Professionally Compatible
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: None.
Description: The truth is out there.
Swearwords: None.
Description: The truth is out there.
I had the kids, my nieces, Ems and Gems, which suited me because the alternative was being dragged out shopping. To be absolutely fair the wife and her sister were secretly shopping for my fortieth birthday surprise, the girls told me, so I probably wouldn't have been invited along anyway.
Everyone knew I didn't want a party for the simple fact that I can't stand the shit music deejays play at such gatherings. I tend to slope out to the public bar as soon as crap like Michael Jackson or those Spice Girls start up with their screeching, happy to be labelled a miserable sod for that. I'm a snob when it comes to music and I don't care who knows it.
Anyway, I'm happy to have the kids for company. Ems is ten and Gems is eight and they're the brightest buttons you could ever wish to spend time with, but it wasn't always so. When they were babies I didn't want to be anywhere near them, couldn't understand the fuss at all. Don't get me wrong, I fully get it that all that billing and cooing is part of their introduction to the world around them but could never bring myself to join in with it. I'm sure fear was a factor, fear of breaking them or dropping them or saying or doing the wrong thing; I'll hold my hand up to that. A different story once they started running around and asking questions, exercising their inbuilt curiosity, that's when I sat up and took notice; surprising the wife and her sister and everyone else in the surround; even the kids, and of course myself.
So, it's a dull, looks-like-rain Saturday afternoon and I've already been soundly thrashed at Scrabble. I deliberately stick to three or four letter words to encourage higher scores from them but they're so sharp I'm seriously thinking of reverting back to my best game in the near future. They like my music so that's not a problem and the telly might as well not be in the room for that fact. Very often they go home singing the lyrics to a Paul Kelly song, being careful to omit any naughty words he might come out with and Mags, their mother, doesn't get it that they're not into the same stuff as their peers at school. Kelly's songs are all clever and catchy and easy to memorise, which isn't difficult considering how often I air them. There are others of course but he's a big favourite with them.
Speaking of favourites, they tell me I'm their favourite uncle. It's not as if they have a lot to choose from since their uncle from their father's side has a brood of his own to keep him occupied, plus the fact that he lives in Cumbria and seldom visits. They know my name, always have done but insist on calling me 'Unc'. I'm happy to answer to that.
Of the two, Gems is perhaps the most forthright so I wasn't in the least surprised when she put the question to me after carefully restoring the Scrabble to its box.
“Unc?”
“Yes, Gems?”
“Mum says it's funny how you and aunty Gems met?” She's named after the wife.
“She did? What else did she say?”
“That's it. Just that it was funny how you met.” I could sense she wanted me to fill in the blanks, her sister too. They wanted a story.
“Well,” I said, making a show of checking my watch against the time on the wall clock. “I'm not sure we have the time.”
“Awww,” they chimed together, “you know they're going to be ages yet.”
“Ok,” I said secretively, “but it doesn't go beyond these four walls. Deal?”
“Deal,” they agreed together, but I could tell they had their fingers crossed behind their backs. I slant the mirror behind them when I know they're coming so I can help them win at cards or Scrabble or whatever.
“There must have been a convention …...... ”
“ ….... Convention?”
“A big meeting for delegates of some company or other …...... ”
“ ….... Delegates?”
Cue long, drawn out sigh. “Representatives. Look! You know the sketch. Get your pencil and pad back out of the drawer, Ems, or we'll be here all day. Write down any words you're unsure of and we'll bat them around when I've done telling you.”
“Ok, Unc. Keep your hair on.”
“He hasn't got any, Ems.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry Unc, hehe.”
“Right. Where was I?”
“Delegates.”
“Right, yes. We were upstairs in Portobello's and it was busier than usual, full of oil men so tables were at a premium. Your aunty Gem was three or four ahead of me in the self-service queue but I only had eyes for what was on offer. I'd been to the pub for a couple of pints after work and I was ravenous. With the oil men being there they'd run out of macaroni cheese so …..... ”
“ …......... Wait ….. wait. Arabs don't eat macaroni cheese, Unc.”
“Who said anything about Arabs?”
“Oil men. You said oil men.”
“Olive Oil. Sorry, they were all Italian. That's why they gathered at Portobello's and that's why the place was so busy. Now, would you like me to continue or shall we make a start on our tea?”
“Continue.”
“So, there weren't many spare seats to be had. I saw your aunty Gems parking herself at a little table for two which had just been vacated and told big Sadie, the server, she would find me there when more macaroni cheese came up from the kitchen. They were good at clearing tables and wiping them down so when I got there and asked aunty Gems was anyone sitting there it was as clean as a new pin. Gems indicated that the chair opposite her was indeed free so I plonked myself down, then got back up and brought us some cutlery.”
“ 'You are eating I take it?' I asked.
'Yes,' she replied. A little startled, I thought. 'Oh, thanks for that. I forgot to get cutlery.'
'My pleasure entirely. Did you order the macaroni too?'
'Yes. It's not usually so busy at this time of the evening.'
'Looks like there's a big convention on.'
