his way up to bed on his own. Sometimes they would argue downstairs, loud enough for both sisters to hear, sometimes they would make love, and sometimes they seemed to sit in silence.
Michelle would always check on Amanda before she herself went to bed, something that a lifetime ago, Claire would do with all the girls at night.
It was hard to imagine that a month or so before, the family was full of happiness and love, jokes and laughter. When Samantha lost her life in that lake, she took the life of her family with her.
Every so often, laying in the darkness all alone at night, unable to sleep with random morbid thoughts popping in and out of her head, Amanda would remember that she hadn’t cried over the death of her sister, and out of guilt, would dig her nails into her thighs in an effort to punish herself, hoping to force out the tears that she felt were the least she owed the world.
But she never cried, like she was dry inside, as if she was empty of real emotion.
A satirical story, ‘Extremely England’ by Jams N. Roses is a naughty novella full of farcical fun.
1
Typically, only two of the ten checkout tills were actually open.
Working away, using the term loosely, on till number two was an elderly Asian lady, Aighar. She slowly moved food products from one side of the scanner to the other, taking a long, hard look at each item as she did so, as if searching for ideas for tonight’s tea or taking a disapproving interest in the low number of calories that the unmarried, female customer would be consuming over the next week or so.
Aighar knew the customer was unmarried, as she only bought salads and tofu and other bizarre foods that wouldn’t satisfy a man or interest children, which also indicated to the observant old lady that the woman who stood before her, trying her best to remain patient, was a lesbian. What other possible explanation for being single with no kids when over the age of twenty five?
Everyone who shopped at Waitlong’s hated shopping at Waitlong’s.
For some unknown reason, every evening, Aighar was one of the staff selected to work at the checkouts, even though it was obvious to everyone she should be home resting, being looked after by one of her many children and putting the world to rights whilst shouting obscenities at the television.
But worse than Aighar, was Steve.
Steve was up on checkout number ten, as far from Aighar as possible, as they couldn’t get on due to their conflicting views on a recent law being passed. It was the one that fuelled homophobic adults into complaining continuously over something that didn’t have any consequence to them at all, at the time and cost of all those around them.
He was on the checkout that had a sign hung above that declared a maximum of ten items only were permitted by each customer, and unfortunately for his current customer, Joe, Steve stuck to this rule like hot chewing gum to the backside of your favourite trousers.
Joe tapped his fingers impatiently on the side of the checkout, checking his watch and mentally urging the unhappy worker who scanned his goods to get a wiggle on.
But there was a problem.
Steve had a packet of burger buns in his hand and saw that they, the customer’s tenth item, weren’t the last items before the next customer’s on the conveyor belt. There was another packet of burger buns, which meant Joe had clearly ignored the rule of ten items or less.
Their eyes met, and on the surface, Joe wasn’t exactly sure what the holdup was, until Steve raised a finger and pointed to the sign above them.
‘That makes eleven,’ said Steve.
‘Sorry, mate?’ replied Joe, playing dumb.
Steve pointed again, stretching his arm out and nearly touching the sign with the tip of a chewed fingernail in order to save from any further confusion.
Joe looked up at the sign, sighed, and returned his tired gaze back to the ‘jobs worth’ that’d caught him out.
‘Just scan ’em.’
‘It’s against the rules.’
‘You’re kidding? Look…’ said Joe, glancing back at the growing queue behind him, all eager for the dispute to be resolved swiftly, ‘there are two packets of buns, it’s the same bloody thing, so it’s still only ten items.’
Steve sat up straight on his chair. He’s not one to be intimidated, especially by someone who clearly disrespected the important rules throughout the land’s supermarkets that helped to make weekly food shopping such an enjoyable experience.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Steve, ‘you broke the rules!’
He reached for the bananas, burgers and other items he had already scanned for Joe, and pushed them into a basket on the floor behind his checkout; he had been prepared, people were always trying to smuggle through an extra unit or two.
‘Now you aren’t having anything,’ he said.
Joe eyed his shopping disappear behind the countertop, and turned to see the all-of-a-suddenly more interested eyes of the crowd of consumers behind him. Was he being bullied by a shop worker? Being belittled by a shelf-stacking, food-scanner, abusing his till powers out of anger and sadness from the underachievement of his own life?
‘Oh, up yours, Steve,’ said Joe, reading from his new enemy’s name tag.
Joe wasn’t one to be bullied, and picked up the solitary packet of burger buns, the eleventh product, and swung them hard at the side of Steve’s head.
Burger buns flew everywhere as Steve fell to the floor, unconscious behind the till. The crowd gasped, a couple of people clapped, one laughed but the others held their breath, they had seen who stood in the queue.
‘Stop, police!’
The waiting customers stepped to the side as England’s finest copper, Bobby Saint, ran towards Joe, his giant afro bobbing side to side, taking off his raincoat and revealing his police uniform as he did ran.
Joe recognized the celebrated policeman instantly and grabbed a couple of loose buns to throw at Bobby as he retreated towards the exit, but he didn’t get far before being caught up.
Food went flying as Bobby and Joe wrestled next to the counter, then on the counter, and then over the other side of the checkout. Joe wasn’t about to be arrested that easily, and tried allsorts to get away, then other brands of confectionaries.
Joe’s eyes lit up with panic as Bobby held him steady with one hand, and gripped a can of pepper spray in the other.
‘You asked for it,’ said Bobby, before pushing down the top of the small canister to release the disorientating spray, only to find he had hadn’t aimed the little hole at his aggressor. The spray hit Bobby on the forehead and began dribbling down around his eyes.
‘Aaaggh!’
Joe seized the opportunity to escape, but slipped on the bananas that were on the floor (yeah, I know) and fell against the side of an abandoned shopping trolley. Bobby ran at him and hit him hard in the ribs with his shoulder.
Both not at their best, Joe winded and Bobby half blind, the struggle really did look quite pathetic, and the security worker who watched the episode unfold through the security camera made a mental note that a copy would have to be made and put onto You Tube at the earliest convenience.
