The Biscuit Mix-Up
An amusing piece of short fiction
Every so often, I’ll brighten your Monday with a piece of short fiction. Oh, look. Here’s one now!
The Biscuit Mix-Up
When my parents told me we were hosting an exchange student from Europe, my imagination ran wild. Would she be a blonde bombshell from Sweden or a dark debutante in a French maid’s outfit? I never expected a nitwit named Niles from Nottingham, England. My parents said he would be like the brother I never had. He was more like the black sheep in the family that I never wanted.
The first Friday after we picked Niles up from the airport was not only the last Friday of the summer, but it was also Friday the 13th. Looking back on it, I wish I’d have never gotten out of bed that morning.
The day started like any other. I mowed the yard under the watchful eyes of my mother's collection of plastic flamingos. Dad and I weren't fans, but he lived by the happy wife, happy life motto. The hot pink birds scrutinized me from their places within the borders of Mom's flower beds, safe from the mower's razor-sharp edge. Imagining what would happen if one of the lawn ornaments fell under the machine brought a smile to my face.
Mom's frantic waving from her place on the front porch got my attention. I cut the mower's engine in time to hear her call, "Lennon? Lennon!"
"Hey, Mom. What's up?"
Did I mention that my parents are the biggest Beatles fans ever? They met at a tribute concert. Every year for Halloween, they dressed as John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Given the bohemian lifestyle they had led before I was born, I suppose I should be grateful that my name wasn't something like Moon-doggy or Starshine.
"Can you take your new brother to the mall? He's so bored."
I offered, "He could help me finish the yard work."
"Son, don't be silly. He didn't come all this way to work himself half to death in the heat of a Flordia summer."
"I still have a lot left to do."
"Your dad can finish the yard when he gets home from work."
But it's okay for me to work myself half to death in the same conditions? I wanted to ask, but instead, I turned the situation into something more favorable. Knowing she would rectify things, I sighed and said, "My car's tank is on empty, and I don't have any money for the food court."
"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll add some money to your debit card."
"Really? Thanks!" Unlike my friends whose parents handed over fistfuls of cash, my parents put my allowance on a debit card. Plastic spends as well as paper, so it made no difference to me.
So, that's how I got to take my brother-from-another-mother, as my dad kept referring to him, on a bit of a road trip.
Once in the car, he didn't look any happier about going to the mall than I did. Within a couple of miles, we realized we enjoyed the same music and talked about some of our favorite bands.
Our amicable banter didn't stop me from bypassing the local mall in favor of going to the one in the next closest town. I wasn't quite ready to introduce Niles to my friends from school. Why give him reason to embarrass me? Sharing classes would be bad enough.
Every ten miles or so during the drive, Niles encouraged me to speed up. He kept talking about some television show called Top Gear and a character named “the Stig."
"If I was driving, mate, I'd have that pedal to the metal!" he crowed.
"Well, you're not, and I refuse to mess up my perfect driving record.
With fifteen miles to go, unable to take another second of his annoying accent, I gave in and drove an entire five miles per hour over the legal limit, much to his delight.
When we arrived at the mall, things went better than I anticipated. We checked out throngs of hotties dashing between clothing stores, played video games in the arcade, and ate pizza in the food court. Hanging out with him wasn't that bad, after all. I could almost imagine being friends with Niles, even if I did disappear into the background whenever a female heard his accent.
Niles even helped me pick out Mom's birthday gift—a spa set with a candle in her favorite scent, and the reusable candleholder was a ring of dancing flamingos wearing flowered necklaces and coconut bras.
"Oh my gosh, are you from England?" a female voice cooed as I paid for Mom's gifts.
"Aye! I've come across the pond to find you." He used his index finger to boop the girl on the nose. She was short with blonde hair and freckles across her upturned nose.
Great. Here we go again, I thought and walked up to stand next to my so-called brother. What Niles said next made me feel like he was like a brother, though.
"I don't s'pose you've got a friend for me mate?"
"Only my sister. We're identical twins."
And then, the girl's mirror image appeared at her side. The only difference between them was their clothes. One of them wore a t-shirt with a cartoon flamingo above the words, "Let's fla-mingle!"
What a great idea! As my mind went into overdrive, Niles did the heavy lifting. He chatted the girls up until they asked if they could see us again. The twins even texted us their numbers.
We parted ways with the girls, and I clapped Niles on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. That was awesome! Today is turning out to be my favorite trip to the mall of all time."
But then, after going into a few other stores, Niles and I went into Buck-a-Rama, the store where everything cost a dollar. My British brother was eager to shop in an American “pound shop,” as he called it.
