It must drive him to distraction, bleeping all day like that. He smiled cautiously at me.
I took a basket and got some milk, Earl Grey tea bags and a lemon to slice, in case Raymond preferred his tea that way.
I spent a considerable amount of time in the aisles, somewhat overwhelmed by the choice.
In the end, I plumped for Garibaldi biscuits, throwing in a packet of pink wafers too—
apparently, it’s nice to offer guests an option.
I wondered if Raymond might prefer something savory, and so I got some cream crackers and a packet of cheese slices.
All bases covered.
I stood in line with my basket, not eavesdropping but nonetheless forced to overhear the conversation
of the couple in front of me as we waited our turn.
Eventually, I felt compelled to intervene and provide assistance. “It’s ‘tagine’,” I said.
No reply. I sighed, and leaned forward again. “Tagine,” I repeated,
speaking slowly and clearly and, I thought, in a passable French accent.
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