is another mouse?” I asked, cheerfully. “Don’t worry, they soon scurry off if you stamp your feet at them.”
“There’s a body! A dead body - behind the sofa!”
What? With my heart suddenly pounding, I peered in trepidation over the back of the purple veloured sofa. I saw a pair of black and white checked trousers, a white apron, a mop of sandy coloured hair sticking out from a military camouflage bandana- “Oh, it’s ok, it’s just the chef!” I cried, hugely relieved. “Joe! Joe! Wake up Joe!” I shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes, which were bloodshot and veiny. He must have been having a very deep power nap! “You’ve got three food orders waiting, Chef,” I told him.
“What time is it?” he growled.
“Almost nine thirty.”
“Morning or evening?”
“Morning, of course!” I turned to the ladies. “He’s only joking! He’s got a terrific sense of humour. He probably thought it would be such a laugh to hide from me while I was opening up, but he must have accidentally nodded off.”
“Out my way, wank sock,” Joe gave me a playful shove and I sprawled across the sofa as he stumbled towards the kitchen. One of the ladies helped me up and then had to support her ashen-faced friend as she sat down, her legs appearing to buckle. The poor thing probably had low blood sugar. Mum often suffered from that on a Sunday morning, too, and had to eat bacon sandwiches and pizza until it increased.
The door jangled and Freckly Girl came in. She smiled at me. “Hello there! How are you today?”
“I’m good thanks, but I’m afraid I can’t do you a cappuccino at the moment, the machine’s not ready. I can make you an instant.”
“Ok, that’ll be great. How did your rehearsal go?”
“Oh, that’s nice of you to remember. It was really good thanks, all in all. We didn’t do any scenes with the Wizard this time, so there wasn’t much for me to do. I enjoyed watching the others, though, and I poured the orange squash during the break.”
“Oh, right,” she hovered at the counter as I made her coffee. “When will the tickets become available?”
“Probably in a couple of-” I was interrupted by a ferocious roar from the kitchen.
“Who the fuck’s been at my mascarpone?”
Freckly Girl smiled nervously and backed away as a wild-eyed Joe appeared in the hatch, brandishing the bread knife. The two ladies made for the door.
I cycled home, exhausted. My feet were sore, my legs felt like lead and my back was agony, but I really shouldn’t feel sorry for myself - it was all worth it to have a bit of extra money to spend on people at Christmas. Although I wouldn’t have earned much today, not after I’d paid for Myra’s Nutella and gherkin baguette and Joe had docked my wages for breaking a tray of crockery after I’d slipped on a patch of vomit, but every little helps.
Mum had obviously ventured out today as the drive was littered with orange peel and used tea bags. I wheeled my bike carefully round the back and found my mother in the kitchen gulping out of her Trophy Wife pint mug. “Gosh Mum, you look thirsty! Have you just been giving someone another session? You’d better go easy or there won’t be enough water left in the tap for our Pot Noodles!”
“It’s not water,” gasped Mum, wiping her mouth. “It’s wine. Your grandmother’s here. And I hope you don’t need the bathroom, she’s been in there for one hour forty five minutes.”
“Oh dear, didn’t the prune juice work? We had such high hopes for that, didn’t we?”
“Nothing works; she’s ninety percent cement.”
“What was it you used to give me, when I was very little?”
“Strongbow. I’m not giving her cider though, not with her flatulence.”
“Poor Gran. I hope she doesn’t leave bite marks in the soap again.”
I put the kettle on for a cup of tea and sank into a chair, grateful to sit down for the first time today. I heard the toilet flush and then shuffling footsteps in the passage. The hunched, dark figure of Granny Pattern appeared in the doorway. “Why don’t you get some decent toilet paper, Pam?” she asked, huffily. “I get mine from the disabled loos in Debenhams; real good quality that is and the rolls are huge, but they still fit inside my wheelie trolley. Yours is like sandpaper! And so cheap and nasty, my fingers went right through it.” She sat down gingerly and held out her hands to me. “Well, give your Grandma a kiss then, boy.”
I leant across, trying not to shudder, taking her bony hand and kissing her whiskery cheek. “Would you like a cup of tea, Gran?”
