by Ilsa Evans
‘I’d really love a packet of salt and vinegar chips.’
‘Well, life’s like that, kid.’
‘Oh.’ His chest heaves as he sighs heavily and slumps his shoulders.
‘Bloody hell,’ I mutter under my breath as I glance at the long line snaking behind him. ‘Okay – guess what! Salt and vinegar chips are on special today so here you go and off you go. Next!’
‘C’n I have some change?’
‘No!’
‘Hello, Mummy.’ CJ pushes past salt and vinegar boy and smiles beatifically at me.
‘Hello, sweetie.’
‘My friends all wanted to see you. This is Stephanie, and Mason, and –’
‘CJ, I have to serve all these kids behind you! I’ll have to meet your friends later.’
‘Oh, okay. Then can you buy us all salt and binegar chips seeing as they’re on special?’
‘No, but here you are.’ I thrust a packet of mixed lollies into her hands. ‘Now off you go and I’ll see you after school. Next!’
‘Actually, perhaps you could take over the lunches.’ The stout, middle-aged canteen supervisor is standing next to me wringing her hands nervously in her apron and wearing a rather apprehensive smile.
‘Sure thing,’ I say helpfully as I let her take my place at the window. I suppose she’s worried about the profits but I’m afraid I can’t get very excited about a couple of dollars today. I grab a loaf of bread, tear open the packet and start buttering furiously. What is it with men that they think they can just waltz through life making up the rules as they go along? And not telling anyone else about what particular rules they’re playing by either. When I get home I am going to chuck those flowers. Or else I’ll put them through the Vitamiser and dump them on Alex’s doorstep. No, then he’d know that I cared. Not that I care, that is – but I don’t want him to know that. Well, I know what I mean, anyway. Arsehole.
‘Hey!’ The canteen supervisor has turned away from the window and is staring at my rapidly growing pile of buttered bread in consternation. ‘We don’t need that much!’
‘Oh, sorry.’ I look with surprise at the large mound in front of me. ‘How many did you need then?’
‘Actually, none. We only butter bread for the staff and I’ve already done those.’
‘Oh, sorry.’ But perhaps if you’d try telling me, I’d know what to bloody do. ‘What do you want me to do with these then?’
‘Well . . . ’ Her narrow look leaves me in little doubt regarding what she’d really like me to do with them. ‘How about you just seal them and freeze them.’
‘Sure,’ I say helpfully as I reach for the plastic wrap. Perhaps I could wait until next time he is entertaining little Ms Linnet without a bloody y and then return the flowers myself. That should be interesting. Or I could send an anonymous note to her. Something like: ‘Dear little Ms Linnet without a bloody y, do you realise that your swampbag needs dry-cleaning?’ No? Too subtle? Okay, how about: ‘Dear little Ms Linnet without a bloody y, ask your fiancé what he was doing between about 11.45 and midnight on Tuesday.’ Ha! Arsehole.
‘Hey!’ The canteen supervisor is glaring at me again.
‘Yes?’ I say politely, although she is really beginning to get on my nerves.
‘You’ve sealed all the ones I did for the staff lunches!’
‘Oh.’ I look down and, sure enough, efficiency in action. Yet again. ‘Sorry, I’ll unseal them. Then what would you like me to do?’
‘Let me see,’ the supervisor says slowly, taking deep breaths. ‘Perhaps you could start putting the lettuce and mayonnaise on the chicken burger buns?’
‘Sure,’ I say agreeably as I start unwrapping the staff bread, ‘not a problem.’
‘Good,’ she replies stiffly before turning back to her window where an inordinate number of children seem to be requesting salt and vinegar chips.
I put the staff bread to one side of the counter, where it should have been in the first place, and then put my wrapped, freshly buttered pile neatly into the freezer. She should be thanking me – I’ve probably just saved her having to butter bread for the remainder of this year at least. I get the lettuce and mayonnaise out of the industrial-size fridge and put them on the bench next to the pile of rolls. Then I neatly slice through each and every one of the rolls and proceed to spread the individual openings lavishly with mayonnaise before adorning with lettuce. What will I say when I see him next? What will I say when I see her next? Ye gods! What will I do when she actually moves in? I pause in horror with my knife held up in the air dripping mayonnaise liberally onto the bench. I hadn’t thought of that! But of course she’ll be moving in – they’re getting married, after all. I sigh heavily as I start working furiously again. Arsehole.
