Sunday Supermarket Sweep

Sunday morning began with a discovery.

Not a good discovery.

Not the sort of discovery that makes you smile and think, Well, that’s fortunate.

It was the sort of discovery that makes you stand in front of the fridge at 7:42 a.m. staring at an empty shelf and wondering whether your previous life choices have brought you to this moment.

Mrs Brand was making coffee when she realised.

“We’ve got no milk.”

Mr Brand looked up from his phone.

“None?”

“None.”

“Not even a little?”

Mrs Brand opened the fridge again, as though milk might have appeared while she wasn’t looking.

Nothing.

She checked the door.

No milk.

She checked behind the orange juice.

No milk.

She checked the cupboard.

This was becoming desperate.

Then she remembered yesterday’s supermarket delivery.

“I forgot to order it.”

Mr Brand smiled.

“Epic fail.”

“Thank you for your support.”

“You’re welcome.”

Breakfast became an exercise in resource management.

Alfie had cereal with the last splash of milk.

Barry had toast.

Marmaduke, who had arrived through the gate with Marjory, had toast with jam.

Mr Brand had coffee.

Mrs Brand had coffee.

Nobody mentioned that coffee was not technically breakfast.

There are some mornings when adulthood is mostly pretending that caffeine counts as nutrition.

Barry stared at his toast.

“I wanted cereal.”

“We’ve run out of milk.”

“Why?”

“Because Mummy forgot to order it.”

Barry looked genuinely shocked.

“You forgot something?”

Mrs Brand put a hand dramatically over her heart.

“I know. I know. I’m only human.”

Barry considered this.

“I thought you knew everything.”

“So did I.”

Mrs Brand picked up her handbag.

“Right. I’m going to the supermarket.”

Barry’s eyes widened.

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to be in and out very quickly.”

“I can be quick.”

Marmaduke appeared beside him.

“I’m quick too.”

Mrs Brand looked at the two four-year-olds.

Then at the clock.

Then at her carefully written list.

Then at the two boys again.

She knew.

She knew deep down.

She knew in the same way sailors know when the sea looks suspicious.

But Marjory had to go to the hospital to check on one of her patients, who had taken a turn for the worse overnight.

Mr Brand was taking Alfie to a chess club meet for two hours.

She sighed.

“Fine.”

Barry punched the air.

“SUPERMARKET!”

“One rule.”

“What?”

“We stick to the list.”

Barry nodded solemnly.

“I promise.”

Marmaduke nodded too.

“I promise.”

Mrs Brand looked at them suspiciously.

“That was far too easy.”

Before leaving, Mr Brand gathered his things.

“Come on, Alfie. Chess.”

Alfie appeared carrying his chess set.

“Arthur might be there.”

“Excellent.”

“He’s very good.”

“I know.”

“He’s beaten me twice.”

“That’s alright.”

“I’ve been studying openings.”

Mr Brand smiled.

“You’re eight.”

“I know.”

“You’re allowed to enjoy yourself.”

Alfie looked confused.

“I am.”

Mr Brand and Alfie headed off.

“I shouldn’t be too long at the hospital,” Marjory said.

Mrs Brand nodded.

“Take your time.”

Marjory smiled. “Look after yourself.”

“You too.”

“Good luck.”

Mrs Brand raised an eyebrow.

“Why did you say it like that?”

Marjory smiled innocently.

“No reason.”

The supermarket was busy.

Not Christmas busy.

Not bank-holiday busy.

Just enough people to make the aisles inconvenient and the car park resemble a competitive driving course.

Mrs Brand grabbed a trolley.

Barry climbed into it.

“No.”

“I’ll sit quietly.”

“No.”

“But I’m tired.”

“We’ve been here for twelve seconds.”

Barry climbed out.

Marmaduke took the list.

“I’ll help.”

“Thank you.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

This was promising.

Milk.

Bread.

Bananas.

Eggs.

Butter.

That was all.

Five things. Five.

She could do this.

They reached the first aisle.

Barry stopped.

“LOOK!”

Mrs Brand’s heart sank.

Comics.

An entire rack.

Colourful.

Shiny.

Full of superheroes, dinosaurs, footballers and cartoon characters.

