A tin of milk part 2: Cashing in your chips5 min read

“Until we find out who was born this time around, it seems irrelevant to seek earlier identities. Let’s take one life at a time.”
Stephen Levine, A Year to Live: How to Live This Year as If It Were Your Last

“For the afterlife, press one, for an out-of-body experience press two, for ‘it’s all been a dream’, press three…… Maybe not. Go on then, tell me what really happened, from the beginning.”

As Bonnie drew breath a heavy-set man approached looking holiday harrassed. His white T-shirt and shorts contrasted with the vivid red of exposed arms, legs and face and he was perspiring as he baked. “Excuse me”, he said apologetically, “are those seats spare? we need a couple more for our party.”

At the next table sat a woman who looked to be in her mid-sixties and a girl in her early teens. Two younger boys with a couple of years between them, perhaps eight and ten or so, stood by them. Glancing at his sister the older boy said, “Gran, Sophie’s got a boyfriend.”

“Shut up you worm”, was Sophie’s response.

Drawn irresistibly into the force-field of sibling love and loathing their elder and better responded with, “Sophie! that’s no way to speak to your little brother.”

Encouraged, the boy tried another gambit. “She hits me as well Gran., when you’re not looking.”

Instantly out of her depth Gran tried to redress the balance. “I’m sure she doesn’t, do you Sophie?”

“Not as hard as he deserves”, Sophie responded.

As the tableaux unfolded John felt a stab of pity, well a pin-prick anyway. “Sure, help yourself” and then smiling affiliatively (he hoped), “it looks as if you’ve got your hands full.”

“Three kids and the mother-in-law; could be worse”, he said and then, quietly, “though I can’t think how. Thanks. There we are Muriel, seats all round.”

After some manoeuvring, the party seated themselves and Muriel regained her composure. “Well I must say the service here is a bit slow Michael; they’re hardly in a hurry to get round to people. Look at her, sauntering around with next to nothing on.”

Michael looked. “They are quite busy Muriel; I expect someone will be along in a minute.  What are you having anyway?”

“Oh I don’t know; don’t rush me”, she said, sensing that she might lose a popularity contest with a waitress with ‘next to nothing on’. ‘But once, not that long ago, I was every bit as attractive as that young woman’, she thought as she fretted gently under the afternoon sun.

Michael wondered to himself whether she had ever been other than a misery and pushed the thought away. “Now kids what would you like? What about chips and a Coke?”

The younger boy forgot his brother and sister in the excitement of the moment. “Yes please.”

And his older brother said, “I feel sick!”

Sophie didn’t have to forget her brothers since she seldom thought about them. They were just there, like freckles or a life-long dose of flu. “Chips! I hardly think so Daddy; perhaps a light Caesar salad and a latte.” And she returned to the world of her phone and more meaningful communication than she would find around the table.

Dad felt a moment of panic; a combination of anxiety about the potential bill and a sense that his daughter, his little girl, would soon be gone. She was probably already embarrassed by him. “But your mum will have a meal ready when we get back Sophie. How sick Bill?  What about a piece of cake instead Sophie? You’re not actually going to be sick are you?”

His daughter glanced up, irritated and looked at him with something like pity in her eyes. “I’m on a diet Daddy!”

Muriel decided to assist her son-in-law. “Of course he’s not,  are you William?  Just think about something nice and it will go away.”

William though, was already thinking of something nice. “I do, I feel sick and it will all come out all over the floor and things.”

“Oh bloody hell. Too much sun I expect. Right Muriel you order for us all, I’ll have a very large dry white wine and sardines on toast, and I’ll take Bill to the bathroom. Come on young man.”

“But I don’t know what…”, Muriel protested weakly.

“If in doubt get chips”, he responded as he turned to head for the toilet, holding firmly onto his son’s hand.

“Daddy…”, said Sophie plaintively.

“and a salad for Sophie, but you’d better eat your meal tonight or I’ll be in the dog-house with your mum.  Right, come on Bill, we’ll cool down in the loo.”

Gran, left with responsibility but no power, like local government wilting under a Tory sun,  could only sigh, “Well really.”

The younger boy then said helpfully, “I’ve changed my mind granma, I don’t want chips.”

On familiar ground at last, Muriel resorted to reflex. “You’ll get what you’re given young man, and don’t call me granma!”

“Why not granma? After all you are my granma granma”

“Because, that’s why. You’ve got too much backchat all three of you; I blame your father, he’s much too easy going with you.  Where is that waitress? For two pins I get up and leave. Now stop fidgeting young man, look at that lovely sea view.”

Bonnie and John exchanged glances. She said, quietly, “Ah happy holidays….” and then got back on track. “It’s funny, that was the second death and resurrection that month.

John looked at her quickly. “Where do you live, Miracle Corner? OK I’ll bite. Tell me about both.”

To be continued