Bubble and Squeak Fritters

I just wanted to run to Pret for a wrap and a mousse or something and what happens?  Soon as I step out of the door it starts pelting down.  I should have just gone back in, but they’ve got nothing to eat in the canteen (I don’t know what bubble and squeak is, and I don’t want to know). 

Besides I need to get some bits for Jonathan.  My gorgeous little ball of terror.  He’s bound to start coughing, sneezing or both with the weather changing the way it has. 

Think happy warm thoughts.  I’ll get a grande mochaccino, pop the wrap in the microwave and we’ll practice Jonny’s vocabulary tonight. 

Blimey that bloke looks like Matthew Coulty.  Cold Tea we used to call him.  Those were the days, what a blast from the past! Southfields Sixth Form College.  I remember when we… oh no.  It is him.

I haven’t seen him in 10 years.  Has he seen me?  Should I go over there?  He’s looking at men’s toiletries.  I’ve no reason to go over there.  But why not?  I could just say hi.  He’s probably married and all that…….er….oh.

“Hello Rosanna”.

Were his eyes always that deep sexy blue? “Hello Matthew.  How are you?”

“I’m alright.  You?”

“Great.  Do you work near here?”  Of course he does.  Stupid question.  He’s hardly going to get on a bus at lunch time just to buy deodorant is he?

“No actually I work near Cookham St, but there aren’t any shops over there.  I’m away this weekend, I need a few bits”.

“Right”.

“Did you - ?” he went on

“What’s your - ?“ I butted in.

“Go on, sorry”.  I felt like an idiot.

“I was just going to ask whether you went to the funeral?”

“What funeral? Who died?”

“You don’t know? It’s all over Facebook”.

“I don’t use Facebook” I’ve got better things to do.  “Who died?”

“Alex.  Alex Banner.  A blood clot on his lung apparently.  Pumlonary aneurism I think.  Anyway, the poor bugger literally fell over and died in the pub”.

“Pulmonary embolism.  When was the funeral?”

“22nd.  Yesterday”.

My head felt weird.  It was as though Matthew was speaking a different language or something.

“Did he….have any children or anything?”

“No, too much of a playboy.  It was just him and his mum.  I heard she’s having psychiatric treatment.  Not surprising, she was widowed not two years ago and now this”.

Dear God, please no.  “That’s terrible” I think I manage to say.  “I should have kept in touch more”.

“Yeah me too”.  Matthew gave a sigh and looked at his watch.  “I’d better get back.  I have to catch a bus.  Nice to see you, er, sorry about the bad news”.

“No, er, I would never have known otherwise.  Thanks”.

“See ya”.

I’m not sure how (maternal instinct?) but I managed to pick up everything I needed.  Tixylix, Calpol, kids multivitamins, bunion plasters (?) and chewing gum.

I still haven’t got a ……..bloody hell…….I need to go to Pret…….oh God no,….duck wrap……

Alex is dead.  Alex is DEAD.  No, please…I need to…..I hadn’t spoken to him……….

Alex is dead.

“Are you alright?”

For goodness sake, I’m sitting in a puddle.  I must look like a wet Labrador or something.  Get up.

“Yes I’m ok thank you.  I just felt a bit faint”.

Matthew doesn’t know.  No-one does.  Alex is Jonny’s father. 

Was. 

They’ve already buried him. 

Bloody hell.