Barry grabbed one.

“Can I have this?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not on the list.”

“But it’s important.”

“How?”

“It has information.”

Marmaduke picked one up.

“This one has a free toy.”

Mrs Brand took a deep breath.

“Put it back.”

Barry put his down.

Marmaduke put his down.

They walked on.

Mrs Brand smiled.

“Well done.”

She was beginning to believe.

That was her mistake.

Next came the bakery.

The smell was incredible.

Warm bread.

Fresh pastries.

Croissants.

And then…

French batons.

Long, crusty loaves.

Barry stopped dead.

“What’s that?”

“Bread.”

“Can we try it?”

“It’s not a tasting station.”

Marmaduke pointed.

“They’ve got lots.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe it’s free.”

“It isn’t.”

“But there’s loads.”

“That’s because people buy them.”

Barry stared at the baguettes.

Then at Mrs Brand.

Then back at the baguettes.

“I think we should test one.”

“No.”

“Just to check.”

“No.”

“Maybe it’s broken.”

“It’s bread, Barry.”

“We don’t know.”

Mrs Brand pushed the trolley onwards.

Barry continued looking over his shoulder.

“That bread looked suspicious.”

Two aisles later…

They found an actual tasting station.

A cheerful member of staff was handing out tiny chocolate biscuits.

Barry froze.

Marmaduke froze.

Mrs Brand froze.

The boys looked at each other.

Barry whispered, “Chocolate.”

Marmaduke whispered, “Free.”

Mrs Brand sighed. “One each.”

They approached politely.

“Would you like to try one?” asked the woman.

“YES.”

Barry took his.

Marmaduke took his.

They ate.

Barry’s eyes widened.

“That’s amazing.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Can we have another?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because other people need to try them.”

Barry considered this.

Then looked at the remaining biscuits.

“We could help.”

Mrs Brand dragged the trolley away.

“Come on.”

“But—”

“No.”

“But we were being helpful.”

“You were eating the samples.”

“That’s helping the biscuits.”

Then they reached clothing.

A rack of children’s T-shirts stood beside the aisle.

Bright colours.

Funny slogans.

Sale stickers.

Barry immediately reached for one.

“Look!”

“Don’t touch.”

“It’s soft.”

“Barry.”

Marmaduke picked up another.

“Mine says some words” 

Barry held one up.

“Mine does too!”

Mrs Brand smiled despite herself.

“They are quite nice.”

“We could wear them.”

“We’re not buying them.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re here for milk.”

Barry looked genuinely puzzled.

“Can’t milk wear a T-shirt?”

Then Marmaduke sneezed.

Chocolate crumbs flew everywhere.

He stared at his hands.

Barry looked around.

“What do we do?”

Marmaduke spotted the T-shirts.

“Napkin.”

“No!”

Too late.

Barry had already grabbed one.

He wiped his mouth.

Marmaduke followed.

Mrs Brand’s face went pale.

“STOP.”

Both boys froze.

Barry slowly lowered the T-shirt.

There was now a chocolate smudge across the front.

Marmaduke’s had a matching mark.

Mrs Brand stared.

“Oh my goodness.”

“We’re cleaning it,” Barry announced.

“With what?”

Barry looked around.

“The T-shirt.”

“No!”

A passing shopper tried very hard not to laugh.

Mrs Brand apologised to the clothing assistant.

“I’m so sorry.”

The assistant smiled.

“It’s alright.”

Barry looked relieved.

“Can we buy it now?”

Mrs Brand stared at him.

“You’ve just made it dirty.”

“Exactly.”

Eventually, they escaped the clothing aisle.

Mrs Brand checked the list.

Milk.

Bread.

Bananas.

Eggs.

Butter.

Only milk and bread had been located so far. They had been in the supermarket for twenty-three minutes.

Mrs Brand had hoped for ten.

She picked up the pace.

“Come on.”

Barry ran after her.

“Wait!”

“No stopping.”

“But there’s something!”

“No.”

“But it’s important!”

“No.”

“It’s a…”

Mrs Brand stopped.

Barry pointed.

A huge display of chocolates in boxes.

In August.

She stared.