Niles took his time walking up and down every aisle until the cashier started scowling in his direction. I bought a pack of gum and, by the time I had finished paying for it, Niles was walking out of the store. I took the receipt and followed him.
“Hold it right there,” a voice called. “You didn’t shoplift that, did you?”
I looked over my shoulder to see a security guard staring past me at Niles. The nitwit held a pack of gum in his hand, identical to the one I had bought.
“Shoplifting? Codswallop! My mate bought this for me, didn’t cha? That's the receipt right there in his hand.” Niles looked at me and winked. Turning back to the security guard, he explained, laying his accent on extra-thick, “You see, I’ve not been in the States long, and all I’ve got are pounds and traveler’s checks. Not one store here accepts them for payment. I've had to rely on me mate this whole time, haven't I, mate?”
All I could do was stare.
The security guard turned to me and asked, “This true?”
“Um, yeah. He just got here a couple of days ago. But I-”
Before I could say another word, the security guard cut me off. “Let me see that receipt.”
I held out the slip of paper in my hand. The guard took it from me, looked it over, and handed it back.
Before I could react further, the guard looked at Niles and said, “All right. Sorry about the inconvenience. Enjoy your visit to America.” Casting a scowl in my direction, he added, “And try to stay out of trouble.”
Why did he look at me? I thought, anger boiling in my veins. I wouldn’t be in trouble if it weren’t for this nitwit!
Out loud, I said, “Come on, Niles. It’s time to go home.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I stalked off toward the mall exit closest to where I parked the car. Speakers overhead piped One Is the Loneliest Number through the mall. Whoever wrote that didn't have Niles as a temporary member of their family.
This day had gone from awesome to awful. No matter what threats or bribes my mother used to get me to spend time with Niles, I didn’t sign up to be an accomplice to petty theft. She would be so disappointed if she found out what happened. With each step, my feet felt as though they were encased in cement.
“What kind of stunt were you trying to pull back there?” I confronted him when we were both finally seatbelted into the car.
Snark dripped from his reply, “Don’t be cheesed off, bloke. I’m just having a spot of fun.”
“You might get off playing Robin Hood back in jolly old England, but this is the United States. If you want something, you have to pay for it. Do you understand? And another thing, this is my senior year of high school. I don’t know about you, but I have my college scholarship to think about, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure nothing jeopardizes it. Do you understand?”
It wasn’t until I was exiting onto the highway when Niles, at last, replied, “I know when I’m snookered. The truth is, when I get all collywobbles I take things. It’s a nervous reflex. You must think I’m a complete tosser. Take me back to the pound shop. I’ll return the item and give myself over to the security chap for a right good ear-bashing.”
“Look, Niles,” I said, my patience thinner than ever. “We’re going to be living under the same roof for the whole school year. My parents are pretty excited about this, and I don’t want them to have any reason to regret it. Just don’t break any more laws, okay?”
“Scouts’ promise. What happened at the pound shop was just a clanger.” He paused, and when I didn’t reply, he clarified, “You know, a mistake. I don’t want you to take me for a biscuit-arsed prat bent on mucking up your education.”
The car’s low fuel alert sounded, saving me from further conversation. I pulled into the next service station, parking alongside one of the unoccupied pumps. When I got out of the car, however, I saw why. A handwritten note on a scrap of paper taped over the credit card slot read: PLEASE PAY INSIDE. CASH ONLY.
“What’s wrong?” Niles asked, exiting the car from the passenger side.
When I explained the problem, Niles smiled, and a dimple appeared on his left cheek. “Let me pay for petrol. I’d be chuffed to bits to make things right between us.”
Delighted that my little talk made a difference, I took a moment to find the words to reply. “That’d be great. Thanks!”
I doubted my parents would approve of me letting our guest pay. In my defense, they did tell me to treat him like I do my other friends—and I’m not one to turn down a free tank of gasoline. Or petrol, as Niles called it.
Soon after he went into the convenience store area of the service station, the pump lit up and allowed me to put twenty dollars’ worth of gas into my car. It wasn’t a full tank, but it was still more money than my friends’ would have coughed up and better than having to pay for it myself.
I slid behind the wheel, started the car, and pulled forward to allow access to the vehicle behind me. As I waited for Niles, I began to feel guilty for all the negative thoughts I’d had about him since he arrived. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have him around, after all.
Just then, Niles emerged from the gas station and ran toward the car. He threw open the passenger door and jumped into the seat while yelling, “Drive off! Go! Now!”
“What did you do?” I looked down and saw the brown paper bag in his lap. Refusing to budge, I repeated, “Niles, what did you do?”
