No Nuts for Nigel

 

 

‘Sorry about the short notice darling.  They'll be here at  eight... and remember Reg doesn't eat dairy, Nigel Hamsgrove has a nut allergy and Charles's wife is veggie.'

 Frank's voice ricocheted around Alice's head as she drove out of the school gates.  It was 4.30; that should be enough time to get to the supermarket, shop, be home by 6.15 with dinner in the oven by 7.30.  Sorted.

 OK. so the traffic was bad.  It was Friday night.  What would you expect? Fifteen minutes lost.  She could move round the store quicker and need lose no more than five minutes. She calmed herself with the thought.  Then the silver Micra pulled out of a side turning.  She could see it was one of those drivers crouched low behind the wheel and wearing a flat cap, clearly unable to increase speed beyond twenty-five mph and braking each time he saw another car.  Now the time lag was beginning to infuriate Alice as it messed up her efficient planning.  Twenty minutes docked. She managed to convince herself the dinner could wait until 8.30. As she joined the line of cars for the Friday night shopper's nightmare at Sainsbury she realised she had been clenching her teeth behind Micra-man who'd driven the last three miles with his foot on the brake.  Her jaw felt tense and there was an uncomfortable knotted feeling between her shoulder blades. She tussled with a red Peugeot for the last bay in car park six, attempting to go over the menu options in her head and silently cursing Frank's boss for having such fussy business associates. Alice caught a glimpse of her slightly bloodshot brown eyes in the rear view mirror and took a second to adjust her neatly cut bob.

Alice grabbed the bags from the boot of the car and crossed over to the entrance dodging through the line of traffic still attempting to access the bays.  What a day .Why on earth had she woken so early? Crazy.  To make things worse there were no trolleys left, forcing her to wait at the exit for the next one available.  She glanced at her watch...5.40pm.  Over twelve hours on the go. She wished she could stop her brain from switching on so early in the mornings.  She really did need all her concentration at work.  It was the last day of the Ofsted inspection and there'd been a catalogue of queries to deal with; messages for students, impatient parents, harassed teaching staff and an extremely irate premises manager.

At last she pounced on a free trolley and was glad when the entry doors, like curtains, closed out the bitingly cold wind. Alice gradually patrolled the shelves mentally ticking off the items as she went. Pushing her obstinate trolley over to the electronic scales she could see a small queue forming. The machine had run out of labels.  She tried the one opposite. There were numerous vegetable options but courgettes remained elusive.  She decided to put them in the trolley anyway since she couldn't visualise a courgette free ratatouille.

 Alice loathed all this modern technology. The new computer software at school had crashed so many times that morning that the computer boffins had closed it down for the afternoon without warning.   She'd had to look up all the pupil's contact numbers on an index card.  Each time one of the computer admin. guys walked by she'd tried to attract his attention but he had declined eye contact.  It was as though his social skills were limited to computer hard drives.  Almost at screaming pitch she had made twelve cheery attempts at ‘Hello Reception' in the last fifteen minutes of the day.

 Time was creeping on.  She hoped Janet and Richard had picked up the children without problems. She'd dropped them off before eight after tidying round at home and cleaning up a bit.  Her eyes scanned for tomato puree. They had moved the sauces again.  Apparently it is good marketing to move products round endlessly, as it entices customers to buy more. ‘It also drives them over the edge of sanity'  she thought bitterly, but shrugged and continued searching. Life was easier when you didn't have all these choices and you could just ring up Mr Battle, like her grandmother had done and he would pack the order in a neat little box and deliver it to you.  She'd tried the internet shopping and delivery service but it took so long to pick what you needed and they kept sneaking in unwanted substitutes. Alice ploughed on, yanking her  trolley from aisle to aisle.

