英语短篇小说 A Tray of Ice Cubes(4)

She left her teetering tower of yet-to-be-filled cartons and walked hesitantly

towards Daphne as if to a statue that had moved. Closer she could see it was true –

Daphne, good old blonde-haired, piss-taking, dependable Daphne was crying. The water was spilling out of her eyes, falling off the end of her nose and salting her tomatoes.

“Are you crying, Daph?” India uselessly asked.

Daphne, whose head was hanging, suddenly drew her face back, as if to make the tears withdraw into her eyes. It was as though she hadn t known she was crying. She fumbled in her pocket for a hanky, couldn t find one. India gave her a serviette.

“Stupid,” said Daphne, holding the paper to her eyes like a blindfold, still with her other hand on the lever of the tomato shark.

“Anything I can do?” Said India.

Daphne took a deep breath, held it for what seemed like a dangerous length of time, then exhaled loudly. She took the paper away from her eyes, looked at India with a half smile that was meant to say I m fine now , then collapsed into uncontrollable sobs. Some of the other staff noticed. Baseball-capped heads peered round the sides of broilers, or beneath frier hoods. India took hold of Daphne s shaking frame (the first time, she realised, that she d touched her manager) and guided her into the cramped space of telephones, files, lists and memos that served as an office.

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