by Anita Notaro
Working on the customer service desk in Tesco should have been pleasant, and it would have been if it wasn’t for the customer bit.
Pam did her best. The men were OK—mostly, they all flirted outrageously with her and the old codgers were the worst. Guys were pretty straightforward on the whole although the barrister types in their starched white shirts and pinstriped suits never said please or thank you.
The haughty women were the ones she hated most. They were easily identifiable—too tanned, sporting masses of platinum and diamond jewelry—and talked in loud voices on their credit-card-slim, silver phones, which they pulled from their Louis Vuittons as soon as they got within spitting distance of a member of staff.
“Darling, coffee in the Berkeley in an hour? OK, no worries. Yes, their facials are divine. Will I see you in Rolys then for a quick bite?” Pause, followed by a throwaway “I need to get a refund on that,” delivered to the cigarettes behind Pam’s head. Resume conversation. “Mmm, me too, I had the most gorgeous swordfish there the other day, with wild rocket and Parmesan shavings and a glass of Moët.”
“Do you have a receipt for this, madam?” Pam always tried to smile, even though sometimes she detested them all. The answer was at best a shake of the head, more often a shrug of the shoulders and a cursory check with Louis V. Usually they simply waved her away and continued the darling ritual. It drove her insane.
Then there were the liars. They usually wanted to change something that was 90 percent eaten—smoked ham or pate or cheese. “I’d like to return this, it’s rancid.”
“Do you have a receipt?”
“No. Why would I keep a receipt? I don’t expect to have to return something. But this is clearly off. Have you smelt it?” No and I don’t intend to, either. “When did you buy it, madam?”
“Yesterday, I think, or the day before.”
“It’s just that the use-by date is three weeks ago.”
Very slight pause. “Oh, on the bag, you mean? That’s not the original one. I just threw it into the nearest thing I had.”
“And how much did you pay for it, madam?”
“About twelve euros forty-three, as far as I remember, I don’t really know.”
“That’s rather a lot to pay for cooked ham.”
“Yes, well my children love it and now one of them probably has food poisoning and here you are querying the price, it’s outrageous.” Pam knew there was no point in calling one of the managers, they always caved in. She would simply guide them to the deli counter and ask the young Croatian or Indian boy for thirteen euros’ worth of ham. She would then hand the huge mound to the brazen hussies in exchange for their half slice of decaying pig and smile sweetly. Most of the time they had the grace to blush.
Thursday was one of those days when she wanted to crawl into a hole and howl and yet she was forced to spend an extra hour in the torture chamber because it was weekly shop night and her two sons would be hovering like vultures, awaiting her appearance. They got whatever they wanted for dinner on Thursdays, as long as it came from the hot food counter at the store.
“Hi, I’m home. Could someone help me unload the groceries, please?” Paul, the ten-year-old monster appeared immediately. “What’s for dinner?” He loved Thursdays because they always got plenty of goodies. Then there was the weekend coming, which meant takeaways or meals out. Monday to about Wednesday was the part of the week he hated most because his mum was always on a diet, or a tight budget, and was usually forcing them to eat rabbit food of some description, or the gloopy, runny mess she called shepherd’s pie. That was really gross.
“Dinner tonight is pizza, darling. I got you pepperoni with extra cheese, as per your detailed instructions this morning. Remember?”
“Oh yeah. Cool.”
“Where’s Andrew?”
“On the phone.” Pam tried not to think of the amount of time her eldest spent calling his mates, mostly ringing mobile numbers despite her banning them. Otherwise he was on the Internet, another forbidden means of communication unless she was present. His only other interests were renting computer games or DVDs and texting the entire universe.
“Andrew, I need help, please.” No response.
“Dinner’s here, BBQ chicken and spicy wedges with chilli sauce,” she yelled. He was thumping the boards in a flash.
As usual they carried in one bag each then emptied the contents on to the kitchen table for inspection. She normally managed to hide the bag containing dinner, the only way they could be persuaded back outside to the car without the aid of a cattle prod. By the time she finally came inside, dumped her jacket and kicked off her shoes they had both taken up residence in front of the soccer, dinner already well underway on their laps and most of her bags vandalized.
