Page 61 of Someone Else's Shoes
She takes a deep breath. ‘Okay. Well, I guess I’ll just have beans on toast. I need to eat fast. My blood sugar is way down.’
Nisha feels a sudden stab of discomfort. ‘I – I think I ate the last of the bread.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘And you … didn’t think to go out and buy some more?’
‘I needed a soak in the tub. I had a really bad day. Look, let me get dressed and I’ll get some.’
Jasmine’s look could cut glass. ‘Well, what did Grace eat?’
‘She said she ate at your mom’s.’
‘Mum told me she ate nothing.’
Jasmine closes her eyes, and lets out a sigh. She opens them, moves past Nisha and opens the airing cupboard towedge in a pile of freshly laundered sheets. She stops. ‘Hang on. Who put the immersion heater on?’
‘Me?’ says Nisha.
‘How long has it been on?’
‘I don’t know. A couple of hours? I forget.’
Jasmine slams the illuminated switch off. ‘Jesus. You know how much that thing costs? Girl, you can’t just forget that shit. Oh, my God.’ She slams the door shut and turns on her heel. ‘No food, no hot water and a whacking great electric bill. You think this is a fricking hotel? You think you’re still in the Bentley? Nish, just because you never had to worry about money doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t! You’re just taking the piss now! Jesus!’
She stomps down the corridor to the kitchen, and Nisha is left standing there in the towel.
She dresses, ignoring Grace’s pointed sideways glances as she hauls on the awful trousers and a T-shirt. She lets herself out of the apartment, ignoring the sound of slamming kitchen-cupboard doors, and walks quickly to the twenty-four-hour convenience store ten minutes away, too furious with herself to worry about the cold or the catcalling of the youths on the corner or the guys hanging outside the snooker hall. When she lets herself back in twenty minutes later Jasmine is on the sofa in the living room, eating something that looks like packet noodles from a bowl.
‘Here,’ she says, proffering the grocery bag.
‘What?’ says Jasmine, hauling her attention from the television.
‘Bread, milk, eggs, some chocolate. Look, I’m – I’m sorry.’
Jasmine glances at it. ‘Okay,’ she says, and switches her gaze back to the screen.
‘And here.’
Jasmine sighs as she is forced to look at her again. She glances down at the wad of notes Nisha is holding out. ‘What’s that?’
‘What I owe you. For staying here. I’d give you more but I need to keep some to get my son back.’
‘You owe me what?’
‘Whatever it’s cost you. This last couple of weeks. I’ll pack up and be out of your way in half an hour.’ A weird, unfamiliar lump has risen in her throat.
Jasmine looks at her hand again, then up at her face. ‘Are you nuts?’
‘Well …’ Nisha’s voice is formal, her neck stiff ‘… it’s quite obvious you’ve had enough of me being here.’
Jasmine stares for a moment longer, then pulls a face. ‘Nish. I’m pissed. I was hungry. Yes. But you’re my mate. I’m not going to chuck you out on the street because of some hot water.’ She shakes her head irritably. ‘Sit your arse down, woman. You’re making me uncomfortable.’
Nisha remains standing. ‘But the bread –’
‘Is just bread. You never had nobody get pissed off at you before? It’s obvious you’ve never had to share, okay? You got to think a little before you just do stuff if we’re all in the same space, you know? But don’t get dramatic about it. My God.’
