25
25
T HE ENSUING MEAL IS totally spontaneous. Bobby’s mum keeps on saying this. She keeps on saying ‘This is totally spontaneous’ and your mum keeps on agreeing with her. Your dad presses the button at the pedestrian crossing. The six of you then wait for the red man to turn green, standing on the bobbly patch of the pavement.
All the while, Bobby speaks to you. He says the bobbly patch is there so blind and partially sighted people know there’s danger ahead – the danger in this instance being the road. He says people in the UK drive on the left but actually in most countries they drive on the right. He says he read there’s a planet that’s been discovered recently. He says his neck hurts because he slept funny and that he didn’t know he was wearing odd socks till just now.
Bobby runs out of fun facts and three red tall buses pass by you very close, all of them breathing out a grime that fills your nostrils and then your lungs.
‘See?’ he says, as if this proves his previous point about road traffic safety.
‘Wow,’ you say.
‘This is totally spontaneous!’ Bobby’s mum says again.
‘It really is,’ your mum agrees.
You wonder if your mum wants to ask you about Bobby. You wonder if she wants to ask you about what you said earlier, about him not being your friend any more. You wonder if – like you – she is bowled over by the coincidence. Or if she suspects that you misled her.
‘I know there are few restaurants over here,’ Bobby’s mum is saying. ‘Oh! Cross now, guys, it’s green, it’s green, it’s green…’
There are indeed a few restaurants over there: Pizza Express, Pizza Hut, Pizza Palace. Pizza is a thing you know how to order and how to eat. You are grateful this street doesn’t want to gastronomically stretch anyone who doesn’t want to be gastronomically stretched. Indeed, the only non-pizza-based eatery seems to be a Spanish restaurant. You know this because one of the front windows says ‘SPANISH RESTAURANT’. The Spanish restaurant has a mustard-yellow awning, on which is a picture of an octopus followed by the words ‘ el pulpo ’. You wonder if ‘ el pulpo ’ means ‘pulp’ because it’s kind of a similar word. At the same time, you wonder if ‘ el pulpo ’ instead means ‘octopus’ because of the picture.
‘Shall we try this one?’ Bobby’s mum says, already making to open the door.
‘Um,’ your mum says, frowning at the awning.
‘It looks interesting,’ your dad says.
Bobby looks at you. ‘ ?Te gustan las tapas? ’
You blink at him blankly.
‘?Te gustan las tapas? ’ he says, louder this time.
You blink some more. ‘What?’ you say.
‘Do you not speak Spanish?’
You furrow your brow. ‘What? No.’
‘Do you not know what tapas are, then?’
‘No.’
Bobby’s mum opens the door and you go in. You see a chalkboard with the word ‘tapas’ on it. Now this word only reminds you of the word taps – something that makes you wonder if this is a liquid-only restaurant where everything is pulped and turned into soup. But then you think of tap-dancing – an activity you have never personally attempted but have seen from afar. This makes you wonder if the waiters are dancers, perhaps dancers who struggle to get by on dancing alone. Then you wonder if the ‘s’ simply means that it’s a plural word. You wonder if this means tapas are many small things instead of one big thing, the plural of another word called ‘tapa’.
The six of you sit at a central table. All around you, sound abounds. A waiter drops something made of glass. A champagne bottle pops open. A woman laughs shriekingly. You grimace.
Bobby points to all the words he knows on the menu. He doesn’t seem to know many of the words. Instead, he just seems to know ‘patata’ (which he says means ‘potato’), and ‘patatas’ (which he says means potatoes). This confirms your previous suspicion about ‘tapa’ being singular and ‘tapas’ being plural.
You shuffle around in your seat. You wish the museum had been a library.
Your mum asks Bobby’s mum a question. ‘So, what is it you do, again, um?’ your mum asks, apparently having forgotten Bobby’s mum’s name.
‘I’m a speech and language therapist,’ Bobby’s mum says. ‘What about yourself?’
Your mum takes a large gulp of water. ‘Um, I’m in between contracts right now.’
You wonder what contracts your mum is talking about. You wonder why she didn’t just say ‘I’m a stay-at-home mum’ or ‘I don’t work because I’m mentally unwell’ or ‘I don’t work, instead I read instruction manuals and how-to guides’.