The end of recess bell peals loudly and I jump, dropping a handful of shredded lettuce onto the floor. The canteen supervisor holds her hand up firmly to the remainder of the children standing in line and begins to pull the windows down. What a dragon. I would have thrown them free lollies or something to make up for their disappointment. She pulls the last window down with a clatter and turns to face me.
‘Oh, goodness gracious!’
‘What? What have I done now?’
‘They’re the hot dog rolls, not the chicken burger rolls!’
‘There’s a difference?’
‘Of course there’s a difference! A big difference! Hot dog rolls are long and skinny, chicken burger rolls are round – like these!’ She takes a roundish roll from a pile on the far side of the bench and brandishes it wildly in front of my face.
‘Oh well. They can swap for today.’
‘Swap. For. Today,’ she repeats slowly as her face turns an interesting vermilion shade.
‘Yes. I mean, does it really matter?’
‘Yes. It. Does,’ she replies, still enunciating as if I am hard of hearing. ‘Hot dogs don’t fit in round rolls and chicken burgers don’t fit in long rolls!’
‘Oh, I see.’ And I do. Because actually that makes some sense – frankfurters are long and skinny so they should get the long, skinny rolls while chicken burgers are perfectly round so they should get the perfectly round rolls.
‘Do you? Do you really?’
‘Of course I do!’ I frown slightly at her and then glance up at the clock. ‘Oh heavens! Look at the time. Remember I said that I’d have to leave by eleven?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she says a bit too eagerly for my liking. She grabs a dishcloth and starts to clean up some spilt mayonnaise. ‘What a shame. Oh well, bye now!’
‘I could stay –’ I can’t really, but teasing her may well be the only pleasure I get today.
‘No! I mean, it’s okay – you go.’ She flings her mayonnaise-covered dishcloth into the sink and kneels down awkwardly to pick up some lettuce from the floor. Obligingly, I get down to help her.
‘It’s all right! I’ll do it!’ She grabs the lettuce out of my hand and gives me a gentle push towards the door.
‘But I feel so guilty. Long frankfurters and round rolls – what an absolute cock-up!’
‘No, that’s fine! Really! I’ll – um . . . I’ll think of something!’
‘No, I couldn’t possibly leave you with my mistake,’ I say as I drag some more lettuce strips out from under the freezer. ‘I know – let’s brainstorm! I’m sure we’ll think of something if we only put our heads together.’
‘No! I’ve already thought of something!’ She rudely snatches the lettuce out of my hand before I can put it with the rest, and flings it into the rubbish bin. ‘I’m going to break them! That’s what I’ll do!’
‘Break them?’
‘Yes – break them, break them, break them!’ She levers herself up from the floor and flutters her hands at me in a rather agitated manner. ‘So go on, off you go now!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely! See, I’ll start now.’ She reaches for the pile of frozen frankfurters behind her and, much to my surprise, starts to snap them in half th
ere and then. ‘See? Not a problem. Now off you go and do whatever it is that you have to do.’
‘All right then.’ I give her a friendly smile. ‘I’ll leave you with it.’
‘Good. That’s good. Very good,’ she replies as she continues snapping frankfurters in half and tossing them in a bowl.
‘But I’ll see you next time and I’ll make up for all this, I promise. Actually, I think I’m on again next Friday. And looking forward to it already.’
In reply she simply makes an odd little whimpering sound so I leave her furiously breaking frozen frankfurters at the bench, and grab my bag before escaping. You’d think that a person who worked full time in a primary school would have more intestinal fortitude. She didn’t even say thank you.
I walk thoughtfully through the school to where my car is parked beside a row of portable classrooms. As I take my time finding my car keys in the dim, dark depths of my handbag, a familiar boyish voice floats towards me from an open classroom window. I frown as I try to place it and then smile as it clicks into place. It’s little salt and vinegar boy. At least I did someone a favour today. What is it that they say? There’s nothing like the kindness of strangers and all that. I pause with my keys in the door and listen in to what Master S & V has to say.
