Molly’d popped in at the local chippy for dinner. As she glanced at the ‘menu’ written on a bit of chalkboard above the friers, she grimaced.

Molly: "Fuck me, mate. Your prices sure went up."

Phil ‘The Frite’, the burly bald owner of the establishment, shrugged as he leaned on the counter.

“Had to, innit love? First Brexit makes everything more expensive, then the war in Ukraine made the oil prices skyrocket.”

Molly: "Can’t you cook ‘em in something else besides sunflower oil?"

Phil scoffed.

“Like what, duck lard? Come on Molly love, what’ll you be havin’ then, eh?”

Molly: "Gimme two small ones, peas, piece of cod, battered sausage, battered gherkins, some onion rings, please. Oh, and a pickled egg. And some curry sauce, innit?"

“Comin’ right up, love.”

As Phil was busy, Molly suddenly remembered her upcoming Anarchy match.

Molly: "Oh, and give us some extra gravy, would ya?"

Phil frowned as he poured some steaming, thick, brown gravy in a Styrofoam cup and popped it on the counter.

“Now there’s a first in all these years you’ve been comin’ ‘ere. Though you only liked it on mash or pudding?”

Molly: "Trying to… broaden me horizons, innit? You wouldn’t have to have cheese curds, would you?"

“Cheese curds? At a chippy? Are you havin’ a laugh, Moll?”

Molly: "Forget it. Silly question."

Phil loaded her order into the carrier bag Molly had brought (she was NOT going to cough up 5p for one!) and the Salford Supernova went on her merry way. After a two-minute walk, she arrived at The Willows, a nursing home. As Molly walked in, she was immediately greeted by one of the nurses.

“Miss Barnes! Coming to see Mrs. Barnes? How lovely. She’ll be thrilled to see you, I’m sure. And you brought her dinner?”

Molly smiled, and raised the bag.

Molly: "Yeah, every Monday night’s chippy night, innit? Although I doubt nan remembers that."

The look of the nurse’s face became a bit more serious, if not compassionate. She slowly nodded.

“Well, you never know. In any case, she’s lucky you come round so often. Anyhow, you know where to find her.”

Molly made her way to her nan’s room down the hall. She didn’t bother knocking, as there was little to no use anyway. As she entered, the typical ‘old people’ smell hit her nose, although it was soon replaced by that of a steaming bag of chips and snacks.

Molly: "Alrite, nan?"

Molly’s grandmother, Patricia ‘Patty’ Barnes, was sitting in a chair near the window, staring outside absent-mindedly. Molly took a seat in the chair opposite her, and plopped the bag with food down on a stool.

Molly: "Oi! Nan!"

Molly snapped her fingers, and Patty seemed to stir from a waking dream. She started looking around, confused, as if she didn’t know where she was, until she saw Molly. A slight smile started to creep on her face until-

“Who the fuck are you?”

Molly sighed.

Molly: "It’s me, nan. It’s Molly. Your grandkid, innit? David’s kid."

“…David?”

Molly: "Yes! David! Barnes! Me dad! Your son, innit?”"

Patty gasped and clasped her hands, before smiling brightly.

“Oooh, that’s right, ma’ wee lad David. Say, you’re little Molly? When did you get so big?”

Molly: "You’ve been asking me that every week for the past ten years, nan. Here, I brought chips."

“Chips? Ooh, give me some, there’s a good lass. You wouldn’t happen to have any pick-…”

Molly: "-led eggs and batter gherkins, yes. You ask for them every week."

Molly unpacked all the food and spread it out as best she could. She took a bite of the cod, but unfortunately the crispy batter had already turned a bit oily and soggy. Patty dipped some chips in her mushy peas and  seemed as content as she could be, given her state of mind.

“You know what would go well with this? A nice co-”

Molly: “-ld pint of Newcastle Brown, yes, I know, but the doctor says you’re not allowed."

Molly took the cup of gravy and dumped it out over her own portion of chips. It was as close to poutine as she was going to get around here. She put a few in her mouth. It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, but curry sauce was better.

Molly: "Say, nan. You won’t remember I told you last week, but I actually won me match against Tommy Wish. Got a bit lucky though. Next week, I’m facing a South African girl in a poutine match, whatever the fuck that is. We never were ones for foreign food, were we, our family? Mum didn’t make us pasta until I asked for it on me 16th birthday. In any case, this Van Zyl type seems to be quite the figure. She pretty much retired one of the greatest Anarchy Champions ever by caving her bloody skull in or something. I’d best be on me best. Gonna have to take her fancy flying manoeuvres down with some good old pub brawl fighting, innit?"

Before Molly could continue, someone from the staff knocked on the door and motioned Molly over. She left her nan, who was still happily eating her peas, chips, egg and gherkins, and wiped some gravy off her cheek with her forearm.

Molly: "Alrite? What’s going on?"

“Miss Barnes, I hate to dump this on you, but… we’ve had issues with your payments. They've stopped.”

Molly panicked. That was impossible. They’d always managed to set enough aside to pay for the nursing home.

Molly: "What? But how? I… I’ll take care of it."

“You’re going to have to, because if not, I…”

Molly: "I get it! I should have some cash coming in soon. Next Thursday. Promise."

The staff member nodded, and was gracious enough not to press the issue further. Molly took a deep breath. She was going to need that winning purse.

Molly: "Fucking Tories, gutting the NHS and selling it off to the highest bidder. Cunts!"