The Fix

23 November, 2009

There is a deal going down.    K. has taken the money and we are waiting for the good stuff to come our way. In the back of the car there is quiet anticipation about the high to come. I watch him in the rear view mirror, only just in sight, he gives the money, takes the packet wrapped in plain paper, and walks back to us.

I want to make it clear that I don’t normally do this sort of thing, especially not with my godchildren. I know what their (earth) mother will say – if she ever finds out. But it’s been a tough wet day and we just need a little pick-me-up. It’s not like we’re going to do this everyday and isn’t it better they experiment under my supervision and safety? I won’t let them get addicted. We were all feeling a bit worn out after a rainy day and football training. K.’s younger brother M., has been wanting to do it for ages, I know, I’ve heard him hinting at it, even in front of his mother. This is part of being a godmother in my opinion – opening them to experiences outside of their normal world. Teaching them how to handle themselves with adult experiences. Sometimes it’s easier if you’re not the parent, you are in a halfway place. Part parent, part friend.

I drive hurriedly through the Saturday traffic back to their empty house. Earth Mother is away for the weekend. The car is filled with voices raised in excitement. We put the packet on the table and K. rips it open. I rummage through the fridge impatiently pushing organic miso aside, then I find it, behind the homegrown, hand-pickled beetroot, that red bottle of tomato delight.   The smell of salt and vinegary chips fills the room.  Our precious golden hoard is divided up enviously and with fast debate.  I squeeze ketchup  on to every plate and we begin to eat. I don’t think I’ve ever seen their mouths working so fast with so little noise coming out. Oh my god, I may find this addictive after all.

I have an 85p chocolate sponge in my bag (hey, just in case of emergency). I open a tetra pack of custard. Earth Mother would be cringing in her yoga pants if she knew. I cut the cake into four and slop on some custard.  Quiet slurps follow – they haven’t been this cute since they were babies, no, since they were sleeping  babies.  I may even stop calling them the “oh-my-god children” if this carries on.  And as if this quiet bliss weren’t enough reward, a ketchpy, chocolatey face looks at me and says, “Auntie H, you’re the best cook in the world”.

2 Responses to “The Fix”

  1. Nydia Says:

    I’m not that much of a online reader to be honest but your blogs really nice, keep it up!
    I’ll go ahead and bookmark your website to come back later on. Many thanks

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