dropped it in the bath!
Can you imagine? Mum said she’d see if there was another one on offer somewhere, like with a packet of crisps or something, but in the meantime I was having to work everything out on paper. In fact, that was what we were supposed to do anyway, but I bet nobody else did.
I’d just worked out the answer and was feeling rather pleased with myself, when Mum came bursting into the kitchen and cried, “Ruth, I’ve just remembered…it’s Lisa’s Home Bake day tomorrow and I promised her I’d make something for her to take in. I’d clean forgotten about it! Just pop down the corner shop, there’s a good girl, and get me some pastry. I haven’t got time to make any.”
I hadn’t got time to go down the corner shop. “I’m doing my homework!” I said.
“Oh, now, come on, it’ll only take you five minutes!”
“So why can’t Lisa go?” She was the one that wanted the stupid pie, not me.
“I’m not sending a nine year old out in the dark. Just get yourself down there and stop being so stroppy.”
I went off, grumbling. How ridiculous, going to the corner shop for pastry when I had a mum who worked in Tesco’s! Needless to say, there was a queue a mile long at the checkout. There would be, wouldn’t there?
Everyone picking up fish fingers and TV dinners on their way home from work. Angrily I snatched a packet of pastry out of the freezer and stamped about at the back of the queue. Why did Mum do this to me? What about my education? I knew she had a lot to cope with, what with working all day and having to look after Dad, not to mention Sammy and the Terrible Two. But I was trying to do my maths homework!
Anyway, guess what? When I finally raced home with the pastry, it was THE WRONG SORT. She hadn’t wanted frozen pastry.
“How can I roll it out if it’s frozen?”
She sent me all the way back again. This time, for chilled pastry.
“Short crust, mind, not puff!”
So then I had a bit of an argument with the man at the checkout cos he said the frozen pastry wasn’t properly frozen any more and he didn’t want to take it back. But Mum hadn’t given me any more money and I was practically in tears, cos I just couldn’t stand the thought of going all the way home and all the way back for the second time, but in the end a nice lady standing behind me said it was all right, she’d take the frozen stuff, and I was just so grateful to her.
“That’s better,” said Mum, when I’d panted up six flights of stairs and back into the kitchen. (The reason I’d had to pant up the stairs was cos the lifts weren’t working. Again. )“Now, look, just pop across the hall and ask Mrs Kenny if she’s got a tin of cherries I could have. Here! You can give her this in exchange.” She tossed a tin of fruit salad at me. “Go on! I can’t make a pie out of fruit salad.”
I hate having to go and ask Mrs Kenny for things. Mum’s always making me do it. I just find it so degrading! Anyway, Mrs Kenny didn’t have a tin of cherries. I told her Mum wanted to make a pie for Lisa’s Home Bake, so she gave me some sticks of rhubarb instead. I loathe rhubarb; so does Lisa. Tee hee! I should care. Mum did, though. She said, “What’s this? Rhubarb? That’s no good! I wanted cherries. You know Lisa won’t eat rhubarb!”
“That’s all she had,” I said.
Mum made an impatient tutting sound, like it was my fault Mrs Kenny didn’t have spare tins of cherries in her cupboard. Why didn’t Mum, if it came to that? What’s the point of working in Tesco’s if you can’t stock up with things?
“We’ll have to cook it,” said Mum. “Get me a saucepan. Well, go on! Don’t just stand there. Do something!”
So before I know it, I’m over at the sink scrubbing rhubarb and chopping it into little pieces and pulling off the stringy bits, and dumping it in the pan and showering sugar over it.
“Not that much!” screamed Mum. “God in heaven, your dad won’t have any left for
Can you imagine? Mum said she’d see if there was another one on offer somewhere, like with a packet of crisps or something, but in the meantime I was having to work everything out on paper. In fact, that was what we were supposed to do anyway, but I bet nobody else did.
I’d just worked out the answer and was feeling rather pleased with myself, when Mum came bursting into the kitchen and cried, “Ruth, I’ve just remembered…it’s Lisa’s Home Bake day tomorrow and I promised her I’d make something for her to take in. I’d clean forgotten about it! Just pop down the corner shop, there’s a good girl, and get me some pastry. I haven’t got time to make any.”
I hadn’t got time to go down the corner shop. “I’m doing my homework!” I said.
“Oh, now, come on, it’ll only take you five minutes!”
“So why can’t Lisa go?” She was the one that wanted the stupid pie, not me.
“I’m not sending a nine year old out in the dark. Just get yourself down there and stop being so stroppy.”
I went off, grumbling. How ridiculous, going to the corner shop for pastry when I had a mum who worked in Tesco’s! Needless to say, there was a queue a mile long at the checkout. There would be, wouldn’t there?
Everyone picking up fish fingers and TV dinners on their way home from work. Angrily I snatched a packet of pastry out of the freezer and stamped about at the back of the queue. Why did Mum do this to me? What about my education? I knew she had a lot to cope with, what with working all day and having to look after Dad, not to mention Sammy and the Terrible Two. But I was trying to do my maths homework!
Anyway, guess what? When I finally raced home with the pastry, it was THE WRONG SORT. She hadn’t wanted frozen pastry.
“How can I roll it out if it’s frozen?”
She sent me all the way back again. This time, for chilled pastry.
“Short crust, mind, not puff!”
So then I had a bit of an argument with the man at the checkout cos he said the frozen pastry wasn’t properly frozen any more and he didn’t want to take it back. But Mum hadn’t given me any more money and I was practically in tears, cos I just couldn’t stand the thought of going all the way home and all the way back for the second time, but in the end a nice lady standing behind me said it was all right, she’d take the frozen stuff, and I was just so grateful to her.
“That’s better,” said Mum, when I’d panted up six flights of stairs and back into the kitchen. (The reason I’d had to pant up the stairs was cos the lifts weren’t working. Again. )“Now, look, just pop across the hall and ask Mrs Kenny if she’s got a tin of cherries I could have. Here! You can give her this in exchange.” She tossed a tin of fruit salad at me. “Go on! I can’t make a pie out of fruit salad.”
I hate having to go and ask Mrs Kenny for things. Mum’s always making me do it. I just find it so degrading! Anyway, Mrs Kenny didn’t have a tin of cherries. I told her Mum wanted to make a pie for Lisa’s Home Bake, so she gave me some sticks of rhubarb instead. I loathe rhubarb; so does Lisa. Tee hee! I should care. Mum did, though. She said, “What’s this? Rhubarb? That’s no good! I wanted cherries. You know Lisa won’t eat rhubarb!”
“That’s all she had,” I said.
Mum made an impatient tutting sound, like it was my fault Mrs Kenny didn’t have spare tins of cherries in her cupboard. Why didn’t Mum, if it came to that? What’s the point of working in Tesco’s if you can’t stock up with things?
“We’ll have to cook it,” said Mum. “Get me a saucepan. Well, go on! Don’t just stand there. Do something!”
So before I know it, I’m over at the sink scrubbing rhubarb and chopping it into little pieces and pulling off the stringy bits, and dumping it in the pan and showering sugar over it.
“Not that much!” screamed Mum. “God in heaven, your dad won’t have any left for
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