Break Out The Bubbly

by Rick Adams

  She looked askance at me, then straightened.

  ‘Of course it wasn’t all plain sailing, Emily. A man is a man, and so very different to us in so many ways.’

  ‘You like them though, don’t you?’

  ‘They’re a joy. Or at least they were when we were growing up.’

  ‘Well they’re not much cop now,’ I lamented, ‘we must be the lost generation.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she smiled, ‘luck has nothing to do with anything. It’s about communication. Always has been, always will be.’

  ‘But we have so much of that now. Phones, internet, even through the TV, we’ve never been more able to talk to each other whenever and wherever we want.’

  ‘Less is more, my dear girl,’ she chid. ‘Just because you have every toy in the store doesn’t mean you won’t end up getting bored with the whole lot of them.’

  She drank some more of her tea. ‘What are all those things anyway except media tools? We get so caught up talking through devices we forget that they modulate the conversations we could just as easily and more effectively have face to face.’

  She bristled a little. ‘Would you like another biscuit?’

  I said I would, and hoped now she wouldn’t ask me what course I was studying. ‘Do you draw?’ I asked looking at the pad on the table.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’ve always liked pictures. That doodling is a precursor to my evening’s work, I’ll show you later on. But not before we’ve finished tea. Come on, another biscuit.’

  I took one readily enough, then sighed when I thought about my weight.

  ‘Another heavy exhalation,’ Cynthia observed. ‘That seems to be your trademark, young Emily.’

  ‘I’m worried about my figure.’

  ‘Pish!’ she hissed, ‘no one should be concerned about that. I can’t stand empty aesthetics, particularly when their attainment is promulgated by people who are just out to make money for themselves.’

  I kicked myself for touching on another nerve.

  ‘Economic gain, my dear,’ she added, ‘that’s society’s present narrative. That’s why so many people are in crisis. And that,’ she finished, ‘is not something an old woman like me wants to see in the next generation. Not to mention the one after that.’

  I thought about the splendour sitting just outside this room.

  ‘But everyone seems so happy,’ I offered reflecting on the last article my course tutor had handed out to us, ‘that’s what we’re all seeking, after all.’

  ‘And why do you think we’re failing on that count?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘I don’t think we are. Are we?’

  She leant forward. ‘You must press more, Emily. Question, always question, especially when superficiality is your sole source of information. There’s a whole undercurrent to the world, and you must be wise enough to mine it for information.’

  She broke off suddenly.

  ‘But you don’t want to be talking about serious things like that all night, I’m sure. Come on, finish your tea and biscuit and let me show you around the place.’

  Protest brooked no delay with her, and soon I’d seen round the whole enormous property, all seven bedrooms, three bathrooms, enormous games room and back garden that dwarfed the front garden like Dr Evil did Mini-Me in that film Austin Powers.

  I was still all a whirl from the whistle-stop tour when we arrived at our last stop, the dining room, a grand affair with huge table, chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, candelabras at various points around the mantelpieces, and various paintings adorning the walls, one of which was breathtaking in its depth of depiction and emotion it excited within me from the moment I lay eyes on it.

  It was unfinished, but that didn’t stop it from possessing a haunting and evocative atmosphere that kept me staring at it for long seconds whilst Cynthia looked on avidly.

  In it, a man was being brutally assaulted by two others.

  One had his arm pinioned around the poor fellow’s neck, the other a flashing blade in his hand, primed to attack, to stab, to kill.

  To the side, a woman flailed desperately, her necklace ripped off by the hand of a third assailant, its diamonds glistening and glittering even as they fell through the air to the ground below, their shine a grim parody of the dagger’s sullen sheen as it looked to housel itself in the man’s midriff.

  I looked at Cynthia.

  Her face was glum.

  I looked back at the painting.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  She smiled sadly, gazing at the piece.

  ‘They came from nowhere,’ she said, ‘and they vanished just as quick. They already had our money, when they decided they wanted my necklace too.’

  She paused.

  ‘That’s why Robert was murdered.’

  ‘Cynthia,’ I said, making to console her.

  She moved away.

  ‘And this painting,’ she said still gazing absently at it, ‘is the response.’

  She sighed.

  ‘The unfinished response.’ She looked around it. ‘I don’t know whether it scalds me in its reminder or consoles me in its stasis of moment, a point of time I control now, having put brush to canvas to chart it.’

  ‘Is that why you don’t wear jewelry?’ I asked without thinking.

  But Cynthia looked kindly at me. ‘That particular memory is painful still,’ she said, finally taking her eyes from the painting and training them on me.

  ‘Gifts are meant to be cherished,’ she said, ‘and most certainly not to serve as chilling regressions to times when we felt our lives under threat.’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘I fear I have kept you too long. Now, I have work to do, and you have an appointment to keep with young Matthew. You may just make it in time if you leave straightaway.’

  I blushed. ‘I have an assignment to complete, Cynthia.’

  She smiled. ‘You should be careful where you make your assignations. People are prone to overhear matters in public places.’

  I reddened further. ‘Thank you for the tea and biscuits.’

