Chapter 1: Shopping For Food

God made the wicked grocer
For a mystery and a sign,
G.K.Chesterton

The first week in November he was doing his regular weekly grocery shop in Best’s supermarket when he first noticed her. She had only a small basket, in contrast to the trolley he always used, and in that basket were only small sizes of each item, and only the supermarket’s “Best’s Value” range, which were, of course, the lowest priced, lowest quality of their three ranges, “Best’s Quality”, “Best’s Buy” and “Best’s Value”. Then he spotted that she was hovering by the price reduced shelves and when items which were very short dated, or had damage to the packaging were put up at half price or cheaper she would, occasionally, buy from the better quality ranges.

This was a small mystery which puzzled him. Why would an attractive woman in, I estimate, her early thirties need to be so frugal? She has on a wedding ring, so presumably has a husband somewhere. Are they so hard up? He decided, out of curiosity mostly, to see what he could find out.

When she left the supermarket he followed at a discrete distance but she clearly had no car there, and she walked past the bus stop, looking as though she was setting out for a long walk home. He left it at that the first time he had noticed her, as he was only mildly curious and had no wish to be in trouble as a stalker.

The next time he saw her it was well over a mile away from the supermarket, but the collection of bags she had with her suggested that she was going shopping. He was truly grateful to the government of the day which had introduced a small tax on new plastic shopping bags to encourage just such reuse.

Sure enough, half an hour later she came into Best’s supermarket while he was still mooching round picking up his weekly shop.

He made sure he finished well before she did and went out to the car park with his shopping. Driving out of there, he travelled some distance further than he knew she had come, to a small housing estate with a local shop which sold newspapers, drinks, cigarettes and children’s treats. Parking in a side road he watched for a while, and then thought, Am I really so bored that I want to play detective after a random quarry, and for no really good reason?

He had more or less given up waiting and was ready to go home when his guess turned out to be right, and his target came into sight. He watched as she went into one of the houses a short way down the road. It was a matter of moments to drive past it and note the number, 33.

Coming back into the local shop he bought an unnecessary newspaper and an even more unnecessary magazine. As he paid for them he asked the shop keeper, “Are there any houses for sale round here do you know?”

“Number 17 is the only one I know of sir,” was that worthy’s reply, “but an ‘under offer’ board went up a couple of days ago.”

“Oh. I had heard a rumour that number 33 might be up for sale, but there isn’t an estate agent’s board up.”

“Number 33? Well I hadn’t heard, but it wouldn’t surprise me. That’s Mrs. Parfitt. She’s living there alone since her husband took a job away last August, in China they say, and rumour has it he isn’t coming back, or sending her any money. I doubt she could sell the house without his say so though.”

“Oh, I’ll forget that one then. You know what rumours are like; people start off putting two and two together and pretty soon it’s added up to seventeen,” and he left the shop well pleased with his detective work. As he drove home he thought, I’ll take that as a sign that I am meant to meet Mrs. Parfitt, and hopefully on a bed, naked, because he realised that while she looked tired and worn down by life, underneath she really was quite attractive.