Page 7 of It Happened on Christmas Eve
‘Fine. But thirty minutes is all I have to spare and then and I’m bringing you back to your house.’
‘Hurrah! Thirty minutes is all I need.’
* * *
Thirty minutes was not all he needed.
We’ve been in Hatchett’s pharmacy for fifty minutes already, and Adam has only sniffed half of the perfumes in here in an attempt to find the perfect one for Marcy. I have already told him that she wears Chanel No. 5 and nothing else, but Adam reckons it’s time for her to wear something new. He doesn’t even want to use those little paper smelling sticks the assistant keeps giving to us. No. He wants to spray the perfume into the air and then have me roll him into the cloud of scent so that he can consider its merits and disadvantages. God knows what the pair of us smell like. I tried to widen my eyes at the pharmacist to try to get her to hurry him along – the place is heaving with people picking up last minute prescriptions and gifts, but she ignores my looks and seems genuinely happy to help. She’s practically swooning over Adam’s assessment of each perfume.
I gaze out of the glass windows into the street. The sky is starting to turn dusky dove grey which means that all of the colourful flashing fairy lights are being switched on. Ugh. Now I’m going to have to walk home past everyone’s twinkling windows and smug trees and tacky light up ornaments.
‘This one has a cool name,’ Adam says, picking up a bottle of perfume called Bondage. It’s in a black leather phallic shaped bottle. ‘But hardly appropriate for mum.’
‘No.’ I agree. ‘Definitely not Marcy’s style.’
‘Shall we smell it anyway?’
Adam doesn’t wait for my answer before liberally spritzing the perfume into the air and frantically gesturing for me to roll him into it.
‘Yikes,’ he says after taking a big whiff.
Yikes indeed. This perfume smells like a pair of worn leather undies that have been sitting in the sun all day. And now we are both covered in it. I sniff my arm. I smell horrible.
‘Enough!’ I grumble, coughing and spluttering over the disgusting fragrance. Argh! The scent seems to be getting stronger and stronger with each passing moment. ‘We’ll take a bottle of Chanel Number 5 please.’ I say firmly to the assistant.
‘But we still have more to test!’
‘I smell like an overworked, over-heated gimp, the fairy lights are starting to come on outside and I just want to go home and eat my noodles. Now give me your wallet.’
‘Home for noodles?Thoseare your plans?’ he asks, a look of disbelief on his face.
I huff and ignore the question. ‘Just give me your wallet so I can pay and we can get out of here.’
‘She’s mean isn’t she?’ Adam says to the assistant who practically wobbles with horn for him.
‘Wallet.’
Adam ignores me, smiling at the assistant in a way that makes her pupils dilate.
‘Fine!’ I reach down into his leather jacket pocket for a wallet. Nothing. He then gives me the same smile he gave to the assistant and though I admit it is a little disarming, mostly because it’s so intense, it does nothing for me in the swimsuit area. He raises an eyebrow cockily. He thinks I won't dig into his jeans pocket for the wallet? Ha! He doesn’t know me. Marcy once dropped her bracelet down the loo and I retrieved it for her, no problemo. I have zero fear. Hardcore bitch, remember? I reach my hand into Adam’s jeans pocket and he jumps in shock. I pull out his leather wallet.
‘Ha!’ I cry, holding it aloft triumphantly before pulling out a bunch of notes and handing them over to the assistant.
‘Hey! That’s stealing!’ Adam lifts his bum off the wheelchair slightly.
‘You don’t want to buy the perfume?’ I ask. ‘Marcy will be so disappointed, not having a gift from her only son.’
Adam sighs, defeated.
‘Look, she really loves this stuff.’ I say more kindly. ‘She’ll be happy.’
‘Are you two together?’ The assistant asks, looking between us with more surprise than I’m comfortable with.
‘Definitely not!’ I say, wrinkling my nose.
The assistant, a woman seemingly without shame, wordlessly scribbles her phone number on a post-it note and hands it over to Adam, with a meaningful raise of her eyebrows. He takes the post it and puts it his pocket, patting it twice.
‘Ugh!’ I mutter, as we leave the chemist. Broken heart my bruised ass.