“Just drive unless you want to get nicked by the coppers!”
I wasn’t sure what this meant but could guess from the context. Pulling the gear shift into drive, I sped onto the highway, leaving a shower of gravel in my wake.
“You robbed a convenience store!” I challenged. It wasn’t a question.
Niles shrugged. “The clerk was a daft cow. The shop was asking to be robbed off. Their CCTV wasn't even real cameras.”
“But how did you; why would you; I mean, we just talked about this!”
“I don’t know, mate. One minute I was ogling her strawberry creams, and the next minute, she handed me a sack full of quid. It was like she wanted me to have it.”
“Do I even want to know what strawberry creams are?” Without giving Niles a chance to answer, I continued, “Nope! Forget it! I don’t want to know.”
He exhaled, whistling through his misaligned front teeth. “There must be over a thousand quid in this sack. Do you know what we could do with a haul like this?”
“What do you mean we?”
“Well, I’d planned to split it with you. You are driving the getaway car, after all. It’s just like in one of those films at the cinema!”
I didn’t know what to say so I clenched my jaw and focused on driving the speed limit for the rest of the way home. By the time we pulled into the driveway, I’d formulated a plan, but before I could share the details with Niles, a car pulled up behind us.
“Oh, crap.” I put my head on the steering wheel.
“Wossat?” Niles chirped, his voice way too cheerful for my liking.
“I forgot my Mawmaw was coming over for dinner tonight. Listen, you give me the money and I’ll put it in the biscuit tin in the kitchen.” Mom collected vintage tins including a large one in which she stored her self-rising flour. She called it the biscuit tin because its label featured a flamingo in an apron and chef's hat. With the tips of its wings, it held a tray of biscuits. When Niles didn’t move, I asked, “What’s the problem?”
“Well, what if someone finds it?”
I glanced out the driver’s side window of my car and sighed. Mom and Dad stood on the walkway with Mawmaw, who leaned forward onto her wooden cane. From their postures, it looked as though Mom was showing Mawmaw the new flamingos she had since added to her outdoor collection.
When they saw me looking their way, they smiled and waved. Mom beckoned for us to get out of the car and join them.
I plastered on a smile and returned the wave before replying to Niles, my voice low, “No, they won’t. Mom doesn’t even use most of the tins in the kitchen. You go on inside and put the money in the tin while I distract them for a few minutes."
"How will I know which tin it is?"
"It's the one with the biscuits on it," I said before mentally adding, Duh!
“What if someone asks what I’m doing?”
“I don’t know. Say anything you want as long as it’s not the truth.”
We emerged from the car, and I made a beeline for Mawmaw. When I was close enough, she reached up to hug my neck.
“There’s my college-bound grandson.” The tone of Mawmaw’s voice reflected the pride she felt about my educational prowess. “And where’s your new brother? I can't wait to meet that boy.”
“Niles,” my mother called to our resident exchange student. “Come meet Mawmaw.”
Niles waved from the driveway and hopped from one foot to the other. “You’ll think me a total wanker, but I need to pop off to the loo, or everything will go to shambles.” He disappeared around the side of the house. Even from this distance, I heard the screen door leading into the kitchen smack against the jamb.
Mawmaw asked, “What did he say?”
“I’m not quite sure,” dad said with a shake of his head. “The boy claims he speaks English, but half of what he says sounds as foreign as if he’d come from somewhere far more exotic.”
Mom gave a nervous laugh. “I’m starting to rethink the need for a translation app on my phone.”
“He doesn’t want to seem rude, but he had to use the bathroom,” I ad-libbed. “We had a lot of soda at the mall.”
“Well, I hope you boys didn’t ruin your dinner,” Mom chastised.
I gave what I hope was a chagrined expression and followed my parents and Mawmaw into the house. A few minutes later, Niles joined us.
All through dinner, I kept my eye on him. What was next? My great-grandmother’s silver? The family Bible? I didn’t trust Niles any farther than I could throw him. Considering I preferred chemistry and algebra to athletics, the distance would not have been very far. Even still, you get what I mean.
Much to my relief, Niles appeared to behave. My father engaged our guests in an animated debate between British and American politics. Although I didn’t notice Niles checking out their strawberry creams, Mom and Mawmaw seemed equally charmed by his dimpled smile and British accent.
A knock at the door interrupted dinner. Mom went to answer and returned with Pastor Collins, who was there to pick up a donation for something. I was only half paying attention. He seemed to fall under Niles' spell like everyone else had and invited him to try out for the men's choir. Of course, my so-called new brother readily accepted.
Great. No more skipping church to play video games, I thought.
