Being dragged around Sainsburys was usually a huge bore for Charlotte but standing in front of the mushrooms in the vegetable aisle she’d become transfixed by some dark yellow trumpet like ones. “Hey Mum, we must try these”. “Chanterelles? But you don’t like mushrooms and those one are very mushroomy, even meaty”. “I want to try them; cooked slowly in unsalted butter; then erm, we need some really tasty bread, something, a bit sour”.
Passing by the living room door later that evening she heard her mum on the phone. “You’d think she’d been away on a Gastro Tour not a History trip. Suits us though, we can actually start to eat rich food without her normal sanctimonious nagging. Maybe Tony will start getting home earlier, yeah I know, miracles can happen”.
A slap on the face would have hurt less, then anger, how dare she talk about me to that gossipy airhead Shena, Charmain Evans’ mum. Storming upstairs and into her room, Charlotte went straight to FB. It had been three days since saying Hi to Piotre and out of guilt she’d not checked back in. But now! What was the point of trying to impress her mum when she’d betray her like that!
“Hi to you”
Three syllables, three empowering syllables.
Then, the inner struggle. The anger, the hurt child, wanting to retaliate against her mum verses the computer savvy young adult, knowing the stupidity of allowing a dialog with a stranger, just the kind of idiot thing Charmain would do.
The child won, outright.
“How old are you?”
“Think I’m an idiot, you might be some sick peedo, I’m not telling you anything about myself without seeing your profile”.
Wow, she hadn’t expected that. She was hoping for an elderly survivor of WW2 and had got an angry dork instead.
Scrolling through her play list, nothing caught her eye. She still had some credit so downloaded Chopin sonata no. 2 in b-flat minor, it calmed her. She put it on loop and went to bed.