by Hodge, Sibel
I started at the fruit and veg aisle, fighting with my trolley to keep it going in a straight line and checking out my fellow shoppers with a shifty glance. It was quite bizarre; there were a few lone males and females around, but also a couple of big, butch-looking women – one of whom looked like Eminem and must have thought it was gay night shopping instead. There seemed to be a kind of expectant buzz in the air.
I picked up an aubergine, giving it a quick squeeze, and then heard a crude titter going on behind me. How odd. I didn’t think aubergine squeezing was in the least bit smutty.
Two men pushed their trolleys along, looking me up and down. Blimey, I thought, how come I’d never thought of this before as the place to meet someone? One of them smiled at me then busied himself looking at the carrots.
I plopped the aubergine in the trolley and wheeled it over to the oranges. After bagging a few of those, I noticed someone looking at me out of the corner of my eye. I glanced up and saw a really short guy carrying a shopping basket.
He shook his head at me. ‘Some people will do anything to pull a bloke on singles' night.’ He picked up some chillies and put them in a bag.
What the hell was he talking about? I hadn’t done anything, yet. Or was there a certain singles' shopping etiquette, which meant that if you went for aubergines you were easy, but if you chose potatoes, you weren’t?
‘Pardon?’ I asked.
‘You know.’ He scratched his eye.
‘Mmm,’ I mumbled and wandered off to the mangoes, looking over at him in confusion. His eye had turned bright red and watery. He rubbed at it furiously.
‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to touch your face after you’ve been handling chillies?’ I thought he would be eternally grateful for this piece of information.
‘I don’t speak to floozies.’ He stalked off.
What was the world coming to if you couldn’t even have an innocent squeeze of a vegetable without someone getting the wrong idea?
I wandered into the dairy aisle looking for some milk. Only a few solitary cartons remained on the highest shelf, so I stretched up and tried to reach them, but it was no use.
‘Here, let me.’ A guy in a purple shell suit had just turned the corner and made his way over, leering at me.
‘Thanks.’ I smiled as he reached up and retrieved a few cartons. ‘Two, please.’
He gave me a dirty little grin. ‘Haven’t seen you here before.’
‘Well, it’s only just opened, hasn’t it?’ I put the milk in my trolley.
‘If you need any more help, just ask.’ He gave me another lecherous sneer as he walked past, and then kept looking at my arse.
Whoa, creep alert! He was the last person I’d ever ask for help. Weren’t there any normal men left in the world?
After collecting some cheddar, I reached for my usual carton of eggs, pausing in thought as I remembered what Kalem had told me about battery hens. Visions of poor little chickens being crushed to death in a big warehouse somewhere sprang to mind, so I picked up an organic carton instead and set off round the corner to the canned section, casually scanning the place for normal men.
As I stood there, wondering whether to buy baked beans and tinned tomatoes, I was shocked to spy Clarissa. What was she doing here on singles' night? And even more strange, why was she in supermarket uniform?
‘Clarissa!’
She looked flabbergasted to see me. ‘Helen! I thought I’d seen the last of you last night.’
My hand flew to my mouth. ‘God, I’m really sorry about that. The doctor said I had food poisoning. Probably from a dodgy mussel. Apparently you have to be really, really careful with them.’
‘That’s impossible. Charles and I were fine,’ she muttered with a glint of steel in her eyes as she piled up tins on the shelves.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, so you think you’ve caught me out, do you?’ She glared at me with a tin of tomato soup resting in her hand.
‘I…don’t know what you mean. I thought you said you didn’t work. Have you just started here?’
‘Oh, I don’t recall saying that. Was it before or after you threw up all over my kitchen?’ She shot me a poisonous look.
I picked up a tin of beans. ‘Sorry, I must have misunderstood.’
‘I’m just um…um…helping a friend out.’ Her mouth flapped ridiculously as she busied herself stacking the shelves.