  ‘And you must learn to laugh at yourself. We are creatures of folly, Emily. We are conceived in folly, born in folly, are children, adults and old people in folly, and of course we die, finally, in folly.’

  And with that she showed me kindly from her expansive property, whereupon I made the return journey from majesty to mediocrity, in the cold darkness of late December no less (at least it wasn’t raining tonight), and arrived back at Sheila’s almost bang on seven o’clock.

  Damn!

  I should have made myself late.

  I started to walk away, and then I stopped.

  Why should I keep him waiting?

  I liked him, and if I wanted to break protocol, tradition or whatever other nonsense it was called, I would, and I would stand here on time, at seven o’clock, and meet him squarely on the hour.

  Only five past seven came.

  Then ten past.

  A quarter of an hour (which felt like an hour) now trickled away.

  I felt fed up.

  And then I thought of Ginger.

  Ginger, who told me she had claimed Matthew.

  Ginger, who never lied, not when the aim was to hurt someone else.

  Ginger, with Matthew, now, whilst I waited in the rain.

  Because it had come now.

  Slowly at first, just the odd drop hitting my hair, my cheek, my legs.

  But soon it began to fall more heavily, and after that it came down in torrents.

  And I stood there, allowing myself to be soaked to the bone.

  Now I really did feel wretched.

  It was twenty five past seven when someone suddenly touched me on the arm.

  ‘What are you doing out here,’ said Matthew pulling me towards the front door of the store, ‘why didn’t you wait inside?’

  I looked at him.

  He was resplendent in the street light.

  ‘I haven’t got a key,�
�� I preened. ‘And anyway, I thought you might be taking me out for dinner.’

  ‘There’s no time for that.’

  ‘Oof,’ I pushed at him, ‘you haven’t got a romantic bone in your body.’

  He laughed, and I became more agitated.

  ‘No,’ he said hurriedly, ‘you don’t understand. Come on, the date’s inside.’

  He produced a key himself and let us both in.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ I said shaking myself down.

  ‘Carol,’ he replied, ‘she thinks I’m shelf-filling for the evening.’

  He switched the lights on.

  Then he saw my look.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he smiled turning them back off, ‘you’re right, the atmosphere.’

  ‘No,’ I started, then checked myself. ‘What atmosphere?’

  ‘Follow me.’

  He took my hand.

  We stumbled through the darkness.

  I was excited.

  We headed for the back of the shop.

  I was nervous.

  Soon, we rounded the corner of aisle five.

  And my heart leapt for joy.

  He’d moved the lottery machine off the back kiosk and turned the whole counter into a dinner table.

  Candles lit the scene accordingly.

  ‘I thought about us eating upstairs,’ he explained, ‘but we need to be on the shop floor really. I thought about us eating in the office, but the mess is unbelievable. I have borrowed the chairs though, I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Mind,’ I said, my heart melting at the effort to which he’d gone, the kiosk magically transformed with the most beautiful burgundy red tablecloth, stunningly expensive looking crockery upon it and ornamentation including two wonderful candlestick holders bearing those ivory white slender candles, ‘you’ve gone to so much effort. Thank you.’

  Matthew showed me to the table, took my coat, pulled my seat back for me, and then leant behind the counter to produce…a bottle of champagne.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he chuckled, ‘I paid full price for this one.’

  I laughed.

  He opened the bottle, poured our glasses.

  ‘A toast,’ he said, ‘to Sarah. May her recovery be prompt, her return swift. And to us, Emily, for onward success in our careers beyond these walls, and, well, to the start of, I mean, well, really, to us.’

  He reddened, took rather a large swig, and sat down trying to pretend he had been in complete control.

  I loved the fact he had stumbled so.

  ‘This is amazing,’ I gushed, ‘really Matthew, thank you for taking so much time with it all.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ he replied, reddening further. ‘I mean, it was the least I could do, considering, well, I mean, the situation.’

  ‘What situation?’

  He got up again, reached behind the kiosk, and presented us both with our starter, prawn cocktail.

  ‘My favourite,’ I effused.

  ‘I had an inkling,’ he grinned.

  I smiled back. ‘Tabatha told you.’

  He nodded.

  There was a brief, awkward silence.

  ‘So is this going to be a fish-themed meal?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and cold, I’m afraid. I couldn’t procure an oven at such short notice, and the microwave upstairs looks truly dodgy.’

  I didn’t mind.

  It was another quirk to add to this delightful scenario.

  We continued to eat.

  The silence was awkward again.

  I waited as long as I could for him to speak, then could stand it no more.

  ‘What’s it like,’ I said unglamorously picking a piece of prawn from between my teeth, ‘being a doctor?’

  ‘So far,’ he replied, ‘I love it. But remember, I’m still training. The pressure of responsibility is there, sure enough, but it’s like I’m still in the cockpit with someone else. I may be flying at times, but there’s always a qualified professional with me in case something goes wrong. When I fly solo, that’ll be the test.’

  I thought about the importance of his work, and that compared to mine.

  I sighed.

  ‘What is it, Emily?’

  ‘This place,’ I said looking round, ‘there’s no sense of responsibility here at all. My biggest pressure is deciding where to go for lunch each day.’