‘. . . you pick on one of da muvers and make dem go frough what you can buy and just say no fanks to everyfing. Sooner or later, dey’ll give in and give you zactly what you want, doesn’t even matter if you don’t have enough. Works every time.’
That’s it. All men are scum, and little boys – well, some are already in training.
FRIDAY
4.30 pm
‘I declare this meeting now in order!’ CJ bashes the gavel down emphatically – BANG! – and then looks sternly around the table. ‘And no talking unless I say so!’
‘Why’re we having the meeting so early, Mum?’ Ben looks thoroughly pained at this interruption to his after-school care of the ailing rabbits.
‘I said no talking, Ben!’ BANG!
‘Because Sam’s going out soon, and the guy who’s fixing the bathroom floor is coming around shortly to finish the job.’
‘And I’m staying at Jeff ’s place. Max is coming over too.’
‘Yes, but you’re not going till after tea, Ben.’
‘I thought that fix-it guy was coming round earlier this afternoon?’ Sam says questioningly while she puts the finishing touches to her list of complaints for the meeting.
‘Mummy! Ebryone’s talking!’ BANG! BANG!
‘He left a message on the machine to say he was delayed and he’d be around after five.’ I sigh as I recall that his message was the only message all afternoon. No word from Alex, no messages, no flowers. I just spent the whole damn day cleaning the house and thinking. Too much thinking. Much too much thinking. I sigh again.
‘I’m not doing this if ebryone’s going to talk!’ CJ throws the gavel down on the table where it bounces once – BANG! – and then flips onto the floor. ‘It’s not fair!’
‘That’s enough, CJ!’ I bend down, retrieve the gavel, and place it back in her hand. ‘They only wanted to know why the meeting was early, that’s all. And if you’re going to have hysterics about it, then you can pass your turn as adjudicator on to someone else.’
‘I’ll do it,’ says Sam magnanimously.
‘No! It’s my turn!’ BANG!
‘Then behave yourself. An adjudicator has to maintain control of the whole table, and that includes yourself. Understand?’ I frown at CJ as she nods reluctantly back. The thing is that we have this problem whenever it’s her turn to host our weekly meetings. She turns into a psychotic dictator of the first order and the meeting takes forever, usually ending in tears – her tears, that is. I prefer it when Ben is in charge. The meetings are short, sharp and relatively painless.
‘Okay, then. No talking! Ben – your turn first.’ BANG! BANG!
‘Mmm, mmm.’
‘Ben! Your turn!’ BANG!
‘Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm.’
‘Mummy! What’s Ben doing?’ shrieks the adjudicator.
‘Ben, what the hell are you doing?’
‘She said no talking!’
‘Very funny. Do you want a turn or not?’
‘Can I talk then?’ Ben asks the adjudicator, whose face is going extremely red.
‘Mummy!’
‘Enough, Ben! Now, have your turn or you can leave now and skip pocket money!’
‘Okay, okay. She said it. Okay!’ He holds a hand up as my mouth opens. ‘Well, I just want to complain about people –’ He pauses to give CJ a filthy look – ‘people letting their friends feed my rabbits so that they almost die. And don’t bother saying you didn’t because I found bits of your birthday cake in Rover’s hutch.’
‘Well, that explains it,’ I say smugly, ‘it was your grandmother’s cooking.’
‘And dweebs who feed it to animals,’ adds Ben, narrowing his eyes at his sister.
‘All right,’ I say before CJ can respond, ‘I promise that next time CJ has friends over I shall explain to them that the rabbits are not to be fed under any circumstances. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Ben replies grudgingly.
‘Now it’s Sam’s turn.’ BANG! CJ dismisses her brother with one stroke of the gavel.
