Graham - Almond Whirls

Almond Whirls

Words 474

     ‘I’ll go to Tesco’s,’ I shout as I’m closing the door.

     ‘No,’ I can hear the rising note of exasperation in my wife’s voice, ‘Their veg is crap. Sainsbury’s.’

     ‘Tesco’s is closer.’

     ‘Take the car.’

     ‘OK.’

I think I know when to give in. I’ve just got time given a fair wind. Julie has insisted on phoning me at four exactly. On our land line for God’s sake. What is she playing at?

Of course, the car doesn’t start. Come on, please, third time lucky surely. I keep it turning which of course I shouldn’t, and it coughs and rasps into life. I’m blocked in by the bin lorry. I sit tapping the steering wheel as they carefully litter the car park with the cream of the waste and bang the containers about with more verve than Tchaikovsky. Eventually they give me a cheery wave. I’ve got 15 minutes.
    ‘I’m sorry sir, it’s five items only’

    ‘But these are two for one, surely that makes them one item,’

     ‘No, sir. I can call the supervisor’

    ‘Don’t bother, look, take one of them out,’

     ‘Sir, it’s two ...’

     ‘It’s OK just charge me, please I’m in a hurry,’

The spotty youth sullenly taps his screen.

     ‘Sorry sir, it’s declined.’

     ‘That’s not possible. I used it this morning,’

Shit, I’ve used the wrong card. Another two minutes gone. I glance at my watch. Six minutes. I can just make it.

Thank God all the lights are green. I’m ignoring the speed limit. Just this once, I’m praying. Jesus, a pair of police motorcycles overtakes me, but they speed on, pull up in the middle of the lights, my green lights, and stop all traffic. A dark limousine sweeps past and I catch a glimpse of our stony-faced monarch. I can’t believe it, my life ruined because Her Majesty decides to visit the plebs. I follow the bikes at a respectful distance doing fifty. There’s no way they are going to stop and nick me.

I skid into the car park. I’m a minute late as I dump the veg in the kitchen and charge into the living room. Fiona is on the phone. Shit, please no. She waves me off. Ok, good, she isn’t spitting fire.

     ‘Did you get the plantain?’

     ‘Yes, everything. Who was that?’

     ‘One of your students actually, Julie. She came round with her essay last week. Remember, I put it on your desk.’
 
     ‘Oh, yes.’

No, I don’t remember. It was just on my desk with the others.

    ‘She stayed for tea, we had an interesting chat. Rather pretty isn’t she, and quite bright too? She wanted the recipe for my almond whirls.’

Good girl Julie, I thought, bright and satisfyingly devious.

Then, without missing a beat and her eyes still on the recipe book, ‘I’m not surprised you’re shagging her.’