But there’s categorically no time for wallowing, not that he’s even convinced that he deserves to wallow.He just needs to get a grip and focus on helping out someone with a genuine need, rather than thinking about his own deeply First World problems.
Plus, going to a supermarket when he’s on vacation in another country is usually his favourite thing to do.There’s nothing quite like finding an exciting new food he doesn’t recognise or something he’s always wanted to try.He’ll never forget buying a durian when he was travelling in the Philippines – a delicious, stinky cheese-fruit.Or all the different flavours of soda he picked up in Japan, though he could do without ever having to drink the jellied one that tasted of grass again.
However, when they arrive at the supermarket, the slightly apocalyptic vibe really throws the joyful escapism off.The car park is fairly empty, but it turns out, so are the shelves inside, and they pass a handful of stressed staff who are basically rearranging the deckchairs at this point.There really isn’t much at all.
Christopher looks at the list on his phone optimistically.‘I’m sure we can getsomeof the things we need, at least?We just have to be creative.’
Nash’s eyes land on a single sad potato in a green plastic crate.‘I didn’t realise your talent extended to creating food out of nothing.’
There’s no other produce hidden in the crates underneath it either.This is really it.It feels wrong to leave the solitary potato behind, so he picks it up and puts it in the trolley.‘I’ll push the cart.’
‘Trolley,’ Christopher corrects.
In the most overexaggerated American-doing-a-cockney accent he can muster, Nash repeats, ‘Trolleyyyy’.
‘I do not sound like that,’ Christopher huffs.
They weave through the aisles, and Nash shivers as they pause by the fridges.The shelves are pretty empty here too.How depressing.Christopher sticks his head all the way into a fridge to grab something from the back, so Nash creeps up behind him and yells, ‘’Ello, sister!’
He hears a satisfying clunk as Christopher knocks his head on the shelf.
‘I’m here to push the trolley.Fancy a cuppa?’
As Christopher stands upright, he spins round to face Nash, wielding a fridge-burned pack of bacon like a weapon.‘Stop that.’
Nash laughs.‘I will not.It’s much too fun to annoy you.’
With a haughty little eye roll, Christopher drops the bacon into the trolley and stalks off ahead in search of the next thing from his list.
‘To be fair, you sound more like a posh Bond villain or Stephen Fry than my terrible attempt, which is probably moreevil CW character that’s going to turn me into a diamond.’
‘I’m sorry, did you say turn you into a diamond?’
‘Yeah.You know, evil English stuff.’
‘I worry about what they’re teaching you over there.’
‘Teaching us?It’s just television.’
‘Preciselymy point.It’s amazing that we supposedly speak the same language and yet sometimes I have not a clue what you’re saying.’
‘Not a single clue,’ Nash replies in his terrible English accent, and when Christopher turns his back, he slyly gives him the finger.
He trails Christopher with the trolley.Slowly, it fills with items from the list, though it’s by no means anywhere nearfull.A packet of skinny-looking sausages that go out of date that day, and some bags of rice and pasta.A box of tea.Nothing looks particularly Christmassy, though given Nash wasn’t planning on doing a whole Christmas dinner situation just for himself, it hardly changes things for him.Plus, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to find some of his favourites here, like the too-sweet almost-candied yams Americans cook, usually for Thanksgiving.It’s been years since he went back to Canada for Christmas.The last time must have been when he was still onParental Units.
The one thing the supermarket does have is cheese.Lots and lots of it, wrapped in brightly coloured wax and some even stacked up and wrapped in cellophane, like an easy cheesy gift.It’s all the fancy cheeseboard stuff, but still, he adds a few things to their cart because there’s no point ignoring the one food that’s available.
‘We could make a fondue?Or twelve,’ Nash suggests, to the back of Christopher’s head.
Christopherharrumphsagain, the sort of overdramatic sound that a Muppet might make, while he glares at his phone.
‘Are we missing lots?’
‘Quite a few things.’Christopher hands him the phone with the list, where he has put a tick emoji next to the few things they do have.That surprises Nash a little; Christopher doesn’t particularly seem like a man who is even aware of the emoji keyboard.He would have thought he’d do a smiley face like old people do, with a colon for eyes, line dash for a nose and a bracket for a smile.
‘I’m worried.There are no ready meals or easy cooking stuff at all, which Myffy needs,’ Christopher says, runninghis hands through his hair.‘And there’s hardly any of the stuff that Shaz wanted for the kids.’
‘Do you need to get those specific ones?Like, does anyone have allergies or anything?’
