The boys find it difficult to take me seriously. Likely because I’m rarely serious.
Had enough of that in my own childhood.
But I shall do my best to reinforce the importance of apologies today. “I wouldn’t have saved you any fish if you’d got me tossed in jail either. You’re lucky she hasn’t insisted you wash dishes for a month to compensate for your misbehavior.”
They look at me, then at each other, and then they make a scene by laughing so loudly that Tank, Butch, and Pinky all three heave matching sighs and huddle closer around us.
Clearly, I’ve done an excellent job parenting and they take my threats seriously.
“We’re nearly there,” I mutter to Tank, who’s both the smallest and the kindest of the three of them. “They’re simply being children, and children are loud.”
“Butch could’ve cooked you burgers.” He’s clearly put out.
I can hardly blame him.
Butch does make excellent burgers.
But if Bea Best makes fried fish as magical as the fish I sampled on Saturday when it’s not even on her regular menu, I can only imagine the culinary delight her burgers must be, considering her bus is named after them.
They certainly smelt otherworldly on Saturday afternoon, but a smart man knows when he’s already pushed his luck, and I had pushed my luck too far to ask to add a burger to my order.
One could’ve argued I’d paid for it, but I would argue back that making a woman serve jail time unjustly does require bigger reparations.
And I’m anticipating our dinner on Saturday more than I acknowledge that I should.
I can’t quite convince myself it’s merely inspiration for the show that I’ve become obsessed with plotting and scripting during my working hours.
Not when I keep remembering the smiles she gave to her customers, the way she ruffled her brother’s hair, the whispers and giggles she shared with her friend.
It’s entirely possible I would like to win over Beatrice Best and have a summer fling with her.
Which is absurd.
But also appealing.
For multiple reasons.
“I like Butch’s burgers.” Charlie’s voice pulls me back to the car park, and I glance about discreetly to make sure no one seems to have noticed my head wandering.
“No one’s burgers will ever be as good as Butch’s burgers,” Eddie agrees.
“That’s why we requested the secret menu fish.”
“Why pay for what you can get at home for free?”
“Excuse me, boys, but food and Butch are notfree.” Itskto punctuate the sentiment, then inwardly wince. My mother used that sound on me time and time again in my own childhood. Have I become my mother? Is this our turning point when they realize I’m an arsehole?
There’s a reason Lana plays, as she calls it,bad cop.
I’m utterly incapable of intentionally being the disciplinarian that my parents were.
Or possibly that’swillfullyincapable. Intentionally incapable.
Too terrified that my boys will one day feel the same about me as I do about my own parents.
Eddie grins at me. “They might not be free, but you’re rich now, so what does it matter?”
“Plus, whenever your parents kick the bucket, we’ll get all of their money, so it’s not like me and Eddie will ever have to worry about not being able to afford burgers,” Charlie agrees.