Pam surveyed the contents of her shop in dismay. Spread out in front of her, it was a ready-made discussion on one of those “you are what you eat” reality TV shows. There were too many biscuits, fizzy drinks, fish fingers and chicken kievs and not enough fruit and vegetables, and certainly no healthy brown options anywhere. She picked up her portion of chicken wings, added salt and ketchup, poured a glass of Coke and flopped. She sighed heavily.
“Are you OK, Mum?” Paul looked anxious.
“Just tired.”
“I’ll help you put things away later, then.”
“Thanks, love. And you,” she prodded Andrew’s foot with her own. “It’s your turn to do the dishes, OK?”
“I did them last night.”
“No, I did them last night. No arguing.”
He said nothing. “Andrew?” It was a warning.
“What?”
“Take that sulky look off your face.”
He sighed and shifted in his seat, and she was too tired to argue. They weren’t bad kids really, just lazy, and a bit spoilt.
Maggie was really trying and it was killing her. On Tuesday after the jog she was feeling very virtuous, just as she had predicted, so her morning coffee-break was a glass of water and an apple, instead of cappuccino and a blueberry muffin. She felt positively saintly. She dithered a bit at one o’clock but finally ditched her chicken tikka garlic baguette in favor of a brown salad sandwich with Low Low and her halo gleamed brightly as she walked down Nassau Street toward her lunchtime Pilates class. By the end of the day she was the talk of the office, although her beatification suffered a setback on Wednesday evening after two Bacardi Breezers in the company of the cute guy from Mergers and Acquisitions who was leaving work.
On Thursday she had lunch with Toni, who was also doing well, according to herself.
“I went for another jog last night, then felt so good that I called in to the gym and did a bums ‘n’ tums class. After that I was so bushed that I skipped dinner and went to bed with some hot milk, slimline of course.” She beamed at a startled Maggie as they sat at the counter in Aya nibbling bits of seaweed.
“Good grief, that makes the low-fat organic natural yogurt I had for breakfast sound positively over-indulgent.” Maggie was only half joking.
“Be careful of too much dairy.” Toni popped a nori something-or-other into her mouth. “And try to exercise at least three times a week if you can.” Toni was smiling kindly but it all sounded just a bit too virtuous.
“What are you on?”
“Nothing, just all geared up.” She grinned at her friend. “And you know what I’m like in determined mode.”
“It’s the weekend I’m dreading,” Maggie moaned. “The girls from work are all going out for an Indian tomorrow night and my mum’s invited me for Sunday lunch. Maybe I’ll skip brunch with you lot on Saturday, otherwise I’ll definitely be up on Monday.”
“I think it’s off anyway.” Toni was hoovering up a green salad. “Pam has something on with the boys and I’m working all weekend. I need the overtime.” She made a face. “Although I’m definitely looking for another job. I’ve had enough of old people, they’re so aggressive sometimes and they moan constantly.”
“You’re
always saying that, yet you never do anything about it. Must be all those doctors who keep asking you out.”
“I wish. Even the visitors are mostly retired relatives.” Toni brushed an imagined speck off her immaculate suit. “People our age are too busy to visit nursing homes. I haven’t had a date in yonks. And most of my colleagues are married and they all envy me, imagining me whirring round town in totally impractical shoes, buying lilies and fig candles.” She sighed. “Single women are supposedly ruling the world. Sex and the City has a lot to answer for.”
“I know. Flowers and candles only come out when visitors arrive, along with home-made organic pesto and drizzled lemon cake. Otherwise it’s Waitrose Chow Mein and one of those instant fire-log things in front of Property Ladder, although,” she paused for effect, “I do have a date lined up for next week.”
“Who?” Toni was delighted with this juicy bit of gossip.
“His name’s Doug and I met him at the office thingy the other night. He’s away until the weekend but said he’d ring me Monday.”
“Lawyer?”
