Mrs Whippy Read Free

young woman. I handed my independence and life to him on a silver plate. He took it and feasted on them.
    I got a part-time job in the local supermarket, packing bags at the till. I could work from eight thirty to two o’clock, two days a week, and a full day on Saturday. I thought it sounded reasonable and that I could cope with it. It meant that I could still collect Mark from school. Brian and Vincent had long stopped wanting to be seen with me in public.
    The supermarket was very handy, as it was only ten minutes’ walk from the house. But I was feeling very nervous that first morning as I got ready to go to work. I had never worked outside the home. Ever. I met Charlie when I was still in school. We got married as soon as I left. We had children and Charlie felt it was best that I stay home with them.
    My first day of work felt like my first day at school. I was going into an unknown environment. I would be surrounded by people I had never met. It was all very new to me.
    After the ten-minute walk to the supermarket I was already panting. I was aware I was putting on weight, but I didn’t care. Eating ice-cream in the evenings was my only comfort.
    They put me to work at a till and, my God, was it busy. I would barely have the first bag open when I would be faced with a pile of groceries. They all moved so quickly off the conveyor belt and gathered at the end of the till. I found it so difficult to keep up. I was sweating after fifteen minutes. The customers just kept on coming.
    From the corner of my eye, I could see the supervisor, half my age, keeping her eye on me. Every now and then she would make me takeeverything out of the bag and start again. Apparently I was mixing dairy with raw meats and squashing fruit with tins. I could barely concentrate on what I was doing. Everything was being fired at me so quickly. All the groceries blended into one and became a blur in my eyes. When I got my first fifteen-minute break, I had never been so pleased to finish anything in my life.
    I went into the staff room feeling tired, hot and sweaty. I was greeted by a few giggles. All the other bag-packers were less than half my age.
    â€œYou’re Mrs O’Grady, aren’t you?” one spotty-looking teen said.
    â€œI am,” I said politely and pointed to my badge proudly. “Emelda.”
    â€œI told you, Jenny,” he sneered and they all laughed.
    I looked around the room to the girl he referred to as Jenny. I noticed her face was bright red.
    â€œScarlet,” she said, trying to cover her face with the collar of her polo shirt.
    â€œDo I know you?” I asked her politely, looking around the small kitchen for a chair. My feet were swollen and sore, as I had been standing for hours. All the seats had been taken. I could once again hear my mother’s voice in my head, giving out about the youth not offering up their seats to their elders.
    I flinched with pain as I shifted my weight from foot to foot.
    Jenny rolled her eyes and looked away, her face becoming even redder. The crowd all jeered her.
    â€œNo one’s going to tell me?” I asked, still polite but feeling a little embarrassed now.
    They all laughed and continued talking among themselves. Someflicked through magazines, ignoring me. I looked around and spotted a kettle. I filled it with water and flicked the switch. I was absolutely dying for a cup of tea. My arms were sore from the constant movement of packing. I hadn’t had that much exercise for years. Leaning against the counter for support, I looked longingly at the chairs. I hoped someone would leave so I could take their seat before I passed out.
    Finally the teenagers looked at their watches and began to file out one by one. I spooned sugar into my tea, added a drop of milk and sat down at the table.
    â€œOooh,” I couldn’t help but say as the pain disappeared from my feet. I kicked off my shoes and relaxation swept over my body. I took a sip of