Food Bank

‘Mummy, can we buy one of those food bank bags?’

The mixture of coins in her purse jangled as she moved away from the metal crates. Perhaps when she got paid, she would buy one. Her son was kind, thought of others before himself, even on the day of his fete, he rifled through his old toys, saying he was too old to play with them.  

It had been five years since her husband left them for another life – another wife. Finding out about his double life, from a woman standing at the door, claiming she stole him, the marriage ended overnight.

‘Not tonight love, but if I have any change we will got to the bookshelf on the way out.’

James nodded and took hold of his mummy’s hand.

She picked up the Tesco own brand beans and put three tins in her shopping trolley. Sometimes they had some deals, where she could get good quality meat, but at half the price. It needed to go in the freezer tonight. It was still edible though. All she needed now was some potatoes and they could have a feast.

One of those looks from a passer by and she squeezed her son’s hand a little tighter. Why couldn’t they just mind their own business. He wasn’t running riot, like some of the teenagers screaming in the aisles like seagulls after a bag of chips. She understood it was late; that James should be in bed.

At this time of night, was the time for good deals; she had no choice.

What if a teacher, social worker, took James away from her because she couldn’t afford to feed him properly. Not that he ever went hungry. She could trick her stomach to not want food. If she drank plenty of water, her stomach didn’t feel that empty. His child allowance was his to spend, not hers.

‘Mummy can I have a bag of Haribo?’ he asked, putting a hand to his mouth to stop himself from yawning.

‘I tell you what, put it in the basket, and we will see at the end. Although, look, you can have three packets of sweets for this one small packet. What do you think? I know you like gummy bears. They taste just the same.’

‘I really like Haribo, and I haven’t had them in ages.’

‘Maybe tomorrow; my wages go in and we’ll do another shop.’

She hated letting him down, but that sturdy slab of cheese would last them two weeks If she were careful. Counting in her head, she was able to work out the price, and with her club card points she could take two pounds off her bill.

At the till, she pulled her stomach in, waiting for the shock.

‘That will be eleven pounds, seventy pence. Card or cash?’ the assistant asked.

‘Cash,’ she said.

She ignored the woman behind her at the till, who was tutting at her taking so long. She spread the coins on the metal belt giving the assistant each larger coin, hoping they would be enough. The two pence’s always took a long time to count, especially if she were nervous.

‘About time,’ the woman said.

Almost running from the till, she looked at the spare fifty pence in change. True, it mainly consisted of pennies, but the charity wouldn’t mind that. It was how she brought most of his books. If he read from an early age, perhaps he wouldn’t make the same mistakes she did.

‘Do you want to pick a book for bedtime tonight?’ she asked.

‘Ooh look, there is a Souper Tato book, I really like that one, and look Mummy, it’s your birthday tomorrow, and you could get yourself one.’

‘I could, go on then, you put the money in the jar.’

A pensioner, her hand steady on her walking stick looked inside her purse, only to put it away.

‘I tell you what, do you want this book, I’ve already put some money in the jar. I am sure you will do me the same favour if you see me next week.’

‘Are you . . .’

‘Yes, I have loads of books at home.’

It was a simple gesture but made this old woman smile. They were all in the same place, with prices going up, but to live on her pension must be difficult. The threads on her coat, and the scuff on her shoe, told the same story.

‘I love you Mummy,’ James said.