Mother With An Eye For A Bargain calls me from the supermarket.
'They've got your book.'
These calls are not unusual - since Damaged Goods was published she's spotted them with the trained eye she turned on me as a teenager with hickies.
'There are five on the shelf,' she says. 'So I'm happy with that.'
There's a but comming. I can smell it like a dog before a storm.
'But,' there you go, 'the position's all wrong.'
'These things are decided by the manager,' I say.
'You're right at the top.'
She sniffs derisively as if this were a personal slur on our family.
'I'm Helen Black,' I point out. 'The B's are bound to be at the top.'
She sniffs again. 'I've tried to move you.'
'I thought I'd swap you with one of the cook books,' she says. 'They're in the middle.'
'You can't do that.'
'Oh I've seen the woman on the telly, she's very nice,' she says. 'I'm sure she won't mind.'
I take a deep breath. 'I'm sure she's lovely but you can't rearrange stock. Security will catch you.'
Oh the guard's already spotted me,' she says.
I have visions of my 66year old mother being carted off by the police. 'What did he say?''
'That I can't move the books around.'
I know what's comming next. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.
'So I told him,' she says. 'My daughter wrote that.'
I hardly dare ask. 'Is everything okay?'
'Oh yes,' she chirps. 'We had a little chat. Turns out I know his wife, Val, from Weight Watchers.'
It's perfectly feasible that in the small mining town where I grew up and Mother With An Eye For A Bargain still lives that she knows every member of the guard's extended family spanning three generations.
'So what's going to happen?' I ask, praying she hasn't been arrested.
'All sorted, love,' she says. 'He's rearranging the books for me now.'