However, Bobby’s mum seems unfazed by your mum’s answer. Perhaps she is deeply familiar with the contracts your mum is talking about. ‘And you? What do you do?’ Bobby’s mum says to your dad.
‘Actuary,’ your dad says, in a voice so loud Bobby’s mum seems genuinely taken aback.
‘Gosh,’ Bobby’s mum says. ‘That sounds important.’
A man arrives. He is wearing a sombrero and carrying a notepad. ‘You guys ready? What can I get you?’ he asks.
‘Um,’ your dad says.
Bobby’s mum pipes up. ‘Pulpo, please,’ she says.
The sombrero man raises his eyebrows. ‘Just pulpo. Nothing else?’
‘And patatas,’ Bobby says. ‘Pulpo and patatas for everyone too.’
Your mum and dad exchange a look. You wonder if they are unsure what pulpo and patatas are. Before they have time to protest, the man takes away the menus and Bobby’s mum’s interrogations resume.
‘And why did you come here today? Just a day out?’
Your mum nods. ‘Well, this one,’ she nods towards you, ‘is really quite good at learning and we wanted to encourage that.’
‘Oh really?’ Bobby’s mum says. ‘What do you like learning about?’
‘She likes all sorts of things but she’s really good at words and books,’ your mum says.
Bobby’s mum raises her eyebrows. ‘Ah yes?’
‘She’s a bit into this one book, actually.’
Bobby’s mum leans in, as if she wants to make sure she’s hearing this right. ‘She likes a book?’
‘Yes, this really old one,’ your dad says. ‘What is it, darling?’
‘The Voynich Manuscript,’ you say quietly.
‘The what?’ Bobby’s mum says.
‘The Voynich Manuscript,’ you say again.
‘Never heard of it,’ Bobby’s mum says, pouring a glass of water from a bottle of water situated on the table. ‘Not so many books in the Science Museum, though. That must have been a disappointment.’
Your mum’s cheeks flush a little. ‘Right. Well, she likes all sorts, don’t you, sweetie? Like the planets and space, which was actually what, um, what prompted our visit today.’
You nod enthusiastically. You want your mum to feel nice. You want her to feel like she is saying the right things at the right times.
‘Space, the planets, aliens, all that stuff, she really likes it,’ your dad adds.
‘Wow,’ Bobby’s mum says.
‘She’s really smart,’ your mum says.
‘Sounds it.’
‘Yes,’ you agree.
There is a pause. During this pause, your dad lets out a massive sneeze.
‘Gosh,’ Bobby’s mum says again. ‘And this one?’ She points at your cousin, apparently not finished with her interview. ‘Is this your son? What’s your name?’
Your cousin looks glassily at Bobby’s mum. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s not feeling OK. From the nature of his slack jaw and blank face, the most likely options seem boredom or a stroke.
‘Oh, don’t worry about him,’ your dad says. ‘This is just Paul.’
‘My sister’s kid,’ your mum adds, patting Paul on the head a little.
‘We look after him sometimes.’
‘My sister’s a single mum.’
‘Shift work, you know how it is.’
‘Gotcha,’ Bobby’s mum says.
There is another pause.
‘Well, I’d be happy if you two’ – Bobby’s mum’s eyes dart from you to Bobby – ‘or maybe you guys’ – Bobby’s mum gestures at you and Bobby and Paul – ‘got together and maybe, well you’re a bit too old for play dates now, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Bobby says, frowning.
‘But maybe I can take your number, um’ – it is clear Bobby’s mum doesn’t know your mum’s name either – ‘and we can arrange something.’
Your mum beams. ‘That would be great.’
‘He’s really good at learning too, aren’t you, Bobster?’
Bobster nods. ‘Sure.’
‘It would be great if he had a friend on his level.’
Your mum also nods. ‘Sure,’ she also says.
‘Oh!’ Bobby’s mum interrupts. ‘The food’s here. That’s quick. I hope they cooked it properly.’
The waiter places a tray laden with pulpo and patatas on the table. Bobby tucks a serviette into the collar of his T-shirt and rolls up his sleeves.
‘Enjoy, kids,’ Bobby’s mum says. ‘Enjoy.’
‘Oh, yes,’ your mum adds, regarding the tentacled lunch. ‘Please do eat as much as you want.’
Further reading:
The Pluralisation of Spanish Nouns
101 Super Fun Potato Recipes