The girl narrows her eyes. “Yeah. That is a bit weird. Will there be free booze there?”
“Well, yes,” I say, addingbuy boozeto my mental to-do list. “Of course! That’s customary for a party, right? Definitely.”
“Nice. I’ll be there then!” she says, eyes suddenly alight. “Can my sister come?”
“Wait…How old are you?”
She pauses for a moment. “Eighteen.”
And your sister?
“Like…eighteen also?”
She’s definitely lying. “Maybe you could bring your dad as well,” I say.
“Maybeeee…”
“Great! I’ll see you at three tomorrow. Tyburnia Library music room. I’m Delphie, by the way.”
“I’m Shelley.”
“Nice to meet you, Shelley.”
As I walk down to Baba’s, it occurs to me that I’ve probably been served by Shelley five hundred times and never known her name until now. How did that not seem weird to me all this time?
In Baba’s Deli, there’s a crowd of women all shouting over each other to get the attention of a handsome grey-haired man with bright ice-grey eyes that could rival Paul Hollywood or agoat. His name tag says Dan Baba. That’s Deli Dan, and he clearly loves the attention, occasionally winking at the customers as he serves them. I wait patiently in the queue while the women ahead of me flirt and buy pork pies and cheese. When I get to the front, Deli Dan fixes me with his eyes, and I can see why Jan has a crush on him, as does, it seems, every other woman of a certain age in the neighbourhood.
“Hi, Deli Dan,” I say. “My name’s Delphie, and I’ve come to invite you to a party tomorrow. It’s a bit last-minute, I know, but I only decided to hold it last night.”
Unlike Shelley, Deli Dan acts like party invitations fly at him every day and that a strange woman wandering in to ask him to one is entirely expected.
The queue continues to grow behind me as Deli Dan shrugs and says, “No can do, love. Very busy. What can I get ya?” His accent is pure Cockney.
“Oh,” I say, my shoulders sinking a little. “Jan said you’d definitely say yes.”
He puts down the turkey sandwich he is wrapping up in wax paper. “Jan Meyer? From the pharmacy?”
“The one and only,” I say.
Deli Dan bunches his mouth to the side. “Nice lady, Jan. Very nice lady. And she’ll be there?”
“Yes! She will one hundred percent be there.”
He nods, a small glint in his eye. “You got catering sorted?”
Catering? How had I not considered catering. Is catering even necessary, though?
“No,” I say. “The party will only be for a couple of hours.”
“You can’t not feed your guests, dear,” whispers an older woman in a headscarf behind me. “It would be terribly rude.”
“Oh,” I reply. “Right, yes.”
Deli Dan rolls his eyes good-humouredly. “I s’pose I could help you out. A few pies, sarnies, cakes.”
I nod. “How much would that cost?”
Deli Dan responds with a figure that seems in line with general West London prices, in that it is eye-wateringly expensive. I couldn’t afford it unless I dipped into my rainy-day savings. The money I’ve been putting away in case of some unknown emergency.
