Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [59]
‘Or the malaria?’ he inquired politely.
Still she said nothing
‘I hear there’s a bad dose of anthrax going around at the moment,’ he said, ‘so wrap up warm!’
‘If you’re sure you’re okay,’ she said humbly. ‘I must have my dinner. Talk to you tomorrow.’
I’ll be away all week,’ he said. ‘Working in Brighton. See you at the weekend.’
Thomas was listening at the door. She pushed past him and banged into the kitchen. She was angry with herself, stung by Fintan, very hungry, and fresh out of any resolve to stick to her diet. ‘Is there anything to eat?’ She threw open a cupboard door and looked, with disgust, at the Weight-watchers soup, tinned tomatoes, dried pasta and cat food within. ‘It’s like a famine zone,’ she muttered. ‘A Third World kitchen. If we’re not careful the World Health Organization will start airlifting in crates of maize and flour. If we set up a donations line, we’d make a fortune.’
Thomas watched her in shock. He’d never seen her like this before. Another cupboard revealed Thomas’s stockpile of tinned steak and kidney pies.
‘You could always have one of them,’ he suggested, surprised at the nervous tremor in his voice.
‘I’d rather eat my own kidney,’ she retorted. ‘What time is it? Safeways is still open, I’m going out to buy food.’
‘Hang on a mo’, I’ll come with you.’
‘No, you won’t,’ she said, gathering her car keys.
‘Get plenty of vegetables,’ he called after her.
Tara turned around, walked back in and put her face very close to his. ‘Why don’t you shut it?’ she suggested, then left again, leaving him staring in confusion as she got into the car and screeched away. The worm had turned. The worm was positively gyrating.
*
There were a couple of cast-iron rules that Tara lived her life by. ‘Do unto others as you would be done by’ was one. ‘Don’t go to the supermarket when you’re hungry’ was another.
But she was in a rule-breaking mood. Trolley or basket? Basket or trolley? How much damage was she planning on doing?
Trolley, she decided.
She blitzkrieged her way through the fruit and vegetables department, casting disdainful looks left and right. Not a single piece of fresh produce would be coming home with her tonight. Then some carrots caught her eye. Carrots are my friend, she remembered. Many was the time that raw carrots had kept the spectre of hunger at bay. But not today. Not unless they were chocolate-coated.
‘Carrots can shag off,’ she muttered.
A young man, two days off the bus from Cardiff, overheard her. It was true what his mother said: London was full of mad people. Great!
Tara caught him looking at her speculatively and a thought struck her. They did singles nights at some London supermarkets. Could it be that she’d stumbled upon one? She glanced shyly and found that the boy was still looking at her. She was surprised and not displeased. Vaguely, she thought about smiling at him and then decided not to bother.
Who needs a man when you can have food?
And food she would have.
Usually a trip to the supermarket took Tara a very, very long time. It was like walking through a minefield. Temptation on all sides. Every purchase was deliberated and agonized over. Assiduously, the back of each packet was examined to see how many calories and grams of fat it contained. Nothing with more than five per cent fat was allowed into the trolley. ‘None Shall Pass!’ was her motto.
Unless Thomas wasn’t looking.
Sometimes she trailed a finger wistfully along the forbidden Indian meals or frozen pizzas, wishing things were different. But she’d long stopped going into the biscuit aisles, because the sense of loss was too great. Best to just close the door on that part of her. It had been a passionate love affair, too passionate, and she knew they could never be just friends. But sometimes she couldn’t help but remember the good times.
Memories can be beautiful, but still… A pink, fuzzy-bordered picture of her laughing and twirling in slow-motion, her hair flying, her arms wrapped around a packet of Jammy Dodgers. Or of her running downhill through a cornfield on a beautiful summer’s day,