'I think you're right, yes.'
“During the next five minutes or so we found we liked the same music, the same films, walking the prom in winter and that we shared the same hairdresser …........ ”
“ …....... You don't have any hair, Unc,” interrupted Ems.
“I did back then. Anyway, it also turned out that we both knew big Sadie too since we both thanked her by name when she brought a tray with our food. Gems had macaroni cheese same as me but I had ordered chips and a plate of garlic bread because I was starving hungry.”
“ 'You'd better help yourself to a couple of slices of that,' I told her, jabbing towards the garlic bread with my knife.
'Why?'
'Because I might want to kiss you later.'
'You're a fast worker,' she laughed.
'I'm an even faster eater,' I told her, 'so if you want some you'd better grab it now ….... ' ”
“Did she eat it?” Asked Gems.
“She ate more than me so she must have been hungrier than she thought she was.”
“So what happened then?”
“Well. She looked at her watch and said she had to go to work. I asked where she worked and she told me she was a nurse. That's when I let her know that we were professionally compatible …....”
“ …...Compatible?”
“Complimentary, our professions ran hand in hand.”
“ 'How so?' she asked. Obviously interested.
'I'm a perennial patient,' I told her.
' Ah!' she said. 'A hypochondriac'. She laughed that lovely laugh of hers and that, as they say, was that. She wrote her phone number down on a napkin for me and ran off to work her shift.”
“Why did you make her eat the garlic bread?” asked Gems.
“Because garlic stays on your breath for hours after eating it and I really did want to kiss her.”
“Per ….. peren …....?”
“ …..Perennial hypochondriac?” I interrupted. “That's someone who's always ill, or at least is convinced he is. A professional patient of sorts.”
The girls looked at each other, took a moment to confer telepathically like they often do then shook their heads to the negative.
“No, Unc,” said Ems, “we don't believe that's how you met.”
“I'll just have to prove it somehow,” I told them. “Now. What do we fancy to eat?”
“Tomato soup,” they chimed.
“Right. Ems, set the table please. Gems, grate some cheese.” We don't like eating tomato soup without grated cheese since we holidayed in Marmaris and that's how it was served up to us. I found some garlic bread in the freezer and banged it in the oven while Ems set up another playlist on the laptop.
The girls were cleaning up after tea and I was doing my crossword when the ladies came back from their shopping trip. They immediately ran to greet and kiss them to which their mum stepped back and said, “Ugh. You've been eating garlic bread, haven't you?”
The girls threw me a look and I threw back a wink, mouthing the words, 'I told you so'. That's when they spotted the dreamy look on their aunty Gem's face.
Everyone knew I didn't want a party for the simple fact that I can't stand the shit music deejays play at such gatherings. I tend to slope out to the public bar as soon as crap like Michael Jackson or those Spice Girls start up with their screeching, happy to be labelled a miserable sod for that. I'm a snob when it comes to music and I don't care who knows it.
Anyway, I'm happy to have the kids for company. Ems is ten and Gems is eight and they're the brightest buttons you could ever wish to spend time with, but it wasn't always so. When they were babies I didn't want to be anywhere near them, couldn't understand the fuss at all. Don't get me wrong, I fully get it that all that billing and cooing is part of their introduction to the world around them but could never bring myself to join in with it. I'm sure fear was a factor, fear of breaking them or dropping them or saying or doing the wrong thing; I'll hold my hand up to that. A different story once they started running around and asking questions, exercising their inbuilt curiosity, that's when I sat up and took notice; surprising the wife and her sister and everyone else in the surround; even the kids, and of course myself.
So, it's a dull, looks-like-rain Saturday afternoon and I've already been soundly thrashed at Scrabble. I deliberately stick to three or four letter words to encourage higher scores from them but they're so sharp I'm seriously thinking of reverting back to my best game in the near future. They like my music so that's not a problem and the telly might as well not be in the room for that fact. Very often they go home singing the lyrics to a Paul Kelly song, being careful to omit any naughty words he might come out with and Mags, their mother, doesn't get it that they're not into the same stuff as their peers at school. Kelly's songs are all clever and catchy and easy to memorise, which isn't difficult considering how often I air them. There are others of course but he's a big favourite with them.
Speaking of favourites, they tell me I'm their favourite uncle. It's not as if they have a lot to choose from since their uncle from their father's side has a brood of his own to keep him occupied, plus the fact that he lives in Cumbria and seldom visits. They know my name, always have done but insist on calling me 'Unc'. I'm happy to answer to that.
Of the two, Gems is perhaps the most forthright so I wasn't in the least surprised when she put the question to me after carefully restoring the Scrabble to its box.
“Unc?”
“Yes, Gems?”
“Mum says it's funny how you and aunty Gems met?” She's named after the wife.
“She did? What else did she say?”
“That's it. Just that it was funny how you met.” I could sense she wanted me to fill in the blanks, her sister too. They wanted a story.
“Well,” I said, making a show of checking my watch against the time on the wall clock. “I'm not sure we have the time.”
“Awww,” they chimed together, “you know they're going to be ages yet.”
