Page 21 of Break the Ice

‘NO!’ He seems quite angry now and I laugh, amused at how this is winding him up. Surely there are other things to get angry about. Say global warming, war, misogyny. ‘The smoothies, always. A Red Bull?’

‘You really don’t want to share a car with me after an energy drink.’ He still looks baffled. I’m sensing he spends a lot of time doing mental maths. ‘If it means a lot to you then you choose for me. Another thing about me is that I will eat anything here, even the boiled eggs in the pot. I am not fussy.’

He stares at me very strangely but then seems to switch into a sensible decisive mode, throwing food into the trolley, looking pleased with himself. ‘Did you say you needed to get gifts?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, but I think my family are expecting more than meal deals,’ I say.

We keep walking past the Christmas aisles and I chuck in some gift wrap, a box of cards, some pens and a random stationery set that’s on special offer. He frowns at the sheer abandon.

‘Don’t you have a list of what you need to get?’

‘No, again, I buy with feeling, with spontaneity,’ I tell him.

‘And if you forget someone?’ he asks, again clearly confused by the lack of method in my madness.

‘Then I buy wine in bulk,’ I say.

‘I bet Freya and Skye love that,’ he tells me.

That was funny. Not in the same league as me but he’s getting there. But he may be right – there are many nieces and nephews. I head over to some promotional stands and put a lot of chocolate selection packs into the trolley.

‘Jacking the kids up on sugar, eh? I bet your brothers and sisters will love that.’

‘One brother, two sisters.’

‘And where are you in the birth order?’

‘Guess?’

‘Youngest.’

‘Bingo. And for that, you win a festive mustard set that includes a set of spoons,’ I say, putting that in my trolley for Adam.

He laughs. ‘What I’ve always wanted.’ We emerge from the end of the gifts aisle, out into the fresh food. ‘Tell me, how do they sell carrots for nineteen pence?’

Why is this boy so obsessed with prices? ‘Well, it’s usually to the detriment of the farmers.’

He nods and then quite randomly puts a bag of carrots in the trolley. Well, he is driving; maybe they’ll help him see in the dark. He also puts in some Krispy Kremes, mince pies and a baguette, like the best of all the cultures coming together.

‘We should just get a chicken, Janet. No one will know the difference with your cooking,’ we hear a man say in the fresh meat section. That’s one way to die on Christmas Eve, fella.

I pull the trolley a little quicker but, as it becomes more crowded and we’re around all this meat, Steve starts to twitch and wriggle out of my arms. ‘No, no, no, Steve, you need to stay with me.’ He continues to squirm. ‘Dude, no. Stay.’ But it’s too late. Steve’s legs use my chest as leverage and he pushes his way out and leaps to the floor, dashing past someone’s basket and helping himself to a packet of chipolatas. Fuck.

‘What are you DOING?’ Joshua shouts at me. As if I did that on purpose? I don’t care for his tone as we abandon our trolley to chase Steve through the supermarket.

‘STEVE! COME BACK!’ I yell.

I hear the random gasps and laughs from other shoppers. Please don’t crap in the supermarket. He’s heading into Tinned Goods. I look behind me and see Joshua change direction. I dodge a family of four with a full trolley and get to the baked beans aisle where I can see Josh has blocked him off. That was smart. ‘Hey, Steve…’ he says, smiling. Steve tears the packet of sausages open with his teeth and starts to eat them. It gives me a chance to grab him and put him on his lead.

‘Steve, that was super naughty,’ I tell him. He looks up at me with a mouthful of raw meat and I retch a bit.

‘I hope you’re going to pay for those,’ a man in a checked shirt tells us. ‘You know you’re not allowed dogs in here.’

‘He’s my dog,’ Joshua says, intervening in quite a terrible London accent. He sounds like Jason Statham and I can’t help but laugh. ‘I’m sorry. He’s mad as a box of frogs.’ Steve looks at him, seemingly insulted. I think I’m more insulted by the accent. ‘My wife here needs him because she’s hard of hearing.’

‘I’m what?’ I reply.

‘See?’ Joshua says, pointing to me.