By Sharon Tyers
Once a week I take Flo shopping. Always a Thursday. Always 11am. Always Morrisons.
It takes about an hour as she wanders up and down the aisles with her trolley, refusing my offer to push. She works from a pocket book titled My Shopping List and crosses the items off with a little brown pencil that tucks down the side. Sometimes, but not always, she pauses at the special offers, especially on the bread and cake counter. I know she’s tempted to buy their four doughnuts for a pound because every week she keeps picking up a bag and peering through its cellophane window. In the end always shakes her head and moves on.
We don’t talk. I just watch her routine, mesmerised by it- the smoothness and rigidity of it when my life is so chaotic, unmanaged, hopelessly spontaneous. I crave a plan.
At the till the woman says, ‘You do know these are four for a pound, love. Shall I ring to get you another?’
‘No, thank you,’ replies Flo, firmly. ‘I only want three.’
‘Righto then,’ the woman smiles.
Outside, I’m feeling brave enough to tackle her reasoning.
‘Why, three tins, Flo?’
She turns. Fixes me with her eye. ‘Shall we go for a coffee. I’ll explain.’
We never went for coffee. It wasn’t part of our routine. I was a little stunned but Flo was already leading the way back to the café and had already ordered two coffees with hot milk by the time I caught up with her.
I carried the tray to a table by the window and before we had taken a sip of the coffee she began.
‘I used to just buy one but it’s soon gone, isn’t it? So, I started to buy two, particularly when they were reduced. On the bus home I thought I’ll never get round to eating all that so I dropped one off with Elsie on my way past hers. I didn’t knock because I knew she’d be watching ‘Money for Nothing.’ Now I was back to one. After having half a tin with my fish fingers on a Wednesday, I put the other half in the fridge for a supper at the weekend, but when I came to them they had started to turn. Bit of grey fur. Had to just have toast. After much careful thought I decided to get three next time, one for me, one for Elsie, who is now a big fan, and one spare… just in case.’
‘Just in case what, Flo?’
‘Just in case I fancy supper at the weekend and they’re on the turn…again.’
‘Ah. I get that. But it doesn’t answer why you didn’t get four as it’s an offer to save you money. You love a bargain.’
I was not prepared for her answer.
‘Four is common.’
‘Pardon!’
‘Surprised at you not knowing that when you’ve been to university. One is decent, two is sensible, three is excessive and four is common.’
Later in bed I wondered why I chose to complicate matters. Not some matters. Everything. Everything about my life, I made complicated.
I would endeavour to do better.
In the months to come I find myself:
· Inviting two friends to lunch, not three and definitely not four. It works so much better. There’s no talking over one another, no one monopolising the conversation. No one feeling excluded because they’ve never been to Croatia. Or tried tofu. Only three plates and three glasses to wash after my friends go and I’m tired.
· Giving my dog two biscuits for a snack, not three and definitely not four. The vet said she was bordering on being overweight and now she’s already lost 2 kgs.
· Buying two kinds of vegetables, say broccoli and carrots, not broccoli, carrots, cauliflower and cabbage. My veg drawer no longer smells or has that watery white slime when so much of it starts to rot.
· Choosing two items from my wardrobe to wear. Not three or four, getting myself in a tizz, overthinking every aspect of the event and weather.
I’m struggling with my plants though. I like to place four in a group on my windowsill — to my mind three looks odd, two is sparse and one is ridiculous. I want to apply Flo’s Law but can’t. There’s only one person to ask for advice.
Yesterday, I didn’t take Flo shopping despite it being a Thursday because she had died on the Monday. Elsie said she had a key and we should check all was well inside. Would I come in with her, she asked, so I did.
I counted forty-three tins of beans in Flo’s kitchen cupboard.