  ‘You are dealing with the public though, just like I am. That brings with it its own difficulties, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I sighed again, ‘they can be irksome, but we’re only dealing with one part of their lives, not their very welfare itself.

  ‘I mean, people come into the store to buy food. Yes, they need it to live, but it doesn’t directly affect their wellbeing.

  ‘There’s not a problem, Matthew, they’re not ill, they haven’t come to Sheila’s feeling out of sorts and worried about their health. They’re in good nick, they’re just coming to do their shopping.’

  ‘Admirably expressed,’ he grinned, standing to take our starters from the table and almost falling over the lottery machine in the process.

  He studied it.

  ‘People do depend on you,’ he remarked looking round for the main and producing the most delicious looking salmon with coleslaw and salad beside it on the plate. ‘They come to this kiosk, hoping it can change their lives.’

  ‘Thank you. But their hopes and dreams in that respect are their own. For sure, we provide the hardware and produce their ticket, but the responsibility for their luck and good fortune in the matter is entirely theirs.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he mulled matters whilst he bit into his salmon, ‘that was where your friend Sarah muddied herself. Maybe she started to take on board the expectancy of the customers she served, particularly the regulars, and felt somehow responsible when life decreed otherwise than the endeavours which they ascribed to the process.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I was just with her,’ he replied, ‘that’s why I was late.’

  ‘What? With Sarah?’

  ‘I dropped in to the hospital. My placement’s there anyway, and she’s doing fine considering the state of mind she was in this afternoon.’

  ‘But how is she?’ I blurted, ‘is she alright? I mean, did she tell you why she did it, why she jumped?’

  ‘She said she was under immense pressure.’

  I sighed. ‘She’s been pulled between pillar and post by Carol and Tabatha.’

  ‘Yes, because of the champagne. It’s going from her aisle. She knows who’s been swiping it, but she wouldn’t tell me.’

  ‘Tabatha thinks it’s an inside job, you know.’

  ‘Yes, she told me. She said she’d spoken to you too, at lunch.’

  The penny dropped. ‘You’re going to spy with me?’

  ‘Why do you think we’re having dinner on the shop floor?’

  I laughed, and then grew serious. ‘You think it’ll happen, again, tonight?’

  ‘It has been getting more regular.’

  I was suddenly cautious. ‘When do you think he’ll arrive?’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll chance it until later, when it’s quieter.’

  ‘You think it’s a woman?’

  ‘If it’s an inside job,’ he said, ‘and Sheila’s has a predominantly female staff…’ He grinned. ‘Maybe she’s already here.’ He leant forward. ‘Maybe, it’s you!’

  I didn’t like that.

  He saw my reaction though, and instantly changed tack.

  ‘I want to know about you, Emily,’ he said, ‘what makes you tick, what makes you come alive, what encourages you to get up in the morning, to seize the day and reflect upon it in the cosy warmth of an evening, like this one.’

  For some reason, I didn’t like that either.

  I could feel myself being drawn into the same conversation I had just had with Cynthia up at Foggett’s Tor, and I wasn’t ready to let Matthew in yet, certainly not on a first date, and when I’d just met him this mor
ning.

  ‘I’m pretty content,’ I lied, ‘I like working in retail. For sure, the money’s terrible, the days are relentlessly similar, and the paying public can antagonize the saints themselves, but there’s something about it that still satisfies me.

  ‘It’s the simplicity of the day, Matthew, the revolving nature of getting stock delivered, checking it in, getting it out on the shop floor, selling it at the tills, maintaining an eye on its sell by dates, taking it from the store, returning it, and that often to the same people who deliver it, and so on. It’s the routine, the sure knowledge that the same drills will be followed, somehow it’s, well, comforting.’

  ‘You see,’ he said pouring me more champagne, ‘it’s exactly the opposite for me. As a doctor, you never know what’s going to happen next. For sure, you’ll see patient after patient, and many of them do share the same characteristics, but you could have a really quiet shift where you just see someone with a sprained ankle, or a bruised patella, or, I don’t know a broken collarbone, and then you have one in which you’re faced with much more serious, sometimes life threatening injuries.’

  ‘Do you like that variety?’

  ‘I do,’ he said finishing off his salmon, ‘I really do.’

  I looked round the store.

  ‘You like the safety here,’ he surmised, ‘the knowledge that matters out of the ordinary are rare in their occurrence. Today must have been a shock for you.’

  I liked him better now.

  ‘What’s going on, Matthew?’

  ‘Would you like dessert?’

  ‘You must tell me,’ I said finishing off my food and letting him take the plate from the table. ‘It isn’t fair.’

  ‘I will,’ he smiled, ‘but first,’ and with that he produced two huge glasses full of chocolate mousse, ‘we must gorge and spoil ourselves on these.’

  ‘My favourite,’ I beamed, ‘how did you know?’

  ‘A hunch,’ he replied, ‘I saw you gazing at them when you showed me round the store this morning.’

  Now I liked him even more.

  We tucked in.

  We didn’t even speak.

  And then we were finished.

  ‘Thank you, Matthew,’ I said with due sincerity, ‘really, I didn’t expect you to go to so much trouble.’