Another member of staff wearing an identical uniform to Clarissa chose that well-timed moment to appear.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ he said to me. ‘Can I borrow this member of staff?’
‘Of course.’ I smiled at him.
‘Right, then, Hyacynth Bouquet, we need you on the meat counter, pronto!’ He swiveled on his heels and stalked off. She threw the remaining tins on the shelf with enough force to cause a severe dent in it and scuttled away without meeting my gaze. As I waltzed off to the freezer section, I let out a soft giggle.
I perused the frozen veg, but there was only one packet of peas wedged at the bottom of a very tall chest freezer. Leaning over the top, I reached in slowly. Why did they make these things so high? I made a mental note to complain to the manager as I teetered on tiptoes, trying hard to grab the corner of the packet which was just out of my reach.
‘Ooh.’ I made a final stretch and just managed to snare it.
‘Nice arse!’ I heard behind me, instantly recognizing the dulcet tones of my neighbour, Clive, with the disgusting tooth-waggling habit.
‘Shit,’ I muttered to the peas before straightening up and spinning round.
‘Oh, it’s you!’ He looked surprised, but carried on giving me a dirty little leer anyway.
‘Hi, Clive.’ I faked a smile, wondering how he thought he was going to pull anything, other than perhaps head lice, with those kinds of comments.
‘Never seen you before on singles' night,’ he smirked.
‘Mmm.’ The fake smile was glued to my face as I got an acrid waft of his foul-smelling BO.
‘I used to go to Asda until this one opened, but there’s definitely more choice in here.’ He licked his lips. He was almost drooling.
‘How nice – anyway, must dash. I can feel a severe heart attack coming on.’ I darted off, throwing sneaky looks over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t stalking me from behind.
This whole shopping malarkey was taking its toll, but I was saved from complete boredom by the wine section, where I found a small stand giving away free samples – granted, they were only the minuscule thimble variety, but I figured I could stand there for a while and down a good few before anyone moved me along.
‘We’ve got a special promotion on this week. This is the new Fanshawe’s table wine. One bottle is only £3.99 this week,’ said a very dapper sales lady who was caked in make-up. She had a complete Rocky Horror Picture Show going on all by herself. I hoped she had an industrial sized trowel at home: she was going to need it to scrape that lot off. ‘Would you like to try it, madam?’
What a ridiculous question, of course I would!
‘Absolutely.’ I took a thimbleful of wine and downed it in two swift flicks of the wrist.
‘What do you think?’ She smiled up at me, and I thought her foundation might crack.
‘I’m not sure yet, but I think you need bigger glasses. Can I try another one?’ I thought I should get as many in as possible, really, just to give a well-rounded opinion.
I took an identical thimble without waiting for an answer. As I put it to my lips, I caught a glimpse of Clarissa striding up towards us.
‘Clarissa! What do you think of this lovely wine, it’s only £4?’ I grabbed a thimble and held it out to her as she stormed past with a face like a smacked arse.
I hogged the stand for a while until the wine kicked in, giving me enough bravery to jump straight back on the clothes horse before I had any lasting psychological damage, and I headed off to the clothes section.
Picking up a few pairs of trous
ers, I deposited my trolley outside the changing rooms while I went to try them on. As soon as I walked into the cubicle I knew something wasn’t quite right because my skirt was ruched up in a strange way. I twisted round, gawping in the mirror at my bum, which was completely hanging out. I’d inadvertently tucked the back of my skirt into my knickers when I’d trotted off to the loo and I’d been baring all and sundry to the whole shop all night. No wonder everyone had been checking out my arse and making smutty comments about it. I wondered how I could make a sharp exit out of there without seeing anyone that I’d already come face to bum with.
‘Damn.’ I flung the trousers on top of the trolley and made a speedy dash for the checkout.
I stood in the queue, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. My best bet, I decided, was to stare at the guy in front’s shopping on the conveyor belt. Which I did – well, until my eyes watered. One banana; one packet of jelly; one tub of crème fraiche and a tube of pile cream. How peculiar.