“Accountant. Friend of one of the guys from upstairs. Cute though—at least I hope he is, those alcopops would make Johnny Vegas look appealing.” She grinned. “And that’s Johnny after fourteen pints and a kebab.”
“Well, I can’t wait for the blow-by-blow account of the night.” Toni smiled at her friend. “You deserve to find a really nice guy.”
“Thanks.” Maggie was touched. She knew that underneath Toni’s couldn’t-care-less exterior, she was as insecure as the rest of them. “So, anything lined up even for Saturday night yourself?”
“Nope. All I’ve got to look forward to is tapioca pudding and bedpans for the weekend.” She sighed. “I’ve decided singledom is overrated.”
Eleven
Jack’s editor had finally nailed him and made the long-overdue visit to Dublin. They were having dinner in the King Sitric, a local restaurant renowned for its spanking-fresh seafood. They’d downed two G & Ts while they scanned the menu and were now happily tucking into a bottle of Marques de Riscal Gran Reserva, and Jack, at least, was feeling no pain.
“So, when are you going to bring up my deadline?” He decided to get it over with.
“Which one?” Robert Sorohan inquired mildly. He was a gentle giant of a man with red hair and a beard and a figure that showed he loved his grub.
“Ouch. You sure know how to hit where it hurts.” They were both smiling. “I suppose I have been a bit off form lately.”
“It’s when you don’t return my calls or e-mails that I get slight chest pains.” The older man leaned back and sampled the plummy red wine.
“So that’s why you hot footed it over from London?”
“Well, you’re one of our top authors. I thought maybe you were unhappy about something. Besides, if you’ve time tomorrow I’d like to talk to you about some more promotion for the paperback in January. Fancy a few days in the big smoke?”
“Christ, the Americans are looking for me to go to New York as well.” Jack knew he’d have to get his act together. He’d been avoiding traveling as much as he could because of the kids.
“How’s it going over there? Are they treating you well?”
“Yeah, they don’t really hassle me much.” He grinned. “Not like you.” The older man smiled and said nothing.
“Still hanging in the bestseller list, too, it’s been months.” Jack ruffled his hair. “My agent’s had an offer from one of the studios. They want to buy the film rights. I was supposed to talk to him this week.” He sighed. “I’m just not on top of things at the moment, Bob.”
“That bad, eh?”
“No, I shouldn’t be complaining. It’s what I’ve always wanted. Remember when I started off and I was freelancing for all the papers? I never imagined even half of this.” He stretched his arms behind his head and rubbed his neck. “Success in the States, movie deals, publicity tours, publishing houses fighting to sign me, it’s great. It’s just that, on the home front, things have been tough. The kids are very demanding and the house closes in on me occasionally. I miss adult company. Sometimes I don’t talk to anyone except the kids for days.”
“You need a holiday.”
“I need a hooker.”
“There are places where you can have both. Hop on a plane. You’d be in Amsterdam in just over an hour.”
“You know, in my younger days, the gag with the lads on the rugby team was that I’d get up on the crack of dawn, but the truth is I’ve never really gotten off on one-night stands. It’s the intimacy I miss. I like the laughs as much as the lust. Well, almost.” He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the older man’s company and it was ages since they’d talked properly.
“Jack, you’re a good-looking guy and a major success story, you have it all, kid.” He took a cigar from his pocket and Jack shook his head at it. “Damn this smoking ban anyway, it’s uncivilized.” He was rarely grumpy and Jack laughed.
“It’ll do you good. You smoke too much but if you really insist on shortening both our lives we can have coffee and brandy back at my place and you can indulge your filthy habit. Now, take that scowl off your face and tell me more about how wonderful I am.” Jack looked relaxed for the first time all evening.
“I mean it, you need to get out more, meet some young things, model types.” He waved his arms about. “Look around you, there are plenty of women here who’d give their right arm to be sitting in my chair this evening.”
