Chapter 19: Children's Shopping

On the way back from my trip to get some camping fridges, I stopped at the next junction and, at the road sign, it hit me!

The truck stalled. That was the least of my problems.

Once I re-started it, I went up the road to the left and turned back on myself coming back, a third left and I re-traced my route down the terraced street negotiated some three minutes before.

Getting out of the driver's cab I walked to the window that protruded as far as the pedestrian pavement. The pair of young wavers was undoubtedly eagerly responding to my stopping.

Up to the window of the seven or eight year-olds. Yeh, this pair was no older than eight; I was learning. They could hardly contain themselves. Leaning against the pane I made out a shrill infant's voice, "Has Auntie Eedie sent you?"

"Where's your mummy?"

"Mummy's gone to sleepies and she said she's gone to meet Daddy. But he diedid and we can't have a fural."

It took me sometime to decode infantspeak so I've decided to decode if for you from now on; "Mummy's gone to sleep and she said she's gone to meet Daddy. But he died and we can't have a funeral."

Got the idea?

For the most part the little girl negotiated, "I'm Petra and that's Peter and he doesn't do as he's told." I think I listened to about ten minutes of being told they weren't to let anyone in except Auntie Eedie. Then the little boy overruled his sister. He climbed up on the furniture to the top window and dropped out an envelope which had a key for the front door.

When I managed to manipulate it in the lock, the reek inside hit me and I took two steps backwards. I had to leave the door open a while before I stepped in. The house was freezing too.

Petra took up the conversation on the doorstep, "That's what Mummy said. She said Auntie Eedie was coming straight here before six o'clock are you from Auntie Eedie? Is it six o'clock yet?"

"It was six o'clock days ago, Petra," that was Peter.

"Can't be, cos Auntie Eedie isn't here." Child logic!

Peter looked at me for confirmation of assertion. I nodded. "I don't think Auntie Eedie is coming. Do you know where she lives?"

"It's not our real Auntie Eedie, she goes to the same working office as Mummy does. Will you open a tin of food for us, please? Peter can't do it. He cut his hand."

I searched for Peter's hand and bit my teeth as I took it between my fingers. A very nasty cut over two fingers as well as the side of his palm.

Making my way to the kitchen, I found the electric can opener on the wall and about fifteen cans underneath and an old-style hand can opener was there, having pierced some cans with minute holes in the lid.

"I told him that mummy said he wasn't to have used that one, it's dangerous."

One can was open a little, and all the food scooped out, rice pudding. There was blood from Peter's hand on lots of stuff over the work surface.

'Should I feed them? Sarita might want him not to have eaten if she was to put stitches in his hand and fingers. I had no idea.

I looked at Peter's hand again. That certainly needed a couple of stitches. "Peter, I'm going to take you to see the doctor. She's nice but can you wait to have something to eat if I let Petra have some food now?"

He stood up tall and his face responded, "Yes," with manly pride.

I was careful of the can opener. I'd cut myself on one just like this. I hated these old ones; they should have had a government health warning.

Petra had children's cold alphabet spaghetti. Peter commented that she did not even pause to examine the shapes; P, E, T, R and A as they normally did. She wolfed everything down within two minutes despite the fact it was cold once I'd poured it in a dish. Peter looked on longingly but I was washing his face and hands with cold water. I didn't get any near his cut fingers.

"We're going to meet the doctor but she's shopping for clothes at Marks & Spencer'. We'll get you some there too."

"We can't 'fford Marks, Mummy says. We get ours at the supermarket or down the market stall." That was Peter.

I loved the way Petra was trying to tell Peter to 'shush'. The idea of having 'upmarket' clothes was not going to be denied a little girl.

"Oh, this is a treat and even more of treat, have you ever been in big truck like that before?"

"That's daddy's car." They pointed on the way out, to an old heap and then I something occurred to me, "Oh, you two, do you want any of your toys? We won't be coming back here." No way could I come into this smell again.

They both looked as if they were terror-struck. Peter was the only one who would speak. "They are all in Mummy's room, we can't go in it. She said not to. We were playing in there and she sent us out. It was smelly."

"I think mummy did a poo-poo," chanted the little girl.

Neither wanted to venture there and nor did I. Even so, I was obliged to. She might be alive. Carefully, I found a clean cloth and went up on my own. Covering the door handle with it, I opened my way to see in and the smell and obvious state of the women on the bed hit me. It was all I could do not to vomit seeing the insects crawling over the greyish yellow face. It struck me that it should be too cold for bugs like that, evidently not. Hastily, I shut the door and retired down the stairs. How long had she been dead? How long had the children been here?

Even though I'd not touched a thing, I felt the need to wash my hands before returning to the vehicle. For the children, the journey was an adventure after being lifted up into the cab of the three-tonner.

Backing up to the open door of Marks and Spencer, Petra argued very strongly it was not the shop but Peter silently indicated with his good hand, the small sign which read, 'Marks & Spencer plc, Staff Entrance'.

By this time I'd learnt they were twins and but not identical. OK, I didn't know you couldn't have identical boys and girls. I must have been away for that biology lesson.

We went inside and I finally found Sarita in 'Women's Clothing'. She gave me such a look holding Peter's right hand and Petra's left as we came along. "This is the doctor who's going to look at your fingers. Sarita, this is Peter, who's come for a stitch or two and this is Petra, his sister."

Peter was saying simply, "Hello," and trying to shake Sarita's hand while Petra was speaking non-stop to anyone who would listen, "I'm the pretty one, Petra, and we're twins and that's Peter and he doesn't talk much but he's nobody's fool ... I want a pretty dress but doctors do on the telly or they wear green ... I don't know why ... I like pink ... are there any pink shoes? You aren't wearing a white coat." I don't think she paused a half a second from one word to the next.

I just asked myself whose words she was repeating. I was trying to follow the logic of her last phrase when I recognised she expected to see a doctor in full regalia.

"Er, not all doctors wear a white coat," I tried to explain.

Peter chipped in, "Doctor Janet never does, don't be silly."

I imparted a little more information for Sarita's benefit, "Mummy has gone up to Heaven to be with their daddy. And they need some nice clean clothes, don't you think?"

Sandra was there and looked puzzled. "They whiff." She turned up her nose and was complaining before I grabbed her hand and moved her away.

"And so would you, having been a week within a house, on your own, with your decaying mother. No wonder they were trying to attract attention for days, your attention, Sandra!"

Her mouth dropped, "The 'Wavers'?" she gulped.

Good! I was rather satisfied that she looked suitably chagrined.

"Oh, Doctor," I went on, "they have hardly had anything to eat in the last week. Peter did that," I indicated the wound she was looking at gingerly, "trying to open cans of food. I let Petra have a can of cold spaghetti but Peter hasn't had anything to eat. I didn't know if he could with your going to attend to his fingers?"

"Mummy said he wasn't to use the can opener. He shouldn't have done that, should he?"

Sarita looked at me with a weary smile, "A whole can?"

"I don't think they've eaten in days."

"Peter, you and I will go down to the food department and pick something you'd like to eat. You can come too, Petra."

"I don't I want to ... Eughhh!" Sarita swung the vomiting girl around from the carpeted floor to the shiny surface in front of the stairs.

"Sandra, I'm appointing you assistant trainee nurse. Will you be able to help me when I am dealing with Peter's fingers? Of course you can," Sarita's voice dropped apologetically, "Unfortunately, one of the jobs nurses have to do is to clear up after patients. It's an awful start. Could you mop it all up for us, please? I know you can get a couple of towels from upstairs at the bathroom department. Bring them down, wipe it all up and wash out the towels in the wash basins over in the Gents over there."