I could sense the presence of people filling up behind me, so I tossed my shopping onto the checkout as quickly as I could. It wasn’t until I was halfway through that it dawned on me this wasn’t my trolley at all. What was I doing with a bumper pack of nappies, an enormous packet of baby wipes, ten cartons of organic cranberry juice, and five packets of frozen broccoli florets?
The whole experience had worn pretty thin by this time so, to the amazement of the till assistant, I left the whole lot there and strode out of the shop with absolutely sweet FA.
On my way out to the car park, I spotted Kalem climbing into his Land Rover. I stopped in my tracks, my face flushing as I remembered the embarrassment of the night before. I was far too apprehensive to see him yet. If I stood still, maybe he wouldn’t notice me. What was he doing here on singles' night, anyway? Why wasn’t he at home with Emine?
I side-stepped slowly towards the trolleys, not wanting to make any sudden movements. Maybe I could hide behind them until he left. I’d nearly reached them when I saw his window wind down. He poked his head out, gazing at me in silence.
Damn. He’s seen me.
‘H, what the hell are you doing?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Hop in.’ He jerked his head towards the inside of the vehicle.
‘No, it’s OK. I fancy a walk anyway. Nice night.’ I tried to smile but my mouth decided not to work properly. I managed to lift the corners of my mouth a fraction, blinking rapidly, giving the rather fetching impression of a lunatic instead. I darted off behind the trolleys and stomped all the way home.
When I arrived, panting and red faced, I spied Charlie loitering with intent outside my door.
‘Hello, sweetie. How was the singles' night shopping? What, no bags?’ Charlie asked.
‘Well, I won’t be doing that again. Did you know that Sunday night is supposed to be singles' night?’
‘’Course! Everybody knows that.’ He waved his hand.
‘Did you want something?’ I let myself in, and he followed on my heels like an excited little puppy.
‘Well!’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Ayshe let me in on her little challenge for you tomorrow, and I was hoping you would let me tag along.’
‘I don’t even know what it is yet.’
‘I’ll give you a clue. It involves naked flesh.’ He mimed an exaggerated Rik Mayall humping action, thrusting his crutch backwards and forwards at me.
I’d had enough of naked flesh tonight to last a lifetime! ‘What?’
‘It involves male nudeyness.’
‘What do you mean?’
He couldn’t resist blurting it out any longer. ‘A naked art class; drawing men’s dangly bits; that kind of thing. Capeesh or not capeesh?’
‘Capeesh. I don’t know how she thinks these things up.’
‘So?’ he peered at me.
‘So, what?’ I’d forgotten the question.
‘Can I come?’ He jumped up and down like Zebedee with a spring loose.
‘‘Course you can. The more the merrier.’
‘OK, I’ll knock for you at ten. Toodle-oo.’ He skipped off.
Chapter 14
Monday, day 8 – Nudity Is Art
I wasn’t sure exactly what woke me on Monday morning. It was one of three things: either Charlie singing I Will Survive at the tops of his lungs, the constant pounding on my door, or a totally explicit dream I was having about Kalem.
‘I’m coming,’ I shouted as I went to investigate the source of the banging.
I peered through the spy hole, hoping it wasn’t Mr. Meat Packer – or whoever the hell he was – coming to get his money.
‘Delivery for Ms Grey.’ A couple of thuggy-looking delivery guys balanced a massive package in their arms.
‘What’s that?’ I shouted through the door, just to be on the safe side. How did I know it wasn’t the Vincent Price sound-a-like either?
One of the thugs read a label at the back of the package. ‘It says it’s from Adrian Ponsonby.’
I grunted. ‘Oh, God.’ I’d been in denial about the painting, hoping it would never actually turn up until after I’d popped my clogs.
‘Where d’ya want it, luv?’ one of them shouted from behind the door in a bored voice.
I opened the door wider and stared at the package for a bit. Frowning and scratching my head, I finally pointed to the cast-iron fireplace in the centre of the lounge. ‘Here, please,’ I said, gulping in total self-disgust.
