Page 27 of The Pieces of Us

He grins. ‘I’m afraid not. But I have some very good news for you. I just took a call from the office. The couple who made an offer on your mum’s house have increased it by two and a half grand.’

I start crying, which surprises me as much as him.

‘Cat, wow. Oh God. I’m sorry … are you OK?’

‘Yes,’ I sob. ‘Sorry. I’m fine. That’s brilliant.’

‘I think you’re the first person who’s reacted like that to an extra two and a half grand.’

I laugh through my tears. ‘It’s been a while since I got positive news. Seems I’m not able to handle it very well.’ I unzip my bag to look for a tissue just as he produces a handkerchief from his pocket.

‘It’s clean, I promise.’

I take it gratefully and wipe my eyes. ‘Old school.’

He shrugs. ‘Jeedo always had one in his pocket.’

He doesn’t have to complete the thought.

He doesn’t have to explain why his grandfather no longer carries a cotton handkerchief in his pocket.

Whether it’s because he’s forgotten it used to be important to him, or spends most of his time in pyjamas, or simply lets his nose drip before someone else notices, the detail doesn’t matter.

I know it’s one of the many little things Alzheimer’s has taken from him.

Asim’s handkerchief is pale grey and has a faint floral scent like jasmine. ‘I’ll wash this,’ I tell him.

‘Ah, hold on to it,’ he says. ‘Can I keep you company while you shop?’

It’s busy and we’re blocking access to a display of cut-price cereal. Without further discussion we move up and down the aisles together. I find everything I need for veggie pasta bake; he fills his basket with ready meals and a two-litre bottle of cola.

‘Stop judging me.’ He laughs. ‘I’ve got a freezer full of wholesome home-cooked meals from my mum.’

‘No judgement here. I had stale toast and Nutella for breakfast.’

‘You won’t believe this, but that’s my favourite breakfast.’

‘Washed down with a cold cup of tea?’

‘Cannae beat it.’

‘You’re right,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘We’re almost at the checkout,’ he says. ‘Are you ready for this? Should we warm up first? Do some stretches?’

‘It’s something else,’ I agree, enjoying the easy banter. ‘Nothing faster than the Aldi checkout.’

‘Think they get a bonus if they scan the most items per minute?’

‘We’d better not ask – we’ll slow them down.’

We move forward in the queue and I sneak another look in his basket. ‘So … what’s on the menu tonight? Spag bol or sweet and sour chicken?’

‘Oh, I’ll make a last-minute call on that. I like to live life on the edge, Cat.’

I look ahead again, watching the checkout guy’s rapid scanning technique. I can’t deny that I feel a lot calmer than I did when I first walked into the shop, and I can’t put that entirely down to the increased offer on Minnie’s house. ‘Do you like vegetable pasta bake?’

‘I do.’

‘Well … would you like to come for dinner tonight? Just … you know. A thank you for getting a great offer for Minnie.’

He replies without hesitation. ‘I’d love to. How can I say no to a delicious home-cooked meal that’s not made by my mum?’

‘Hmm. Wait until you’ve tasted it.’

I insist he and his ready meals go through the checkout before me and I do a quick mental rundown of what I need to do to make my home even vaguely presentable for a last-minute, first-time guest. If all else fails, I’ll toss the clutter and laundry into my bedroom.

Or maybe I should leave it where it is to distract him from the bones of the place – the carpet and furniture that are well past their prime.

A claw of anxiety starts to scratch. What did I just do?

‘You look worried again,’ Asim says as he helps me transfer my items back into the trolley to transport to the bagging area. ‘Don’t stress about the windscreen. It’ll get sorted.’

‘I wasn’t even thinking about that,’ I tell him. ‘It’s fine. These things happen to me. Bad luck, I guess.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘What?’

‘That these things just happen to you? Because you’re … what? An unlucky person?’ He follows me to my car.

‘Oh my God. Are you one of those people who thinks you make your own luck? This is a deep conversation to have in the Aldi car park, don’t you think?’

He laughs. ‘Not exactly. But I do think we can do things to try to influence events that are otherwise out of our control. Not windscreen cracks, though.’

I open the boot and start piling the bags in before he can offer to do it for me. ‘Go ahead then. Tell me how to be luckier.’

‘Well, I’m no expert. But I think being more proactive helps. More assertive too. Seize opportunities that present themselves to us. Get to know new people. Set goals, write them down. Believe that you deserve good things to happen to you.’

I close the boot firmly on my shopping and on the notion that any amount of goal-setting could have stopped Minnie getting Alzheimer’s, Ruby getting pregnant, me getting the biggest shock of my life inside an old cardboard box.

Still, maybe there’s something to what Asim says.

Maybe it’s not bad luck – just life. ‘I’ll bear all that in mind,’ I tell him.

‘Thanks for keeping me company in Aldi.’

‘My pleasure,’ he says. ‘And I look forward to vegetable pasta bake. What time do you want me?’

‘Around seven?’

‘I’ll see you then.’ He gives me a salute before he turns and walks away. He has a cute ass, I think, then shake my head to get rid of the thought. It’s just dinner.