Sunday morning shopping

Sunday morning and your empty fridge greets you. Ok, not quite empty, but close enough. You must go shopping. Do you have time? Brianna’s coming over later. Your mind keeps returning to that. Are you ready for Brianna? Is the house ready for her?

You’re still fantasising and planning when the doorbell rings. It’s Mrs Peterson.

“Hi, Mr Smith, I was wondering whether you could help me?”

“Of course, Mrs Peterson. Come in, do you want a drink? The kettle’s just boiled.”

“No, no. I have to get back to Henry. Can’t leave him too long. And that’s why I need your help. I noticed you didn’t go shopping yesterday. Are you likely to go today? You are? Good. I was wondering when you go, you could buy some stuff for me. I’ll give you the money. I was hoping to get into town yesterday, but Henry was really bad and I couldn’t leave him.”

“Of course. I was planning on going this morning. Just give me the list, and I’ll bring it over when I’ve done it.”

“You can, oh thanks.”

She passes you a piece of paper with her shopping list on, primarily essentials like bread and milk, nothing too complicated. She also tries to give you some money, but you tell her you’ll square it all afterwards.

Well, with that promise you can’t avoid going shopping. Sunday morning in the out-of-town supermarket is relatively quiet. You don’t run into anyone you recognise. You do feel strange buying two lots of milk and bread and eggs. Also, there’s a couple of items on Mrs Peterson’s shopping list you don’t normally buy and don’t know where they are on the shelves. You have to explore to find them, but eventually you get everything on her list. When you’re going through the checkout, you split the shop into two; one of your shop, and one of Mrs Peterson’s. That way you have the receipt for her items separate from yours.

When you get back home there’s an unknown car outside the Peterson’s. You dump your shopping and take the Peterson’s over. Faye answers the door.

“Aren’t you in the wrong house?” you try to joke. She’s not amused.

“I’m just helping the Petersons, minor emergency. Can I help?”

“Mrs Peterson asked me to do some shopping. I’m just bringing it round.”

You hold up the bag, which she views sceptically, but lets you in. To the kitchen where you unpack, putting the perishables in the fridge while Faye watches. You’ve just finished that when Mrs Peterson descends the stairs, busy talking to a tall Indian man with a typical Indian moustache wearing a smart suit with matching waistcoat.

“Ah Mr Smith, you’ve brought the shopping round,” she states when she sees you.

“I’ve put the perishables in the fridge and left the rest in the bag on your side there. The receipt is in the bag. We can talk about that later. Is Mr Peterson OK?”

“Oh, yes, he just had a relapse. Dr Kumari here, is happy he doesn’t have to go to hospital.”

The doctor is looking at you oddly. “You’re Mr Smith? You’re teaching history at St Perpetua’s?” You nod. “Then you’re teaching my daughter?”

“Reina Kumari? Yes, I am.” Reina, in the Upper Sixth ‘A’ Stream. “A very bright student, one of the best.”

“One of? I would hope the best. If you ask me, she’s wasted studying the subjects she chose. With those she can’t become a doctor, like me, her mother, her brothers. No, she was insistent, she doesn’t want to become a doctor. She wants to become an archaeologist. What kind of job is that? No real future in it.”

What do you say about that? Defend archaeology. You’re about to, but Faye steps in first.

“Mr Peterson is alright? That’s good to hear. I guess you’ll have other patients to get to.”

“I do, yes. I can’t stay around here. If he has another relapse Mrs Peterson, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t. I won’t.”

Faye and Mrs Peterson bundle Dr Kumari out of the house. Then you also have to go. Mrs Peterson promises she’ll bring over the money she owes you soon. You tell her no rush.