“Ok,” I said secretively, “but it doesn't go beyond these four walls. Deal?”
“Deal,” they agreed together, but I could tell they had their fingers crossed behind their backs. I slant the mirror behind them when I know they're coming so I can help them win at cards or Scrabble or whatever.
“There must have been a convention …...... ”
“ ….... Convention?”
“A big meeting for delegates of some company or other …...... ”
“ ….... Delegates?”
Cue long, drawn out sigh. “Representatives. Look! You know the sketch. Get your pencil and pad back out of the drawer, Ems, or we'll be here all day. Write down any words you're unsure of and we'll bat them around when I've done telling you.”
“Ok, Unc. Keep your hair on.”
“He hasn't got any, Ems.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry Unc, hehe.”
“Right. Where was I?”
“Delegates.”
“Right, yes. We were upstairs in Portobello's and it was busier than usual, full of oil men so tables were at a premium. Your aunty Gem was three or four ahead of me in the self-service queue but I only had eyes for what was on offer. I'd been to the pub for a couple of pints after work and I was ravenous. With the oil men being there they'd run out of macaroni cheese so …..... ”
“ …......... Wait ….. wait. Arabs don't eat macaroni cheese, Unc.”
“Who said anything about Arabs?”
“Oil men. You said oil men.”
“Olive Oil. Sorry, they were all Italian. That's why they gathered at Portobello's and that's why the place was so busy. Now, would you like me to continue or shall we make a start on our tea?”
“Continue.”
“So, there weren't many spare seats to be had. I saw your aunty Gems parking herself at a little table for two which had just been vacated and told big Sadie, the server, she would find me there when more macaroni cheese came up from the kitchen. They were good at clearing tables and wiping them down so when I got there and asked aunty Gems was anyone sitting there it was as clean as a new pin. Gems indicated that the chair opposite her was indeed free so I plonked myself down, then got back up and brought us some cutlery.”
“ 'You are eating I take it?' I asked.
'Yes,' she replied. A little startled, I thought. 'Oh, thanks for that. I forgot to get cutlery.'
'My pleasure entirely. Did you order the macaroni too?'
'Yes. It's not usually so busy at this time of the evening.'
'Looks like there's a big convention on.'
'I think you're right, yes.'
“During the next five minutes or so we found we liked the same music, the same films, walking the prom in winter and that we shared the same hairdresser …........ ”
“ …....... You don't have any hair, Unc,” interrupted Ems.
“I did back then. Anyway, it also turned out that we both knew big Sadie too since we both thanked her by name when she brought a tray with our food. Gems had macaroni cheese same as me but I had ordered chips and a plate of garlic bread because I was starving hungry.”
“ 'You'd better help yourself to a couple of slices of that,' I told her, jabbing towards the garlic bread with my knife.
'Why?'
'Because I might want to kiss you later.'
'You're a fast worker,' she laughed.
'I'm an even faster eater,' I told her, 'so if you want some you'd better grab it now ….... ' ”
“Did she eat it?” Asked Gems.
“She ate more than me so she must have been hungrier than she thought she was.”
“So what happened then?”
“Well. She looked at her watch and said she had to go to work. I asked where she worked and she told me she was a nurse. That's when I let her know that we were professionally compatible …....”
“ …...Compatible?”
“Complimentary, our professions ran hand in hand.”
“ 'How so?' she asked. Obviously interested.
'I'm a perennial patient,' I told her.
' Ah!' she said. 'A hypochondriac'. She laughed that lovely laugh of hers and that, as they say, was that. She wrote her phone number down on a napkin for me and ran off to work her shift.”
“Why did you make her eat the garlic bread?” asked Gems.
“Because garlic stays on your breath for hours after eating it and I really did want to kiss her.”
“Per ….. peren …....?”
“ …..Perennial hypochondriac?” I interrupted. “That's someone who's always ill, or at least is convinced he is. A professional patient of sorts.”
The girls looked at each other, took a moment to confer telepathically like they often do then shook their heads to the negative.
“No, Unc,” said Ems, “we don't believe that's how you met.”
“I'll just have to prove it somehow,” I told them. “Now. What do we fancy to eat?”
“Tomato soup,” they chimed.
“Right. Ems, set the table please. Gems, grate some cheese.” We don't like eating tomato soup without grated cheese since we holidayed in Marmaris and that's how it was served up to us. I found some garlic bread in the freezer and banged it in the oven while Ems set up another playlist on the laptop.
The girls were cleaning up after tea and I was doing my crossword when the ladies came back from their shopping trip. They immediately ran to greet and kiss them to which their mum stepped back and said, “Ugh. You've been eating garlic bread, haven't you?”
The girls threw me a look and I threw back a wink, mouthing the words, 'I told you so'. That's when they spotted the dreamy look on their aunty Gem's face.
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing.
Angus is the author of thirteen novels, two short story collections and fourteen collections of poems. All but four of his books are McStorytellers publications.
Angus is the author of thirteen novels, two short story collections and fourteen collections of poems. All but four of his books are McStorytellers publications.