Indigo Blue by Cathy Cassidy Page B

at the end of the month, we’re going to be rich .
    They ask Mum to work the morning shift on Saturday, pay day, to cover for a girl who’s off sick. Mum agrees.
    ‘Don’t let them take advantage,’ Ian tells her. ‘Tell them you need Saturdays for your kids.’
    ‘I know, I know,’ Mum says. ‘Next time, I will. Promise.’
    Ian laughs. ‘I know,’ he grins. ‘Heard it all before. I’m working the early shift on Saturday too.’
    Misti and I go to Jane’s on Saturday, and Jane shows us how to make gingerbread. Misti makes gingerbread blobs and gingerbread lumps, and I use a small, sharp knife to cut out a wobbly gingerbread man specially for Mum. We bake them in Jane’s posh oven, watching through the smoked-glass door till they’re just the right shade of golden brown.
    We watch cartoons on Jane’s TV while the cookies cool, then tear open the pack of coloured icing tubes she’s bought to decorate them. I use white icing to pipe collar, cuffs and buttons on my beautiful, wobbly gingerbread man. I use green for his eyes, red for his lips, blue for his belt and shoes. Misti ices her cookies with a frenzy of splotches and swirls, and has to be swabbed down with a warm flannel.
    ‘OK, girls,’ Jane announces after another dose of cartoons. ‘Time to go shopping. Time to meet Anna!’
    The plan is to go get Jane’s shopping and see Mum in action at the checkout, then have lunch at the supermarket cafe.
    We pack the cookies into a tin, strap Misti into the pushchair and set off.
    Jane gets a different kind of shopping from us. She buys wine and profiteroles and ciabatta bread and lots of ready-cooked meals from the freezer cabinet. At 2.25 exactly, we line up at Mum’s checkout.
    ‘Terrible weather for June,’ Mum says as she packs groceries for the woman ahead of us. ‘Rain again. Isn’t it dreadful? Ooh, sweet potatoes – have you tried them before? How do you cook them?’
    She winks at us, handing Jane a plastic sign that says This Till is Now Closed .
    She swishes everything past the scanner neatly, so that the bar codes bleep and the prices flash up. Then she swipes Jane’s credit card through the till, waits for the signature and helps us pack up the shopping.
    ‘Meet you in the cafe, Anna,’ Jane says, steering us away. ‘I’ll just have a coffee, then I have to dash – Bob and I are shopping for a sofa this afternoon.’
    ‘Sure – won’t be five minutes,’ Mum says. ‘I’ll just cash up. I’ve got my shopping already, I just need to pick it up from the office.’
    We order sausage, chips and beans, with strawberry tarts for pudding, and ice-cold milk in big paper cups. Jane pays for everything on her card while I grab cutlery, salt and pepper, tomato sauce.
    ‘Done,’ sighs Mum, slipping into the seat opposite Jane. She dumps three bags of groceries and a vast bag of nappies on to the floor. Not the cheap brand we usually get, I notice. The biggest and best.
    Another bag is topped with a box of warm jam doughnuts. A third holds lemonade, garlic bread, bubble bath, a teen mag for me. Pay-day shopping.
    ‘Boy, did that shift go on forever,’ Mum says. ‘Thank you, Jane, for minding the girls. For everything. You’re the best friend ever.’
    ‘Hey, I thought that was me,’ Ian Turner says, stopping beside our table, a laden tray balancing dangerously in the air. ‘Shove up, Indie.’
    Jane raises her eyebrows and Mum goes slightly pink. ‘You know Ian, don’t you, Jane? I asked him to join us,’ she says.
    ‘Hi there,’ Jane says. ‘Heard lots about you.’
    Ian pulls a terrified face and sits down between me and Misti. Straight away, he tries to nick her sausage. She squeals with delight, and lets Ian feed her forkfuls of banger. In return, she feeds him soggy, sauce-drenched chips.
    ‘Well, anyway, Anna, no hassles about this morning,’ Jane says. ‘Any time.’ She drains her coffee.
    ‘Gotta go now,’ she grins, grabbing her bag and car keys. ‘I have a date