Two Saturdays passed before he could return to the greengrocer’s. She was serving someone at the till. He affected not to notice her and collected his potatoes, onions, carrots…’Hello,’ he said to her, putting his basket down on the slide-out shelf. ‘Yes, I’ve brought my own bags’ and mooched inside his rucksack for the hemp, fair trade sack he used for veg carrying. She started putting the veg and fruit in the bag. ‘Could you leave the tangerines till last?’ he asked her. ‘Sure,’ she said and took them out again. It was only when she got to the two pomegranates that he pounced. ‘And yes, my tutorial..?’ He left the question dangling in the air. He knew he had her.
She looked embarrassed, a little awkward. ‘I’ve been really busy,’ she excused. ‘It’s on the tele. You only have to google it. I’ve seen it done.’ In desperation, she called across the heap of pomegranates to her colleague, ‘Can’t you open a pomegranate and let all the seeds fall out?’ ‘Yes, cut the top off and slice it into quarters.’ ‘But where is the romance in that? The adventure? Do you know where these gorgeous fruits come from? How far they have sailed to land here on your shelf? They deserve more…’ and, at that moment, he dropped his bombshell. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘It’s no matter. I have a Certificate.’ She looked curiously at him. ‘Yes, I’ve given up on ever learning the pomegranate cuts you mentioned and I’ve done a course. Corsaira Nodule One Pomegranate Pipping (Elementary). And it’s cost me 25 dollars.’
He looked at her, smiling. She smiled at him. He felt his power. ‘I’ll bring it in next week to show you,’ he said, picking up his bags and walking out. ‘It may be hand-written…with crayon. Adieu!’ ‘I’ll look forward to it.’