‘Get your coat on. We’re off to Tescos.’
‘Are they still open?’
‘Twenty four seven.’
‘Tescos you say…?’
No food in the house, I’ve this broken wrist, you’re driving me.’
‘Prefer the Coop myself. Some bloody good deals there at the moment.’
‘Coop’s twenty mile away, Doug.’
‘Give me a calculator, let me divide the cost of forty miles of petrol by the percentage savings per item, going to Coop’ll come out cheaper.’
‘They close at six. It’s now six thirty. Tescos it is.’
‘Tescos…? Hey a brilliant comedy on television tonight. It’ll have you sniggering like a drunken carp. I’ll call into Tescos straight after work tomorrow. How’s that suit Madam?’
‘Twenty fours without eating?’
‘There’s nothing in the house to eat?’
‘Look. Empty fridge, larder uncolonized by food. And my wrist: no drivees for a week.’
‘OK. I’ll drive you there. But I’m sitting outside in the car.’
‘And I push the trolley around one-handed?’
‘You can manage one-handed, Ange, if you don’t overfill the trolley. A money-saving idea! By me sitting in the car, we economise?’
‘You’d let your crippled wife push a trolley so you can chill in the car? Is there something in Tescos you want to avoid? Or… somebody? Speak up!’
‘Look… I… yes there’s somebody. It’s not a woman.’
‘That’s a change.’
‘The… uh… manager there. I scratched his car. Accidentally. The
other day. Like a knife wound on his door. A slash a mile long. Possibly more. Then instead of leaving my name, I panicked. Buggered off. But… I think he recognised me. That’s why I can’t…’
‘What a story! Do you know who works at Tescos evenings? Deirdre Weller.
Old “you’re well in with Weller”.’
‘No!’
‘Half the town’s had her in their back seat.’
‘I haven’t. Nor the front seat either.’
‘Give me the car keys.’
‘Here. Hey, what are you…? You’ve thrown them out the window!’
‘No car for work tomorrow. No food in the house. Time on our hands. Shall we
talk about Ms Weller?’
‘Look… they’ve banned me. Tescos. I’m not allowed in there.’
‘Why not?’
‘A… mix-up. At the till.’
‘What till? What mix-up? I’m starting to get a nasty feeling in my gut.’
‘A misunderstanding, that’s all.’
‘A very nasty feeling.’
‘Would you please listen to me!’
‘You’re at the till. Like you were at that till before we married…’
‘No no…’
‘When you’re hand mysteriously entered it, and you were scooping up notes.’
‘A rush of blood. I told that twat of a magistrate that.’
‘And this time? What happened? Tell me please, Doug. I… won’t be angry.’
‘Happened? Uh… history repeats.’
‘You tosser! You utter…! I married a serial tea-leaf!’
‘Ange! Where are you…?’
‘Calling a taxi, then back to my mother’s. Just like I did five years ago!’
‘Think of our future… think of the dog… think of…’
‘Exactly the same words as last time!’
‘Ange!’
‘Try Deirdre Weller. She gives Club Card points with her canoodling!
‘Ange! Come back…!’