The rest of the meal was more of the same, with Niles charming everyone at the table except me. He regaled my parents and Mawmaw with stories about life in jolly old England. I smiled, nodded, and pretended to listen, but all I could think about was the stolen cash.
Before dinner was over, Mawmaw made us promise to attend her retirement home’s next book club meeting. This month’s selection was Pride and Prejudice. She wanted to show off our family’s version of Mr. Darcy to her geriatric friends.
Niles took the opportunity to quote the character, saying something about not having the talent of talking to strangers. His tone would have charmed a leprechaun out of his pot of gold. Or a cashier with a nice pair of strawberry creams out of a register full of cash, as it were.
I used this as a chance to sneak into the kitchen and check the biscuit tin to see if Niles put the money there as I had instructed. To my dismay, the container was empty. After the events of the day, I should have expected this from him. Our resident Brit was as crooked as his front teeth. Why did I ever risk believing him?
Disheartened, I returned to the dining room. It was just as well that dinner was about over. I’d lost my appetite. Before I knew it, we were on the front porch waving to Mawmaw as she drove away. Once her car was out of sight, Mom went off to clean up from dinner and Dad to the den and our family’s desktop computer.
When I was sure my parents were out of earshot, I turned to Niles. “I can’t believe you lied to me. After all the crap you said in the car, you lied. So, you’re not only a thief, but you’re a lying thief, and I’ll never trust you again.”
Niles’ eyebrows knitted together across his forehead. “Wossat?”
“I looked in the biscuit tin, Niles. It’s empty.”
“That can’t be right.” His frown deepened, scrunching the corners of his mouth.
I beckoned for Niles to follow me into the kitchen, where Mom was pushing the buttons on the front of the dishwasher.
"Need any help?" I asked, knowing she didn’t.
Mom looked up and smiled. “No, sweetheart, I’m about finished. Do you want some dessert? Mawmaw left us one of her peach pies.”
Mawmaw's peach pies had won awards at the county fair since before I was born. I nodded and enthused, “Sure! Some pie sounds good. Right, Niles?”
“Aye, it sounds scrummy in my tummy!” A broad grin returned the dimples to either side of his face.
It’s a wonder my mother didn’t pinch his cheeks. Instead, she clapped her hands once and nodded eagerly. “Let me take your dad a cup of coffee, and I’ll be right back. Go ahead and sit down.”
I waited until Mom left the kitchen and grabbed the biscuit tin. I opened it up and turned to Niles, who sat at the table. “See? No cash, dude. What did you do with it?”
“That’s not the biscuit tin. That’s the flour tin. The biscuit tin was on the table. It had a flamingo on it, as ye said.”
I had no idea what he was talking about because this was the only thing my family had ever referred to as the biscuit tin. Shoving it back into place on the counter, I sank into the chair across from Niles. Before I could ask him anything else, Mom came back into the kitchen and took the pie from the fridge. Despite the events of the day, I decided to give my new brother the benefit of the doubt.
“Mom? Was there a tin on the table before dinner?”
Mom looked up from setting out dessert plates and forks. “Hmm? Oh, there was. I baked some cookies for the kids at the orphanage. They need all the joy they can get since the bank threatened to foreclose on them.” Mom sighed.
“That’s terrible!” I exclaimed, forgetting all else for a moment. One of my best friends from our school’s chess club lived in that orphanage until another family adopted him.
Mom went on to explain, “There was a problem with their mortgage, and well, money’s just so tight all around. The hardship committee from the church is taking up a collection, but we’ve also formed a food chain to send them easy meals and desserts. Tomorrow, after Sunday school, we’re meeting to discuss how we can raise more funds to help.”
Hearing the word “funds” reminded me about the sack of money. Striving to sound nonchalant, I asked, “So, um, where is the tin now?”
“Pastor Collins came by to pick it up during dinner. It's the one you got me last Christmas. You know, with the flamingo eating a chocolate chip cookie. He said once the cookies are gone that I can pick it up at church."
I looked at Niles. He looked at me. I glanced up to find Mom staring at both of us.
“Boys, tell me you didn’t take any cookies from the tin,” she warned.
Niles shook his head. I thought he looked ready to cry. Today was now officially the worst Friday the 13th ever.
Mom cleared her throat, and I looked up to find her staring at me, one eyebrow raised in expectation of my reply.
“No, Mom. We didn’t take anything from the cookie tin.” I looked her right in the eye and added, “Scouts’ promise.”
“A cookie tin,” Niles said, his voice holding a mournful note. “For cookies. You know, across the pond, we’ve always called them biscuits.”
The End
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Becky
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