Her lips press together, forming a thin line, and her nostrils flare, so I flash a wide smile in return. The woman behind the till lends me a sideways glance, glares at my growing line of groceries and gives a condemning shake of the head. I lay my basket on the conveyor, then shrug my jacket off, hanging it over the crook of my arm as I begin unpacking my basket. Christ, do they have some form of heating on? It’s only autumn, not winter. Heat flushes my cheeks it’s really warm in here. I hope the little girl was safely reunited with her mum. With confidence, I join the line and position my basket so it’s not so obvious I have at least twenty things.Īs I move forward, my gaze wanders to the customer service desk. I’ve only got one basket it’s overflowing, but I should be able to get away with the aisle for ten items or less. I give an exasperated sigh and scan the tills for any potential gaps.
Shuffling through the tightly lined-up customers, garnering tuts along the way, I head to the self-checkout only to be faced with a line snaking around towards the exit. Just when I think I’ll be done and home within the next half-hour, I clock the queues. The desire to get back home and immerse myself in my Instagram life is enough to propel me around the store, popping the dinner items in my basket with speed. I pick up the shopping where I left off, but the conversation with Jamie is, for now, lost. My basket is still where I abandoned it, the avocado the lone occupant. Engaging with my audience is a key attribute for a successful account, and sharing my IVF journey with them, the struggles, the highs and lows, is what keeps them interested and helps them and me to navigate this sometimes traumatic procedure. It’s been two days since I updated my grid and my followers will be eager to learn what I’ve been up to. Going to post on my Instagram page later. My mind, though, drifts instead to what I’m Now I can get on with my shopping in peace and finish the conversation I was having in my head. I’m so pleased to have handed her to a member of staff. I wipe my damp hands down the legs of my skinny white jeans. I leave the crying girl with the customer service assistant and immediately my stomach unknots, relief flooding my body. ‘This little girl’s become separated from her mother,’ I say when I reach the counter, beads of sweat prickling my forehead. I feel my face burn and I mumble, ‘She’s lost’ as we pass by, just to make sure they know I’m helping. Other shoppers stare at me as I pull the girl through them, half-dragging her up the aisle, her cries rising in pitch. The child and mother will be reunited within minutes. I’ll head straight to the customer services desk, and they’ll put out an announcement. ‘I’ll help you find your mummy,’ I say, softly, and hold out my hand for her to take.
How can a simple act of kindness, concern for a child’s welfare, be misconstrued?ĭon’t be so silly, Erica – just do something. A griping pain in my stomach steals my breath I gasp, struggling to regain my composure. They might think I’m trying to harm her, or worse, abduct her.īut I can’t leave her like this, she needs me. Should I walk away? I’m clearly distressing her further and, in a minute, everyone will be staring at me and assuming I’m the one causing the girl’s distress. The child’s wailing increases, and my heart rate picks up. ‘It’s okay, shush, shush,’ I say, frantically casting my eyes around the store for a member of staff. Can’t you find your mummy?’ I bend down to be on a level with the girl. She’s wearing a pink coat buttoned up high, with a belt fastened tightly around her middle – the poor thing looks like she’s parcelled up ready to be shipped off somewhere. I place the avocado in my shopping basket and look around to see a little girl, about four years old, her tearstained face red and bloated. How am I going to be able to say this to Jamie’s face? Now I’ll have to start over it’s the fifth false start.
#Hey sweetie cookies how to#
I pick up an avocado, twisting it in my hand and pressing my thumb against the green, bumpy skin.Įven you have to admit defeat, surely? Sometimes it’s not about staying together, it’s about how to part amicably.Ī child’s crying pierces through my mind – interrupting the conversation I’m attempting to plan. We’ve done everything in our power to keep going, keep trying. We love each other, but it’s not enough anymore, is it.
0 kommentar(er)
