along another shelf much the same. We were moving towards the door when Gena saw a row of bottles with tiny labels.

"What's that stuff?"

"Shampoo or something?" I said.

"No, its ... I can't read it."

"Who cares anyway?"

Gena stood on tip-toe and reached as far as she could but her fingers were still a long way from the bottle. The assistant, a large, woman, who up till now had been leaning back in her chair and languidly smoking a cigarette, and watching us through half-open eyes, heaved herself up and walked over to us.

"What is it you want, miss?"

"I'd like to know what it says on those bottles?" said Gena.

"Flavoured truth." said the woman.

"Pardon?"

"Flavoured truth," the woman repeated, "Raspberry, Chocolate and Jaffa."

"That's funny!" I said, "You can't buy truth in a bottle!"

"Yes you can," said the woman.

Well, obviously you could buy truth in a bottle, because there was a bottle of truth right there, on the shelf!

Gena and I looked at the bottle, which the woman had brought down to the level of our noses. It was very small, made of clear plastic, with a screw-on lid. There was barely a mouthful of liquid inside it.

"How much is it?" asked Gena.

"Twenty cents."

"What do you do with it?"

"Just place a drop or two on someone's skin and they'll tell the truth."

I laughed.