‘Well, let me see.’ Sam straightens out her list and examines it. ‘Zunachst, I’d like to comment on the smell coming from Ben’s room. It’s disgusting – smells like Dad’s house. Can something be done about it, please? And I’d also like to comment on how you were late home yesterday, Mum. I know you, like, said sorry, but you really didn’t sound like you meant it and I don’t think you realise that I was very worried about where you were when we got home. I just want you to, like, know, that’s all – because, you’d freak if I did that. Then I wanted to talk to you about some new clothes for me. I mean, like, summer’s nearly over and I need to start looking at some winter gear and I really don’t have much at all. I checked in my wardrobe last night because I had nothing to do because Dad stood us up –’ Sam pauses at this juncture to narrow her eyes and purse her lips ‘– for that Verlobte! But I’m not going to talk about that because I’ve already had my say. But I’d like to point out that I think somebody may find it a tad more difficult to win back my respect after his behaviour last night.’
‘Okay, Mum’s turn!’ CJ shrieks quickly and bashes the gavel down – BANG! – while her sister opens her mouth to continue. ‘No, Sam! You hab had your chance!’
‘But I hadn’t nearly finished!’
‘Tough bikkies!’
‘CJ – quiet! Sam, did you have anything more that was really important? Don’t forget you said you had to be over at Sara’s by six.’
‘Oh, that’s right.’ Sam leans perilously backwards in her chair in order to peer at the kitchen clock. ‘Okay, I’ll save it for next week.’
‘Great,’ mumbles Ben as he slouches down even further in his chair.
‘Mummy! Your turn!’ BANG! BANG!
‘All right. I’ll keep it short and sweet. Firstly, here’s your pocket money.’ I open my purse and dole out varying amounts according to age and amount of work done around the house (in other words – strictly according to age). ‘Now then. Was anybody interested enough to have a look at the new tiles I picked out for the bathroom floor? No? Oh well, don’t complain when they’re laid later then. Sam, don’t forget we have to meet with your careers advisor sometime next week. Can you make an appointment, please, and try to think of some ideas of what you’d like to do with your life?’
‘I already know exactly what I want to do with my life –’
‘Great, we’ll discuss it at length later. Now, Ben, the rabbits come out of your room tonight. They are perfectly fit enough to return to their hutch. In fact, I thought they had returned to their hutch but obviously I was wrong. Sam’s right – your room reeks. Open the windows and let some fresh air in. And get rid of some of the dirty dishes in there. And don’t forget to b
e back from Jeff ’s by ten because you’ve got St John’s in the morning. And, no, I’m not picking you up because it’s only four houses away, but if you’re not here by ten I’ll be ringing and I’ll be angry.
‘Now, Sam, you’ll have to wait for your winter clothing. It’s not exactly freezing yet so I think you can survive another month or so. And don’t forget to take your work clothes with you if you’re staying at Sara’s tonight. And don’t forget that I’m picking you up from the hot bread shop at lunchtime because you’re having your final fitting for Grandma’s wedding. No –’ I hold up my hand as Sam’s mouth opens – ‘don’t say it. I know you hate the dress, and the shoes, and the hat – but it’s only one day, and it’s her day, and you can do that much to make her happy. And, yes, CJ, I know you love your outfit so you don’t need to tell us again.
‘Now, lastly, I just want to remind you all about that video and, Sam, you can wipe that grin off your face because if I hear of any one of you telling anybody that it was me on that tape, well – your life won’t be worth living. I am deadly serious. Anyway, guys, that’s it from me. Nothing earth-shaking this week. Thank you, CJ, for your adjudicating.’
‘Great – it’s over.’ Ben levers himself up.
‘No! It’s not ober! I habn’t had my turn!’ CJ bashes the gavel down hard – BANG! ‘Sit down – it’s my turn!’
‘Sit down, Ben,’ I say firmly.
‘But she takes forever!’
‘She won’t today, will you, CJ? Because we don’t have time.’
‘Okay. But I want to say that I didn’t do anything to your smelly old rabbits, Ben. And neither did my friends. We don’t like rabbits. Mummy –’ CJ turns from her brother to face me – ‘I want you to tell off the lady at the canteen. She put two hot-dog harbs in my roll today. And my roll was round, not long and skinny like it’s supposed to be.’
‘Oh heavens! Can the world stand it?’
‘Shoosh, Ben. CJ, maybe it was a mistake. Mistakes happen.’
‘I think she did it on purpose because when I went to the window to complain she gabe me a sort of sneer. And she wouldn’t let me hab any of the salt and binegar chips on special.’
