From “Versus” (a novella-in-progress), by C. Clayton James: Installment No. 6

You working yet, Roy?  Ricky asked softly.  What’s it been now – nine, ten months?

That’s enough, Ricky, my mother said sharply, and everything in the room seemed to pop and deflate.  He’s no work at the minute, she continued, but he does have some good news.  She patted the cushion beside her.  Go on, Roy.  Tell him what you’ve won. 

My father scowled but he did sit down, and to demonstrate our solidarity I left my uncle and went to sit on my father’s knee.

He’s won a three-minute trolley dash at Tesco’s, I informed Ricky. And not the Ballygomartin one, either, but the big, big one out by AbbeyCentre.

            Ricky looked at him skeptically.  You have not.

            He has, I insisted.  And he had to answer six questions to get it, you know, it wasn’t just a lucky draw.

            So what’d they ask you, big fella?

            My father cast him a withering glance.  Local history, he answered stiffly. 

            They asked about Irish place names, didn’t they? my mother prompted.  The streets of West Belfast, that sort of thing.

            He had to say where they come from, I explained.  Like Shankill – that’s Irish for Old Church, isn’t it, Da? 

            You amaze me, Roy, Ricky declared.  When my father failed to acknowledge the compliment he turned to my mother.  So how’s it work? 

            I have no idea.  He’s been very hush-hush about the whole thing.  I wanted to come with a video camera but he says I’m not allowed.  Go on, luv, she coaxed him, holding me hostage.  If you don’t talk I swear I’ll tickle it out of your daughter.  

            My father sighed.  They close the store early, he recited listlessly, and clear everybody out.  You pick a trolley and go to the starting line, they press a buzzer and then you have three minutes to fill it up.  At the end of three minutes the nose of the trolley must be within six inches of the checkout counter or else you’re disqualified.  The cashier rings up the price of the contents, they take a few photos, and your face and total are displayed in the foyer of the store for a month.   

            And you get to keep whatever you grab? 

            More or less.  You can’t have more than two of each item, but that’s the only rule; everything Tesco stocks is fair game. 

Fuck me! Ricky said appreciatively.  If I were you I’d head straight for the drink.

Can you do that, Roy? my mother asked.  Or do you have to go through every aisle?

            My father shook his head.  You can go where you want.

            So what’s your strategy, big lad?

            That, said my father, looking at me, remains to be seen.