Sunday, April 11, 2010
Beryl looked in at the chippy on the way home. "Could you just do me a bit of bread and butter?"
Mrs. Rakesh nodded, the buttered cobs already in a Tupperware container waiting to be sold. She took one out and wrapped it. "Fifteen pence," she said.
Beryl counted the change in her purse. "Would you put in a few chips for an extra ten pence?"
Mrs. Rakesh clicked her tongue against her teeth but opened up the bun and shovelled in a few chips. She wrapped it in paper .
"And a bit of salt and vinegar?" Beryl raise her eyebrows hopefully.
Mrs. Rakesh hissed and threw an apologetic glance at the rapidly forming queue. "Here," she said. "Twenty five pence."
Beryl smiled. "And for the other twenty-five in a fifty, have you got a fish cake. One that's overdone, perhaps, and you can't sell?"
"Yes. Here. You go now." Mrs. Rakesh was discomfited by the old woman and the line of onlookers.
"That's marvellous. Thank you." Beryl paid with a twenty pound note and waited for the change.