Game Theory by Barry Jonsberg Page A

twisted in annoyance. I remember praying she wouldn’t smack her child on the back of the leg. She didn’t, but I think it was because she was in a supermarket. There was a guy in a suit on a mobile phone. He kept saying ‘Uh huh’, ‘Yup’, ‘Uh huh’, over and over again while checking out asparagus. They were the only people I remember from that part of the store – the woman with the tattoo, the man in the suit and the broccoli stacker – even though there were probably dozens of shoppers milling about.
    I walked past the bread section. Someone’s voice came over the loudspeaker asking for all available staff to come to checkout. I remember that because I knew we would probably have to join the end of a long queue, even though we’d only have a few itemsin our trolley. The confectionery aisle was three-quarters of the way back to the deli and I got there first. I wasn’t surprised that I’d made it before Phoebe. There were about five people ahead of her in the queue at the deli and she sometimes gets forgotten about, which is not surprising when the assistants can’t see her. It really annoys me when someone who comes after her gets served first, but Phoebe isn’t fussed. She can be very patient when it suits her. I have never been very patient.
    To while away the time I checked out the specials. Turkish Delight were two for two dollars so I picked up a couple and tried to balance them against the mushrooms and the tube of dill. There weren’t many people in the aisle, which was a surprise, given that’s where kids normally congregate. I walked down to the end and looked across to the deli, but it was difficult to see. I wandered back. I considered getting Mum a bar of dark chocolate but thought better of it. Where was Phoebe? I walked back down, but this time I went all the way to the deli. After all, Phoebe had nothing else to buy. Where would she go after buying the salmon except to the chocolate aisle?
    She wasn’t there.
    There were only a couple of people waiting to be served at the deli. An assistant was ladling out a tub of potato salad. I walked up to the counter and gazed along the section that housed the frozen food. She wasn’t there.
    I remember this very clearly. I felt annoyed. It wasn’t unusual for Phoebe to take off by herself in a supermarket. There hadbeen a good number of occasions when I’d had to trek most of the way around the store before I found her. In particular, it used to irritate me that I would spy her going along the central aisle and she wouldn’t spot me at the top end. I could never bring myself to shout out her name. Not in a supermarket. How dumb is that? So I’d feel like some dickhead in a sad comedy, tailing her across the aisles, trying to get her attention.
    Maybe she had gone to the fruit and veg to find me.
    She wasn’t there.
    I walked along the central aisle and glanced up and down each row. Twelve rows, bisected by the central aisle, making twenty-four possible locations to check. Less than a four per cent chance that she’d be in any one at any particular time, given that there are other supermarket areas like the bread and vegetable sections that are not part of an aisle. But the odds would increase exponentially after each Phoebe-less row.
    I reached the end. Nothing.
    Let me be clear. I was a long way from panicking. This had happened before as well. And the supermarket was busy. It was distinctly possible that I had missed her in the throng. So I retraced my steps. When I got back to the veg area I was feeling . . . well, this is difficult. I distinctly remember the panic that swamped me, but I can’t exactly remember when it kicked in. It wasn’t then. I think it came later, maybe when I found the trolley. If I was feeling anything other than that vague sense of irritation, it was probably confusion. How could I have missed her? Phoebe wasnot the kind of kid who would pull a practical joke. She wouldn’t deliberately hide from me. She had