“Why are those here?”

Barry shrugged.

“Supermarket.”

Mrs Brand nodded slowly.

“Fair.”

They reached the checkout.

Mrs Brand placed the shopping down.

Milk.

Bread.

Bananas.

Eggs.

Butter.

And…

One comic.

She stared at it.

Barry looked innocent.

“When did that get there?”

Mrs Brand looked at him.

“When you were distracted by the chocolate.”

Marmaduke whispered,

“Good strategy.”

Mrs Brand heard him.

“Not helping.”

At the car, Barry climbed into his seat.

Marmaduke buckled himself in.

Mrs Brand put the shopping in the boot.

She closed it.

Then paused.

Something was missing.

She looked at the list.

Milk.

Bread.

Bananas.

Eggs.

Butter.

She looked into the boot.

No milk.

She looked at the trolley.

No milk.

She looked through the bags.

No milk.

Her eyes widened.

“Where’s the milk?”

Barry called from the car.

“We forgot it!”

Mrs Brand closed her eyes.

She went back inside.

Five minutes later she returned carrying milk, and a comic for Marmaduke, who had not made mention of the unfairness he may have been feeling, watching Barry with his new acquisition. 

She opened the driver’s door.

Barry looked delighted.

“We got it!”

Mrs Brand stared at him.

“Yes.”

“Was it difficult?”

“Extremely.”

When they got home, Mr Brand and Alfie were already back from chess.

Alfie was carrying his chess set.

“Arthur came.”

“Did you win?”

“No.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes.”

Mr Brand smiled.

“What took you so long?”

Mrs Brand unloaded the shopping.

“We were in and out.”

Mr Brand looked at her.

“You’ve been gone over an hour.”

“That is in and out.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Barry climbed out of the car.

“We ate chocolate.”

Marmaduke added,

“And used T-shirts as napkins.”

Alfie blinked.

“You did what?”

Barry shrugged.

“We were hungry.”

Mr Brand looked at Mrs Brand.

She simply handed him the milk.

“Do not ask.”

That afternoon, after lunch, Mrs Brand finally sat down.

Barry curled up beside her.

“Mummy?”

“Yes?”

“Did we help you shopping?”

She thought about the chocolate.

The comic.

The baguettes.

The T-shirts.

The missing milk.

The “quick trip.”

“No.”

Barry frowned.

“We tried.”

Mrs Brand laughed.

“Yes, you did.”

Marmaduke sat beside them.

“We learned something.”

“What?”

“Don’t use T-shirts as napkins.”

“Excellent lesson.”

“And don’t eat too many chocolate biscuits.”

“Also excellent.”

Barry thought.

“And always check the trolley before you leave.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“That’s probably the most useful lesson of all.”

That evening, Alfie was quietly setting up his chessboard.

Barry wandered over.

“Can you teach me?”

Alfie looked surprised.

“Chess?”

“Yes.”

“You might find it boring.”

“I won’t.”

Alfie considered him.

“Okay.”

He moved a pawn.

“This is how you start.”

Barry studied the board.

“What does this one do?”

“That’s a bishop.”

“What’s his name?”

“Bishop.”

“That’s boring.”

“It’s chess.”

Barry thought for a moment.

“Can I call him Trevor?”

Alfie sighed.

“Fine.”

Marmaduke sat beside them.

“I’ll be Queen.”

Alfie smiled.

“Of course you will.”

From the kitchen, Mrs Brand heard the laughter.

She smiled.

The week had begun with tents, knots, bugs, first aid and campfires.

Now, on Sunday evening, the children were learning chess.

Tomorrow was Monday again.

Work would return.

Meetings would return.

And, if Mrs Brand had any say in it, milk would definitely be ordered.

She opened the supermarket app.

Checked the basket.

Added milk.

Then, just to be absolutely certain, she added another bottle.

She looked at the screen, satisfied.

“Sorted.”

From the sitting room came Barry’s voice.

“Mummy!”

She froze.

“What?”

“Trevor’s fallen off the chessboard!”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“Of course he has.”

She closed the app.

The week was over.

The next one had already begun.

And judging by Barry’s voice, it was going to be absolutely fine.

Probably.