The simplest present remains the best

By Jacqui Wiley

The shopping list in her frail hands, dressed in layers, covered by her threadbare coat and hat, Rosie placed her keys in her pocket.

She pulled the old shopping trolley outside, locking the door. Two weeks of porridge and beans on toast together with lengthy stays in bed were allowing her heat and small luxuries for Christmas.

Her frail legs began their journey to the supermarket. Only online deliveries now and with no computer or knowledge to use one, Rosie was left to shop in the local shop for basic needs.

She shuffled her feet one at a time and pushed against the cold wind, grateful it would be on her back on the way home.

Thoughts of old neighbours, replaced by young families always in a rush filled her mind. She missed her own family.

What had she done wrong, why did they leave? Blinking the tear away she shuffled on.

A journey that took 30 minutes in her youth now took well over an hour.

She needed to rest, the first bench full of men, the second teenagers. A kind young man offered his seat, and she thanked him. She allowed her feet to rest. The warm air in the shopping centre embraced her.

Struggling to get up, she entered the supermarket. The music made her feel sad. Rushing shopping carts kept blocking her as she tried to navigate her way around.

Children’s laughter filled her ears. Her mind went to Anna and Katie, she had failed them. “I’m sorry, please forgive me”, she inwardly whispered.

The tear landed on the multipack she was holding. No singles; all focused on families, too heavy for her to carry.

She no longer had a family. “Why?” her inner voice nagged. Turkeys, hams, too big for one, she settled for beef.

“A nice beef stew” she thought, “I’ll cook it nice and slow when I light the range this evening, I can have a little today, I’ll have delicious, second day stew for Christmas dinner and the leftovers for Stephen’s Day.”

She remembered how Alan loved stew, her husband of more than 40 years.

He had left her too. Picking up a few other bits, just what she could carry in the old trolley she made her way to the till.

“Cash or card?” the lady asked.

“Cash please,” She replied, offering the crumpled notes.

“Loyalty card?”

“What?”

“A card… to get points,” the lady looked at her like she’d landed from another planet.

“Um… no.”

She slowly started packing the heavy items into the bottom of the trolley, to sighs from the lady and the people behind her in the queue.

Gone were the days of assistance. Give your money and get out that was their motto.

Shuffling back to the bench, free now, resting before pulling the trolley home, while switching arms.

Home, coat still on, she faced the elements to bring in turf to light the range.

She woke to the sounds of laughing voices. Feeling warm, with the smell of breakfast filling her nostrils.

Well rested, she flew to the kitchen. They had come home for Christmas. Alan had the ham boiling on the range, the girls ran to hug her.

All was forgiven. Together they laughed, ate, danced and sang. No one spoke of what had happened.

Rosie was enjoying the best Christmas present she was ever gifted.

Had she looked down, she would have seen her body lying by the turf shed.

Jacqui Wiley is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesdays at 11am in the Annebrook House Hotel.