“And they’re all wearing milk-bottle glasses or carrying white sticks.” Jack swallowed his drink. “No, Bob, I’ve been out of the loop too long. And besides, I’m not going down that road again. Too complicated. I’ve got enough women in my life to keep me happy.”
“What about when they grow up and leave?”
“Jesus, gimme a break, they’re barely walking.”
“It passes fast, let me tell you.”
“Where are your three now?”
“Jean is in Barbados, working for the same bank. Showing no signs of settling down. Paul is getting married to a vet from Sweden and Irene is in college in Edinburgh.”
“And how’s Jo?”
“Still beating me up about my weight.” Jack knew Bob’s wife well. “You should come over for a weekend, we bought a holiday home in Padstow. Great restaurants. I’ll introduce you to some lovely fillies.”
“What are you like?” Jack topped up their glasses. “Seriously though, I know I need to knuckle down and finish the book. I have a girl starting next Monday. That should help a lot.”
“I’m not hassling you, son. You’re one of our biggest earners. I know you’ll deliver.”
“Eventually.” Jack laughed. “Thanks, Bob. I know I’ve been a pain in the ass lately.”
“So, who’s the girl?”
“A nanny, chosen by Kate.” The Englishman laughed knowingly. “Bill thinks I’m lucky she’s under fifty and weighs less than twenty stone.”
“What’s she like?”
“I can’t really remember. Seems nice enough. Kids liked her, so I’m willing to give it a shot. Otherwise Kate has a Scottish widow in tweeds and a riding crop standing by. Bill reckons it’s going to get much worse if I don’t give in.” Both men laughed, knowing it was true.
Telling her friend she was leaving had given Ellie a fresh perspective on life. She even managed to smile at the smug marrieds. Her new regime was going well, too. She had exercised most days, although admittedly she was cheating at sit-ups, but her days of snacking on Pringles were over. She’d managed to have four portions of fruit and veg each day, and was feeling very virtuous until one of her colleagues had casually mentioned that she didn’t think two slices of carrot cake with cream-cheese icing strictly constituted two veggie portions. Still, she was drinking plenty of water and munching her way through diet this and low-fat that, so she felt cleansed and consequently much thinner overall.
The second WWW Club meeting was held later in the week and christened t
he weird wacky women night, because they were all feeling a bit giddy, thanks largely to the magnum of champagne Ellie had been given by one of the fathers as a thank-you for not calling the police when his ten-year-old darling—one of the after-school kids—had locked a younger boy in the boot of a car while its owner was changing a puncture. Luckily, it had been nothing to do with her, really. Both children had been collected and one father offered a hand to the mechanically challenged mother while their offspring amused themselves near by. Unfortunately their game of cops and robbers meant the younger of the two found himself gagged with his mother’s cashmere sweater and dumped into the open boot and almost buried alive under golf clubs and a couple of cases of Château Margaux. The resulting hunt left everyone in a sweat until Ellie, just about to seek uniformed help, overheard the perpetrator on his mobile to his brother, informing him that he was owed ten euro for “mission accomplished.”
As usual they had a great laugh at Ellie’s expense, then tucked into the Moët and almost forgot the dreaded weigh-in until Toni called “time please, ladies” in that voice she usually reserved for her more lecherous male geriatrics.
Overall, they decided that things were on the up. Pam had lost a pound and was delirious. Ellie had stayed the same and was a bit puzzled but her brain was fuzzy from fizz. Maggie was up one but giggled in spite of it and Toni had lost two pounds so she relented and let them off the lentil and split pea purée on rice cakes originally planned for dinner. In a flash, Ellie had ordered fish and chips and they made a Girl Guide pact to do better next week.
Twelve
Ellie was nervous as she pulled into the driveway to start her new job the following Monday morning. Her initial concern was wondering if she should have worn a uniform. Some people preferred to have their domestics, nannies, housekeepers, au pairs, grannies—she’d been called everything—all in white, like a proper nurse. But those kind of things made Ellie itch, so she dressed simply in a plain navy skirt and white blouse. The outfit made Julie Andrews leaving the convent in The Sound of Music look like a sex siren.
