A crossword asks for a vanished Leeds landmark, and Brian thinks of a tiny shop from his old round. It sold buttons, batteries and things nobody could name. When it moved two streets away, half the neighbourhood continued giving directions from its empty doorway. Brian did too. The hospital pencil pauses over the crossword. The clue wants a building; his memory offers a counter, a bell and a shopkeeper who knew everyone’s handwriting. He checks the number of squares and starts again.