SHORT STORY
Parma Violets by Jackie Brewster “Can you be trusted to mind the café while I nip next door?” Aunt Carol asked solemnly as though she was leaving Becky in charge of the country. It was a big responsibility, and this was only Becky’s third day. The lunchtime rush was over, and there had been no customers for nearly an hour. While Becky was grateful to Carol for giving her a holiday job, she found that buttering cobs was not as easy as they made it look on television. She suspected Carol wasn’t convinced she had what it took to be a success in catering. “Whatever you do,” Carol warned her, ”don’t let that rat chap in.” Which seemed both a strange and reasonable request. Left alone, Becky practised folding napkins until she heard the café door open. An elderly gentleman, smartly dressed, sat down at the table by the window. Becky took a deep breath, picked up her order pad and walked briskly over to him. “What can I get you, sir?” she asked. He was wearing a jacket which appeared to be wriggling. A small furry nose popped up between the lapels. Becky nearly dropped her pencil. “Oh, don’t worry about him,” the man said. “He’s fine.” “Pets aren’t allowed in the café,” Becky said nervously. She was almost certain this was true because she’d read a sign in the window. “Roland’s not a pet,” the man replied, browsing the menu. 6
“He’s a guide dog, and they’re perfectly welcome everywhere.” “But you’re not blind,” Becky said, a little embarrassed. “Of course everyone immediately thinks of guide dogs for the blind.” He closed the menu as though he found nothing appetising within it. “Roland’s an allergy guide dog. Have you heard of that?” Becky confessed she had not. “I am allergic to parma violets,” the man continued confidentially. “Roland has to sniff my food to confirm it’s safe to eat.” “Allergic to parma violets?” Becky repeated blankly. “Dangerously.” The man nodded sagely and tapped the menu. “Can you recommend anything that doesn’t include parma violets?” Becky was confused. Parma violets were little purple sweets she had no idea they were also a cooking ingredient. “I don’t think there’s any in the tea,” Becky said hopefully. The man frowned, “Can you guarantee it?” She shook her head. “In that case, it’s a good job I have Roland here.” He pulled Roland out of his jacket and sat him in his lap. He was a funny looking dog, with short legs, a pointy nose and a long body. “What type of dog is he?” Becky asked. “He’s an allergy dog, we’ve been
through this.” The man waved his hand dismissively. “Be quick with the tea dear, I’ve a plane to catch.” Becky hurried back behind the counter. Something didn’t feel right about the man and his allergy dog. She hoped he would drink up and go before her aunt returned. After all, the nearest airport was a two hour drive. She was not in luck. Carol bustled into the café carrying a box of crisps. “Any customers?” she asked. “Not really,” Becky lied as she overflowed the teacup. “So who’s that for?” Carol asked dubiously. “The gentleman over there.” Carol turned round and almost exploded. “Not you again,” she screamed. “Get that rat out of here!” The man scooped up Roland protectively. “He’s not a rat,” he said indignantly. “He’s a ferret, and they’re very clever animals.” “He sniffs parma violets,” Becky added to explain the situation. And with that, her fate in the world of catering was sealed.