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“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” she said.
The irony. Shrinking inside, Oliver scratched the back of his neck. “Not at all.” His voice wavered. “I was on the phone with Raff, catching up.”
“Nice.” Georgie pointed a gloved finger toward the doors. “I guess we should…?”
Apparently, ‘Chatty Cathy’ wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
Oliver glanced at the customers exiting Canadian Tire with shopping carts filled with wheel rims, windshield washer fluid, and roof racks. Finding bedsheets in a store that apparently sold automotive supplies seemed like a lost cause; however, Georgie was the expert here, so he nodded and followed her inside.
Once through the sliding doors, though, Oliver found himself in a Christmas wonderland. Pallets were piled high with boxes of artificial trees, and decorations sparkled and shone from nearby shelves.
Georgie pressed her lips together as the soulful tones of Paul Young and “Do They Know It’s Christmas” serenaded shoppers through the cavernous shop’s speakers. “I do love the holidays,” she grumbled, jagging left past a display of light-up reindeer and plastic Santas. “But I wish stores would wait till after Remembrance Day to play Christmas music. It hasn’t even snowed yet.”
Oliver’s gaze hopped from the red poppy affixed to Georgie’s coat to the one pinned to his left lapel. He’d lost two since the start of the month, but thankfully, with November 11th less than six hours away, his third poppy was still in place. “It’s the same in England,” he said, desperate for something, anything that would spark friendly conversation as they deked around a neatly stacked tower of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures. “One day, they’ll start before Halloween.”
Barely nodding, Georgie turned left abruptly, leading Oliver past dishes, glassware, and every sort of kitchen appliance imaginable. His gaze trailed over the shelves and down the aisles, spotting toys, plumbing materials, sporting goods, tools, and pet merchandise. You name it, Canadian Tire seemed to stock it. They even sold potato chips, soft drinks, and bags of candy.
Approaching a row of cage-style bins on the floor, Georgie slowed her slalom. A sign shouting CLEARANCE overlooked a dwindling selection of pattern-free bedsheets in the wire container at the far end. She rifled through its offerings. White and grey were the only two colours available.
“Should we get several of each?” asked Oliver.
“If the budget allows.” She avoided eye contact and picked up two queen-sized sets. “We can cut and sew them into the various sizes we need. Kait has a machine. She’s offered to help.”
“That’s kind of her.” Oliver gathered the remaining sets—four white, four grey—and joined Georgie on her way back to the front of the store. “Who’d have thought? Canadian Tire stocks bedsheets.”
“They do in the summer for people with cottages and campers. I figured Amalia would appreciate the deep discount.” Turning a corner, Georgie grabbed a box of resealable food storage bags and a large Tupperware container, which she showed Oliver. “To store the lentils and chickpeas, so we won’t make a mess.” Farther down the next aisle, she collected several strips of Velcro fasteners.
They strode toward the row of cash registers in silence, an awkward quiet that ate away at Oliver despite the joviality of Elton John’s “Step Into Christmas” pumping through the store’s speakers.
“Hello.” Georgie greeted the cashier with a gentle grin and placed the items she’d been collecting on the conveyor belt.
Oliver followed suit, adding the bedsheets to their purchases as Georgie lunged behind him, scooping up something red, blue, and black from the selection of impulse buys at the checkout.
“I’ll pay for this separately,” she said, showing the cashier a small, rectangular box featuring a smiling elephant draped in a blue blanket. She caught Oliver’s gape. “Lucky Elephant Popcorn. I’ve loved it since I was little.”
“I can relate. I have a few childhood favourites.” Sparing Georgie an introduction to Polkagris, he pulled out his wallet and removed several twenty-dollar bills for the cashier.
Once the transaction was completed, the employee rang up Georgie’s popcorn, which she paid for with purple and blue bills, each one bearing the image of a jaunty white-haired chap rocking a bushy moustache and a tam o’ shanter.
“I’ve never seen that kind of bank note before,” said Oliver, gathering their shopping.
“Oh, this isn’t currency. It’s Canadian Tire money—coupons, basically.” Georgie dropped her popcorn in her tote bag as they headed toward the exit. “If you look at the change she gave you, you’ll find some mixed in. They hand it out with every purchase.”
Oliver looped the plastic shopping bags over his wrist and shuffled through the banknotes. Sure enough, amongst Queen Elizabeth II and Canada’s seventh prime minister, Sir Wilfrid Laurier, was the smiley Scottish fella. Of the coupons in his hand, the dominations ranged from five to fifty cents. “Is this bloke noteworthy?” he asked.
“Sandy McTire? He’s been the fictional face of Canadian Tire Money since the early ’60s. Apparently, they chose a Scottish guy because there were lots of Scots in Canada back then and they were frugal.” Georgie cleared her throat. “Stereotypically speaking, of course.”
Grateful she was talking to him again, Oliver pocketed the bills and coupons. “How do you feel about that? Your mum’s Scottish.”
“It’s kinda true—at least for me.” Georgie pulled her gloves free from her coat’s pockets. “I was brought up to be careful with my money, and I like a deal.”
“Who doesn’t?” said Oliver.
She nodded. “It’s just when people use frugal as a snide way to say Scottish people are cheap or miserly, that’s when I have a problem with it. None of the Scots I know are like that. They’d give you the shirt off their back…”
“Same,” said Oliver.
The sliding doors hissed open and a surge of cold air wrapped around them. Georgie removed a blue and white-striped knit hat from her tote and peered south down Yonge. “So”—a puffy cloud of warm breath floated away from her mouth—“do you want to subway down to Sam’s? Pick up the music? We could get some incense from a head shop down there, too.”
