Forty-One Elephants

There are forty-one elephants behind the till at the Co-op on Kirkgate, and Suki has to sell them. They are biscuit tins — grey, with a little door in the back where the biscuits go. The manager wants her to offer one to every customer, and to call every customer sir. The advertisement plays every six minutes: a loud song about tea, and then a man's voice saying the word “delicious” twice.

On Monday, Tariq comes in for batteries. “Just these, thanks,” he says.

“Of course, sir,” Suki says. “Would you like an elephant today, sir? They're delicious.”

“It's a tin,” Tariq says. “The tin isn't delicious.”

On Wednesday he comes in for milk, and she asks him again. On Friday he comes in for bread, and she asks him again, more loudly, because the song is playing.

On Saturday, Tariq walks straight to the till and puts a grey elephant on the counter. “Don't say it,” he says.

“Excellent choice, sir,” Suki says.

“Suki. We sat next to each other for five years at Mount Pleasant,” Tariq says. “You know my name.”

Suki puts the elephant in a bag. “I know, sir.”