Anu 43

Prohibition (Alistair Graham) It happens every bloody year. Well, almost every year; this year, last year, not the year before that but the previous one. I cast my mind back two days to Friday when I counted the bottles; four red and four white. It should have lasted until Monday but we didn’t expect Julie and William to call last night. They did bring some wine but ended up drinking their quota and some of ours. I didn’t mind then and still don’t except that it’s Easter Sunday and all the wine shops are shut: the doors are locked, bolted, and it’s the law. If I had of remembered this last night I could have said, “Sorry, there’s no more wine; just enough for us tomorrow. Your welcome to a cup of tea, or there’s pineapple juice in the fridge.”

No. I couldn’t have said that; even if I had remembered about prohibition. What to do?

“Darling,” I said to my wife. “There’s no bloody wine in the house!”

“Darling,” she said, “You’ll have to nip to the shop then, won’t you?”

Clearly she’s forgotten prohibition. Last year we borrowed a couple of bottles from the next door neighbours but they moved away six months ago. The new neighbours are nice people but they are T-Total. Who’d believe it? It must be an act of God. God has passed prohibition in the land, moved our wine-drinking neighbours away, sent our friends over last night with an inadequate supply of alcohol and is now forcing us to stare into oblivion, sober, from Sunday to Monday.

“It’s Easter Sunday, darling,” I said. “The bloody wine shops are boarded up.”

“Oh fuck,” she replied. There was a short pause.

“Sure we went to the wine shop on Friday night, darling, and worked out the likely consumption rate to cater for both of us. How can there be no wine?”

“Yes we did, darling,” I said. “But you’re forgetting Julie and William drank the best part of a bottle each last night after theirs ran out. Phone them; tell them they owe us two bottles of wine and can they drop them over.”

“We can’t phone them darling,” she said, “we can’t ask for the wine back!”

“I’m joking, darling, of course we can’t.”

I heard her sigh as she got up from the sofa and watched as she padded her way into the kitchen on her bare feet.

“Out of my way,” she said, as she brushed me aside with her right arm. She knelt on the cold kitchen tiles as if to pray.

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