They heaved it down and handed me a clipboard. ‘Sign, please.’
After I’d scrawled my moniker on it, I handed it back and gawked at the painting, hoping if I stood there long enough and shouted ‘Abracadabra!’ in a really loud voice, it would vanish into thin air. Five minutes later, it still hadn’t vanished, so I unwrapped it and leaned it against the wall. It should have been called Projectile Vomit, I thought, as it looked quite similar to the state of the pavement after I’d finished with it on Saturday night. I decided to leave it where it was until I could make my mind up as to what I could possibly do with it. Maybe I could make it into a coffee table or something. Perhaps if I just left it there long enough it might blend in with the room, and I would never notice it again.
Charlie had now given Gloria Gaynor a rest and had started a new rendition of Tina Turner in a totally non-Tina Turner way. How could anyone get any sleep around here?
I heard a muffled shout of, ‘Shut that bloody racket up.’ Probably the same grumpy person who hadn’t liked my superior singing voice either.
I ambled into the kitchen to make breakfast. This consisted solely of the abandoned piece of cheese, which was the only half-edible thing left in the fridge, although by the time I’d cut off all the mould there was just a smidgen left. I made an iced coffee and then worried about my caffeine intake for the zillionth time.
Armed with coffee, I grabbed the phone and anxiously tapped in the number for The Coffee Bean, pacing until someone picked up. After explaining my rather unfortunate predicament about the multiple cappuccino ordering spree, they promised to refund nine out of the ten orders and assured me they would only send out one. They were very good about it – they didn’t even laugh, although I bet they did, as soon as I hung up. I breathed a hefty sigh of relief and promised myself I would never ever buy anything online again. It was just too scary.
When Charlie finally shut up and knocked on my door, I was raring to go, but my stomach kept growling at me in hunger.
‘Yoohoo.’ He rang the doorbell. ‘Didn’t disturb you with my singing, did I?’
‘I think you disturbed the far reaches of Outer Mongolia.’
‘Was I good? I’ve been practicing.’ He swung a pink handbag.
‘Fabby. Don’t think I could tell you and Gloria Gaynor apart.’ Who was I to disillusion him?
Today Charlie was dressed conservatively – well, for him anyway; for anyone else it would have been completely over the top. He pranced up the road, with me in tow, wearing a fluffy tiger patterned jumper w
ith the words BITE ME emblazoned across the front and some tight, denim jeans. The outfit wouldn’t be complete, of course, without the sock, which he’d squeezed into its usual place.
****
‘Where are the nudey art classes?’ Charlie asked when we arrived at the information desk in the college. He could hardly contain himself.
‘You mean life drawing?’ The receptionist squinted over the top of her glasses. She looked a bit of a dragon with evil little eyes and a pinched-up mouth.
‘Yep.’ Charlie nodded.
‘Room five, down the hall.’ She pointed and I could have sworn a puff of smoke erupted from her mouth. ‘It’s the fourth door on the right.’
‘Oh, goody.’ He skipped away and I pretended I wasn’t with him.
Half a dozen middle-aged women and a couple of older men, all looking a bit arty, sat on plastic chairs in the brightly-lit class room. They were arranged in a circular pattern for maximum viewing. Easels were set up in front of them, with a selection of pencils and charcoal on trays underneath. They all looked very serious and completely in their artistic element.
Charlie sat down and I arranged myself next to him. In the corner of the room the teacher stood with his back to us, talking to a striking-looking, thirty-something guy, wearing a long, brown bath robe.
‘Cor, he’s not bad.’ Charlie leaned over and whispered to me.
‘Shush.’ I giggled, studying the pencils with interest.
‘OK, we’ll just wait a few more minutes to see if anyone else turns up and then we’ll begin.’ The teacher turned round and addressed the group. Slowly, his eyes travelled to mine.
I gasped. It was Kalem.