aloud. “Dear Gran, Charlie and me miss you very much. Can we have Action Mans for Christmas?”
“See?” Eden shook her head. “This is why I applied to build an ossuary. People don’t teach their kids about death any more.”
Chapter 7
Michelle avoided the trolley with the crushed remains of a potted day lily and shoved a pound coin in the next one. She pushed it through the supermarket doors and stood for a moment inhaling the smell of fresh produce. The ambiance was enhanced by the display of fresh herbs to her left and the heady scent of basil made her think longingly of the Italian Restaurant on Market Street. Prompted to move on by the person behind bumping into her, she trundled down the aisle.
She was looking for lemons and clear honey. She could feel the edges of a cold hovering in her ears and sinuses, and if she wasn’t careful she’d have full-blown sniffles by eight o’clock.
It came from standing about in cemeteries in the rain, she supposed. Lurking was a habit she’d grown more accustomed to the older she got. It was surprising what people let slip when talking to their dearly departed. It made for an astounding amount of information she could relay during her sessions with clients, and it was quite true when she told them the information came ‘from beyond the grave’.
She paused at the boxes of citrus fruit, tempted by the seasonal arrival of easy-peel oranges. She took a net of them. It was citrus, wasn’t it? Citrus was good for colds. She moved to the lemons. Forty pence each or three for a pound. She pulled a paper bag off the hook and took a pounds worth. Just the job to chase away the winter chills. All she needed now was a big jar of honey, some paracetamol and a bottle of whiskey and she’d be all set.
At the top of the jams, pickles and chutneys aisle, her progress was arrested by a vision. Federico, the waiter from the restaurant, was at the honey section, reading the labels on jars and apparently trying to choose one. This was her chance. She speeded forward, accidentally-on-purpose knocking into his trolley. “Sorry.” She smiled to cover her sudden nervousness. “They’ve got a mind of their own haven’t they, trolleys?” She paused, staring at his perfect olive skin and dazzling eyes. “It’s Federico, isn’t it? From the restaurant? Fancy seeing you in here.”
“That’s right.” He smiled back at her, his white teeth flashing in the overhead fluorescent lights. “You have the advantage of me.”
“Chance would be a fine thing.” She laughed and swatted playfully at his arm. “Just kidding. Michelle Havers? I always have the fettuccini with olives?”
“Ah yes.” His relief was apparent. “Mrs. Havers. How good to see you again.”
“Miss.” Michelle pretended to look at the honey. “What’s best here?”
“This one.” Federico tapped a jar marked organic. “Very good honey. Very good taste.”
“But you’re looking at a different one.”
“Ah, yes. That one is heather based, and I have allergies to consider.”
“You’re allergic to heather?”
“No, no. Not me.” Federico treated her to another smile. “My wife.”
“I…didn’t know you were married.” Michelle covered her shock with another smile and looked away, wondering if there was anyone else in the shop she could use to help her out of the awkward situation. Finding no one, she was forced to look at Federico again. “Has she got a cold too?”
“A cold? No.” He laughed. “I make her a honey glaze for prosciutto. Good Italian food, no?”
“I suppose so.” Michelle ignored his recommendation and put her usual brand in her trolley. “Well, I must go. Plenty to do, you know?”
“Yes. Always.” Federico nodded once and moved off, heading toward the deli counter. Michelle stared after him, biting her lip as he moved up the aisle, his bottom jiggling in the tight chinos he wore. She looked back at the shelf and added a jar of the organic heather
“See?” Eden shook her head. “This is why I applied to build an ossuary. People don’t teach their kids about death any more.”
Chapter 7
Michelle avoided the trolley with the crushed remains of a potted day lily and shoved a pound coin in the next one. She pushed it through the supermarket doors and stood for a moment inhaling the smell of fresh produce. The ambiance was enhanced by the display of fresh herbs to her left and the heady scent of basil made her think longingly of the Italian Restaurant on Market Street. Prompted to move on by the person behind bumping into her, she trundled down the aisle.
She was looking for lemons and clear honey. She could feel the edges of a cold hovering in her ears and sinuses, and if she wasn’t careful she’d have full-blown sniffles by eight o’clock.
It came from standing about in cemeteries in the rain, she supposed. Lurking was a habit she’d grown more accustomed to the older she got. It was surprising what people let slip when talking to their dearly departed. It made for an astounding amount of information she could relay during her sessions with clients, and it was quite true when she told them the information came ‘from beyond the grave’.
She paused at the boxes of citrus fruit, tempted by the seasonal arrival of easy-peel oranges. She took a net of them. It was citrus, wasn’t it? Citrus was good for colds. She moved to the lemons. Forty pence each or three for a pound. She pulled a paper bag off the hook and took a pounds worth. Just the job to chase away the winter chills. All she needed now was a big jar of honey, some paracetamol and a bottle of whiskey and she’d be all set.
At the top of the jams, pickles and chutneys aisle, her progress was arrested by a vision. Federico, the waiter from the restaurant, was at the honey section, reading the labels on jars and apparently trying to choose one. This was her chance. She speeded forward, accidentally-on-purpose knocking into his trolley. “Sorry.” She smiled to cover her sudden nervousness. “They’ve got a mind of their own haven’t they, trolleys?” She paused, staring at his perfect olive skin and dazzling eyes. “It’s Federico, isn’t it? From the restaurant? Fancy seeing you in here.”
“That’s right.” He smiled back at her, his white teeth flashing in the overhead fluorescent lights. “You have the advantage of me.”
“Chance would be a fine thing.” She laughed and swatted playfully at his arm. “Just kidding. Michelle Havers? I always have the fettuccini with olives?”
“Ah yes.” His relief was apparent. “Mrs. Havers. How good to see you again.”
“Miss.” Michelle pretended to look at the honey. “What’s best here?”
“This one.” Federico tapped a jar marked organic. “Very good honey. Very good taste.”
“But you’re looking at a different one.”
“Ah, yes. That one is heather based, and I have allergies to consider.”
“You’re allergic to heather?”
“No, no. Not me.” Federico treated her to another smile. “My wife.”
“I…didn’t know you were married.” Michelle covered her shock with another smile and looked away, wondering if there was anyone else in the shop she could use to help her out of the awkward situation. Finding no one, she was forced to look at Federico again. “Has she got a cold too?”
“A cold? No.” He laughed. “I make her a honey glaze for prosciutto. Good Italian food, no?”
“I suppose so.” Michelle ignored his recommendation and put her usual brand in her trolley. “Well, I must go. Plenty to do, you know?”
“Yes. Always.” Federico nodded once and moved off, heading toward the deli counter. Michelle stared after him, biting her lip as he moved up the aisle, his bottom jiggling in the tight chinos he wore. She looked back at the shelf and added a jar of the organic heather
Similar Books