It was taking way longer than planned. She was now an hour behind schedule.  If they hadn't moved the fresh cream and the sauces, if the scales had worked, if the trolley wheels were straight she might have managed it all despite the traffic.  Perhaps the fruit salad would be enough on its own?  Who needs brandy baskets anyway?  What a ridiculous luxury.  She was coping well.
She struggled over to the checkout to face the usual dilemma of picking the optimum queue. Invariably she misjudged it, so chose the first , her thoughts drifting to best way of managing a menu to suit most of the guests. The potato salad would be OK. for Charles's wife, but not for Reg, since they didn't have the dairy free mayo she wanted.  Charles's wife wouldn't eat the fresh salmon. She was attempting to modify the main courses and was starting to plan dessert when she realised it was nearly seven o'clock.  She would have to skip the soup course.  It wasn't that cold was it?  They probably didn't like soup anyway.  They could nearly all make do with the shop bought vegetarian pate.  Nigel would have to have a side salad of course because it said something on the tub about traces of nuts. That was just tough.   The meal would not be Masterchef  standard, but she had been at work all day. What could they expect? 
Ten minutes on and she realised the queue wasn't moving at all.  Why?

 At the front was a lady with a fistful of coupons, arguing with the checkout staff.  The computer had rejected four of her coupons and the customer was protesting.  The checkout assistant rang her bell for the manager.  Alice looked frantically round for a response to the ring, but there was no one approaching.  Dinner would not happen before nine.  Two of the courses would be disappointing, if she even managed to produce them. She could feel her head begin to slowly expand with stress.  She sensed her face flushing with heat and anger and knew that if this carried on much longer she would either begin screaming hysterically or walking out of the supermarket having abandoned her trolley and her sanity.  She was just about to take action when a woman's voice, cracked and unsteady interrupted her train of thought.  She turned to see a frail lady with a baffled expression on her creased face. 

 ‘I only come in for a bit o' fish.'

Magic. Alice's tension melted into a smile.  The old lady in the green baize coat showed her a basket. Poking out from the top was a piece of fish wrapped in paper; simple; no vegetables, no tins.  This poor woman had been queuing for the best part of twenty minutes for a solitary piece of fish. 

 

Alice was so relieved at the distraction and the sheer incongruity if this poor woman's efforts that she began to relax, thoughts of the dinner party fading into the distance. It became a matter of real importance to hear the woman's tale unfold.  

‘See I don't live local.   I caught the bus in.  I don't know what's happened to the service lately.  Had to wait  half an hour I did ...and then it was stop-start nearly all the way  here. There was so much traffic.  I left the house just after four you know...and now this.'  The old lady gave an exasperated glance in the direction of the checkout girl who was still waiting for the supervisor.

‘I wish I hadn't bothered.' 

It took another quarter of an hour of mutual commiseration before they reached the till.

‘Go on, you go first' Alice found herself saying.

As she wearily manoeuvred her trolley to the car park Alice recognised the green baize coat in the distance.  The old lady sat huddled at the bus stop, her piece of fish in paper just visible from the bag on the bench beside her.  

Before she could stop herself she had crossed over the pedestrian walkway and the words were out.

‘Where do you live?'

‘Sidcup'

‘I'll give you a lift home if you like'.

Alice didn't quite know what came over her but was unable to fight the urge to repay this old woman by helping her get home.  This lady had saved her from completely losing her composure and had put the whole situation into perspective.  She felt indebted.

‘That's very kind of you.  I hope it don't take you out of your way.  Where d'you have to go?'

‘Orpington.'

‘But that's in the opposite direction.'

‘It doesn't matter.  I'm in no hurry.'

How good those words felt.  Alice suddenly realised that she wasn't really in any hurry now.  Her plans for the dinner party were already in tatters. She wasn't looking forward to telling Frank but it could wait.

 The traffic between Orpington and Sidcup was horrendous, but Alice found a distraction in the old lady's conversation.  As Alice waved goodbye, she braced herself for the call she knew she had to make but had been dreading. She switched on her mobile and held her breath.  There were three messages.

 

 

  ‘Hello Alice, where are you?   They'll be here in an hour.  Shall I put the oven on?'

 

‘Alice, call me...I rang school...they said you left at 4.30.  Where are you?  Ring me when you get this message.'

 

‘Alice, I don't know where you've got to.  The clients have cancelled.   Forget the dinner. Nigel has been rushed into hospital with anaphylactic shock.  He ate something with nuts in this afternoon.'

 

(April 2005)

1,704 words