She sniffed. “I reckon I need something stronger after all my exertions; fair wiped me out, it has. I need to build my strength back up - have you got a nip of brandy?”
“No,” shot Mum. “You can have some cooking sherry, if there’s any left, that is. I had to use quite a bit on the limescale round the bath.”
The beady black eyes narrowed. “You always were a tight one, Pam, always. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten last Christmas, pretending that was a fresh turkey you got from the butchers. You didn’t fool me! That tiny sliver of breast you served me was still partially frozen, despite all the boiling Bisto you tipped over it. I didn’t bring you up to be so dishonest, Pam; I don’t know where you get it from.”
“Is it alright if Myra comes again this year?” I asked Mum. “Her mother doesn’t really do Christmas; well, she told me she couldn’t be arsed with it all.”
“Yes, of course Myra can come.”
“Just keep the Thornton’s away from her this time,” grumbled Granny Pattern. “Troughed her way through both layers last year, only left the toffee caramels, and they stuck my dentures together. You remember, Pam? I had to sit with my chin over a tea light for half an hour before they loosened up.”
“Best thirty minutes of Christmas ever,” muttered Mum, trying to shake the last drops out of the wine bottle with great determination. A little louder she said: “Auntie Trisha and Biffa will be here too, and I expect you to show a little more tact this time, not keep making references to dungarees and Billie Jean King.”
“I shouldn’t have to share the Lord’s Day with those two creatures - it’s unnatural, the sort of things they get up to. Thank God my Arthur’s gone from this world, the shame would have killed him. I don’t know how you can force me to break bread with them; you’re as debauched as they are.”
“No one’s forcing you to come,” said Mum, mildly. “You can always have your Christmas lunch with the others at the sheltered accommodation.”
Granny Pattern clutched at her chest and, worried she’d have another of her pretend seizures, I quickly fetched the remains of the cooking sherry from under the sink and waved it under her nose until her face returned to a more natural shade of purple.
Christmas Shopping
Monday morning didn’t start too well, with Sky arriving to find twenty plastic cups filled with water and stapled together on her desk. I tried to help her move them, but it was impossible to do so without a great deal of spillage, and I ended up with water running down my sleeves and onto the front of my trousers. It was very unfortunate that someone had chosen Sky’s desk for the joke because she detested plastic cups; she said they “raped the planet”. She demanded to know who the culprit was, narrowing it down to the Saturday shift and deciding it must have been Derek, who was at the doctor’s again this morning. I found myself in the meeting room facing Joy as she questioned everyone.
“Come on Morten, you must have seen who it was - your desk is right in front of Sky’s.”
“No, I didn’t! I was concentrating too hard on linking paper clips together.”
“Sorry?”
“Tim said Alan was always losing his paper clips, so if I linked them all together, into one long chain, Alan would be really appreciative.”
Joy slammed her hand down on the table. “I haven’t the time for these childish pranks, Morten! The audit starts on Wednesday - this is a very important week for our department - we all need to be on our toes and
performing to our very best standards. Kate’s very anxious about it; she said you, er, wanted to take some days off? As holiday?”
“Yes, that’s right. Kate’s always so considerate, isn’t she? Have you got any days left to take, Joy?”
“A few. I’m taking my mum to visit war graves, for her Christmas present.”
“Oh, how lovely!”
“So, you’re going to take Wednesday, Thursday and Friday as holiday? Good. The audit should be all over and done with by the time you return on Monday. And Morten, for goodness sake go and stand under the hand-dryer for a bit; it looks as if you’ve wet yourself.”
I texted Myra to let her know I had some holiday coming up and to see if she’d like to meet for some extra rehearsing. She texted back to say she’d rather go Christmas shopping, as her Jobseekers allowance was due to be paid on Wednesday. I didn’t have any money for presents yet but I could always window shop and look out for those extra special gifts. I did so love to spoil my friends and family, seeking out unique and interesting presents. I flicked around the Argos website for inspiration, my customer on hold as I waited to consult with my colleagues in Claims. I finally got through to someone who started to talk to me but he had such a strong Asian accent it was really difficult to follow what he was saying. “What’s the weather like out there?” I asked him when he paused for breath. “Nice and sunny, I expect. It’s absolutely freezing over here. I