Bath salts and pantyhose
Tea and scones were a Saturday morning ritual for the three friends. For nearly twenty years they had convened at Edith’s house, always in the same seats at the kitchen table. Pearl would sit with her back to the fireplace, directly across from Rose at whose back was the refrigerator. Edith’s seat gave her quick access to the back door. Friends and family always arrived to the back door, only strangers came to the front.
Edith’s seasoned hands moved with the assurance of an artisan. Flour, butter and milk blurred together in a consistent mass. The dough was separated by instinct into palm-sized dollops, each one the same size, flat on the top and bottom and accurately round.
Steaming scones emerge from the oven, pots of tea appear, vanish and reappear in a quasi mystical manner. All the while Edith would be holding conversation, doing the dishes, and finishing a crossword, without ever seeming to cast an eye over the food preparation.
On cold days, such as this particular Saturday, Pearl would keep the fire going and monitor the clothes and tea towels that invariably hung above the Shacklock cast iron coal range.
Rose would pour, milk and sugar the tea. The she’d start the conversation by saying “Not that it is any of my business, but…”
Usually Saturday morning scones started at nine and went through until eleven. A small sherry and a game of cards followed scones and tea. Rose and Pearl would then leave the table, don waterproof plastic jackets, red for Rose and blue for Pearl, and trundle off to their respective homes for lunch and a wee lie down.
This particular Saturday morning scones started at seven and would only go to eight.
Rose walked down Edith’s concrete driveway. A black bird hopped from leg to leg looking for breakfast amongst the frosted grass that had recently been shorn by one of Edith’s grandsons. A light breeze brought the scent of wood smoke and a phasing sound of children playing across the neighbourhood.
Rose could see her warm breath in the crisp morning air. She humphs and huffs her way up the back door steps repeating a mantra. “English gumboots, sweeties for the grandkids, bath salts and pantyhose. English gumboots, sweeties for the grandkids, bath salts and pantyhose. English gumboots, sweeties for the grandkids, bath salts and pantyhose.”
She let herself in through the back door and took off her hooded, shiny, fire engine red raincoat. She hung it on a hook next to Pearl’s sky blue jacket of the same make.
The jackets had been bought a year ago today, at the Smith and Caughey big mid-winter sale and they had been a bargain. Two of the best buys of the day. Finds to be celebrated.
It was this same mid-winter bonanza that created a ripple in the still pond of predictable routine for the three retirees. Not that any of the ‘old dears’ minded the early start or the shortened scone session. Rather the opposite, Rose was invigorated by the cold morning and eagerly awaited the first cup of tea and mouthful of warm buttery scone.
She opened the kitchen door and stepped through with “It’s only me” and got in return a “Morning” from Edith and a “The ice on the path is just treacherous isn’t it?” from Pearl.
The smell that filled every available space in the kitchen told Rose that the first batch of scones would only be minutes away. Edith’s hands floated above the kitchen bench, filling the kettle, spooning tealeaves into the pot, sitting teacups on saucers and assembling condiments for the table.
Rose took her customary seat, looked across the table to Pearl, and nodded slightly. Pearl smiled back, twisted in her chair, fed the fire and mouthed to herself “Not that it’s any…”
“Not that it’s any of my business, but…” began Rose, “I’ve heard those old biddies from the Freemason’s Retirement Village have rented a van and a driver and will be getting there a full half hour before the doors open”.
Pearl raised her eyebrows, Edith put the tea tray on the table before taking her seat, “And didn’t you say the same thing last year? When we got down there, they where nowhere to be seen.”
“Yes, well,” returned Rose. “I’d still like to get down there half an hour early, you never know who will turn up and you don’t want to miss any of the bargains do you?”
Pearl raised her eyebrows again. It was no secret between them that Edith coveted one of the exact same jackets as Rose and Pearl. Edith had pointed out many times over the year that she shouldn’t have spent so much time digging through the sale bins looking for a pair of navy blue knee socks to match her winter walking shoes.
“After all,” she would say, “everyone knows there is no real advantage to buying run of the mill socks in a twenty to seventy percent off sale. What is twenty percent off a pair of socks worth $8.50 for goodness sake.”
“Off course we’ll be there early” Edith reassured Rose. “The scones will be cool enough to eat in a minute and I’ve ordered the taxi already. Relax.”
Edith’s scones were prize worthy, light and puffy, the right balance of savoury and sweet and always baked to an appealing golden brown. They also had a special something. A secret ingredient that Edith steadfastly refused to admit was ever included in the recipe. Rose and Pearl knew she wasn’t being completely truthful though. The scone dough was made from flour that always came from the blue and white Cornish pot Edith kept on the kitchen bench. Neither Rose or Pearl had ever seen flour going into that pot, only flour coming out.
Rose likes to cut her first scone in half. She spreads butter on both pieces and only puts jam and whipped cream on one of them. She would eat the savoury buttered bit first and then, when that was demolished and washed down with a mouthful of tea, she would start on the jam piece. By now the warm scone had heated the jam and started to melt the whipped cream. “Delicious” Rose complimented Edith.
The yearly sale is famous. It didn’t generate the stampedes or madness of sales in America but it is definitely a feature on the local shopping calendar. Rose, Pearl and Edith waited with quiet patience. They had arrived at the door on Queen Street at twenty past eight and were fourth, fifth and sixth in line. From that point forward the plan was to hold off all comers with their sharp elbows and substantial bottoms.
As they waited they stared into the shop window past a herringbone jacket, labelled with ‘last in stock’. Staff moved around the store, making last minute adjustments to the luxury goods on sale. Preparing for the onslaught of bargain hunting shoppers.
