Mr Silver was dithering about in the tiny village supermarket. Jo, on the checkout could hear the grumbles because he wasn’t keeping to the rules.
It was tricky to keep 2 metres apart in such a small shop, but they were limiting the number of customers allowed in at any one time. Jo wasn’t sure what else they could do to keep the shop open, whilst managing the risk of people mixing. In her heart, she knew the village shop was a real life-line, in the small, rural village. In fact, more so now than ever!
Unfortunately, Mr Silver seemed to be concentrating more on his shopping list than being aware of the other customers around him. At least he was wearing his mask properly, that was something.
Jo served another customer, watching as they left through one door and nodding to the next in line at the queue that had formed outside. What times we are living in! She thought.
‘Mr Silver!’ she called but he didn’t seem to hear. It was possibly her mask disguising her voice. ‘Excuse me one moment,’ she said to the customer who was beginning to unload their shopping.
‘Mr Silver, don’t forget we have a one-way system,’ she said gently and tried to steer him forward rather than letting him turn round and retrace his steps.
‘But I need potatoes. I can’t find them. I thought they’d be near the door with all the other veg.’
‘I’m afraid we haven’t got any potatoes left. Hopefully, we’ll have another delivery tomorrow, but I can’t say for sure.’
‘But I can’t go home without potatoes. What will Pamela say?’
‘I’m sure she’ll understand, under the circumstances,’ Jo glanced back toward the cash desk. ‘I need to go and serve Mrs Hopkins and you need to keeping going forward, round passed the cereal.’
‘She was due to be assessed at the clinic for dementia, but the appointment’s been postponed. We haven’t got another date at the moment. I’m doing my best for her; I’ve found a routine helps. It’s Tuesday today, and we always have shepherd’s pie on a Tuesday, and even I know, you need potatoes for that.’
‘What about a swede? You can cook it and mash it, just like a potato.’ Jo suggested but saw the face he made. Swede wasn’t for everyone.
Mrs Hopkins at the till, had unloaded her basket and was listening, as was everyone else in the little store.
‘I’ve got a potato you can have,’ Mrs Hopkins said. ‘I’m going straight home now, but I’ll nip out and leave it on your doorstep.’
‘Thank you,’ Mr Silver said. ‘That’s very kind. But one’s not enough.’
‘I’ll go to the allotment and dig up a couple, and like Mrs H, I’ll leave them on your doorstep.’
‘I’ve got some too,’ offered the girl from the post office.
‘Thank you, all of you.’ Mr Silver looked at the man with the allotment, who looked vaguely familiar but Mr Silver didn’t think they’d ever been properly introduced.
Jo wasn’t the only one to let out a sigh of relief as Mr Silver followed the arrows until he came to the queue at the checkout, where he did keep his distance from the woman in front of him.
By the time he’d washed his hands, put the kettle on and unpacked the shopping at home, he’d noticed movement at the front door. He’d leave it a while, so no one would be tempted to stop for a chat, much as that would have been welcome.
True to their word, he found a small, but more than sufficient, collection of potatoes, and a few freshly dug carrots. The kindness of strangers, thought Mr Silver with a tear in his eye.
He returned to the kitchen with a spring in his step and began to rinse the vegetables, putting them on the chopping board to be peeled.
Pamela stood looking at the potatoes, as if she wasn’t quite sure what they were, or how she should prepare them.
‘Potatoes, love,’ he said gently. ‘I can peel them, if you like?’
‘I know they’re potatoes!’ she laughed. ‘But why don’t they match?’
No comments:
Post a Comment