Without taking her eyes off the proceedings Pearl murmured “Nice jacket” which elicited an “Hmmm” from Pearl.
“Oooh I’m busting” Edith looked at her watch. “In all the excitement I forgot to go before we hopped in the taxi. I’m off to the loo at the Aotea Centre. Back in a sec.” She slipped off through the growing crowd and disappeared around the corner.
“Silly chook” Rose said to Pearl “The nearest loo is across the road in the Civic café.”
By 8.55 a thirty strong crowd had gathered at the front doors and Edith still hadn’t returned. Pearl looked at Rose from the corner of her eyes, not wanting to loose focus on the doors. “She’ll miss out on the best stuff again,” she muttered in a stage whisper. “I’m going to get new gumboots, English ones, sweeties for the grandkids, bathsalts and pantyhose”. Pearl went over her shopping list in her head, the Italian pantyhose, Swiss chocolates, and a new silk scarf.
While they stood waiting a shop assistant took the beautiful herringbone jacket from the window display. Both women watched the coat disappear into the store.
There was little ceremony from the shop when the doors eventually opened. The crowd surged through the doors. Rose and Pearl were quickly overtaken by the more nimble and sure footed youngsters in the crowd.
“Blimmin baby boomers. Right, I’m off up a floor to the shoes,” said Rose. “Before the best Wellingtons disappear.”
“English preserves and Swiss chocolate for me, see you back here at eleven.” Pearl walked off into the crowd.
After two steps up the staircase Rose leant on the banister and watched Pearl wend her way into the sale. Rose turned on her heal and stepped back to the ground floor. She reached into her oversized handbag and removed the English Wellingtons she had bought the day before. “It was worth it,” she muttered to herself. Casting a glance at the entrance to see if Edith had arrived, she slunk off, going the long way round to avoid Pearl, squeaking a little in her new strawberry covered gumboots.
Pearl retraced her steps and looked up at the staircase. Rose wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She quickly turned right, grabbed a box of Swiss chocolates. After a quick cash transaction and two melt in the mouth delicacies she took a sharp left and made a beeline for women’s hosiery.
Unknown to the other two Edith had not gone to the toilet. Instead she walked up Wellesley Street, and she hunched over a little. When she reached Elliot Street she began to stagger, and started immediately banging on the door. Before long she was sitting inside drinking a cup of tea provided by the friendly staff who were genuinely concerned for her well-being. Smiling to herself she began slowly unwrapping her purchases that the helpful young assistants had gathered for her from around the shop. Finishing her tea, she stood up, remarkably steady for someone who had recently ‘come over all queer’. There was one more thing she had to get, and she wanted to get it herself.
All three of the septuagenarians had the same thing in mind. They were red, from New Zealand Marino wool, but hand made in Italy and marked down by 40%. The best winter hosiery known to woman, at the best possible price.
There was a scrum of shoppers around the bargain winter wear. Rose lunged for the pantyhose and was knocked aside by a wrinkled hand sealed off by a pearl bracelet. Scowling in recognition she looked up at her friend. While their attention was elsewhere the stockings disappeared. Surprised at the missing bargain Pearl and Rose sneered at each other and set off back into the sale as quickly as they could.
One went left, the other right, but they were both heading for the same destination. Designer silk neck scarves. Reduced to twenty percent of the original price.
They arrived at the same time. Edith stood there already, resplendent in this season’s winter jacket, the Herringbone coat that they had admired in the shop window that morning. She held a French umbrella and a matching shopping trolley. “One hundred and twenty five dollars” she said, stroking the jacket collar. “Down from two hundred and seventy five”. On the top of the trolley sat the red Marino stockings and to add insult to injury she also wore the best of the silk scarves. The only discounted one left.
“Buh, buh, But.” Aghast at this vision of winter sale splendour Pearl was initially lost for words. “You came in through the back door you old cow and that’s where you got the shopping trolley and that umbrella!”
“And you used the umbrella to steal my stockings!” spat Rose.
Pearl was incredulous, “Your stockings?”
She swung her handbag and the impact was enough to knock Edith off her balance and to launch the handbag into the air. Edith stuck out her hand to steady herself and grabbed a display of ‘Fine Fragrances’, which toppled towards her. Realising the potential for impending stink, she sacrificed herself to the fall and pushed the display, trying to balance the perfume stand. Pearl’s flying handbag smacked into Rose’s boots and sprung open, contents exploding to all points of the compass, propelled by the extra bouncy rubber of Rose’s red boots. Clasping a hand to her right eye Rose felt the soft flesh under her eyebrow immediately begin to swell from the impact of a one of the purse projectiles. The expensive scents teetered and fell. The descent seemed to be in slow motion, falling away from Edith and onto the glass and chrome case on which the perfume stood. Designer bottles cracked and shattered. Sprays of cologne covered Pearl as she gaped in horror at the proceedings.
From where she lay Rose looked straight into Pearl’s handbag. Her eye had already begun to swell shut. “Pearl you stroppy bat! You’ve laced your handbag with lead weights.”
Wide eyed in disbelief, Edith pushed herself off Rose’s bespoke English Wellingtons onto her elbows. “Well! Your gumboots are steel capped! That’s why you bought them, it’s not because you have the taste of a farmer’s wife. You both came prepared for a fight!” She seethed and struggled up, using the umbrella to lever herself up. The sharpened tip of her umbrella caught in her new coat, which ripped on the hem as she toppled forward onto Pearl’s scattered chocolates.
The following Saturday the scones arrived at three minutes past nine. The butter, jam and whipped cream were already on the table.
“Perfect as usual Edi,” smiled Pearl.
“You are a wonder,” said Rose as she cut her first scone in half.
Smiling Edith pushed her glasses up her nose and finished the crossword.