The aim intention objective of this thesis project research enquiry is to enquire discover explore develop provide an account mechanism model explanation theory hypothesis for the…
I will listen to people talking to find out…
She shut her laptop and took a sheet of paper instead, uncapped a pen.
Title
Introduction
Literature Review
Find subjects
Develop psych-test materials
Dry run
Organize group
Develop main test materials
Experiments (test, feedback, retest)
Analysis
Write thesis
Graduate & accept job at Oxford/Cambridge/Harvard or similar
And wondering what sort of job openings there would be if she were looking for one today, she opened her laptop instead and waited. Then she remembered she didn’t have an Internet account yet. No wonder she felt so marooned and peculiar. No phone yet, no WiFi. But as she was thinking it, a dialogue box popped up telling of a connection, asking for a password. She typed the password she used for everything-phdgirl-and, looking at the red X denying her access, she had never felt so far from home.
Murray was alone in the shop, standing not behind the counter but out in front, tidying the notices on a corkboard behind the door-Brownies Barbie-Q night, firewood for sale, greenhouse wanted will collect-lining them up and pushing pins into all four corners, stripping off the tattered ones as he went. His white coat and apron were freshly starched and dazzling, sticking out at the edges like the new blue oilcloth on the kitchen table upstairs.
“Day off already?” he said turning to her and smiling.
“Sorry?” said Keiko.
“I thought you’d be away into town.”
“Later.”
“I’m not complaining,” said Murray, his smile even wider. “What can I do for you?”
“Ah, yes,” said Keiko. “I seem to have Internet upstairs but no one told me how to get onto it. I wondered if you knew. Or your mother maybe?”
“Mum?” said Murray, laughing. “She doesn’t even use a calculator, never mind computers. It’ll be Jimmy McKendrick that’s set that up for you. He’ll know.”
“I see,” said Keiko. “I thought because it was your flat…”
“Who told you that?” Murray said, giving her an exaggerated frown but still smiling.
“Mr. McKendrick did,” said Keiko, frowning herself, trying to remember. “I’m sure he said so. ‘Above the Pooles and they own it,’ he said. And I remember most particularly because I didn’t know it was a name at the time and ‘above the pools’ sounded so refreshing.”
Murray laughed again then. “Yeah,” he said. “We own it.”
“And I’m very grateful for it,” Keiko said.
“You don’t need to be that grateful,” he said. “Better than having it sit there empty.”
“But surely such a lovely flat can’t have been empty for long?” said Keiko. “In Tokyo-” She bit this off. Her mother had told her to be careful not to say too much about Japan. If they cared they could come and see for themselves, Keko-chan. Just as I could go to Sydney and take my own photographs of the opera house if I wanted them. My sister-in-law does not need to come home and share hers with me.
“Well, it’s a place to stay,” said Murray. “But you don’t have to let yourself get sucked in.”
Keiko shook her head at him, but before she could ask what he meant, the bell dinged above the door.
“Afternoon, young man,” said a woman, hefting a shopping basket onto the counter and leaning against it. Murray had flitted round to his station behind the register when he saw her coming.
“Mrs. Glendinning,” he said.
“And how are you today, Keiko?” said the woman. Keiko bobbed her head and smiled. She couldn’t remember ever seeing this woman before but supposed that she might have been at the feast in peach ruffles or turquoise satin. And her name did seem familiar.
“Right then,” Mrs. Glendinning said, peering into the display. “I’ll take a pound of your steak mince for tonight.” She gave Murray a sharp look. “That’s today’s mince, eh?”
Murray nodded. He had pushed his hands into plastic gloves from the dispenser and had twitched a sheet of cellophane onto the bed of the scales.
“And a pound-no make it two pounds-of pork links and they’ll do for his breakfasts too. Couple of gigot chops, maybe three, eh? They’re no size. Another pound of mince-beef just, for meatballs-and, em, Friday, Friday, Friday… Well I’ll take a good two pounds of Ayrshire back anyway and a wee tate of pudding slices for the weekend. Friday, Friday, Friday… Och, why not? That sirloin looks a bonny colour, two steaks’ll do us fine.”
“Malc?” shouted Murray into the back of the shop.
Keiko cocked her head. Almost immediately, along the corridor that led from the back, came the sound of Malcolm moving, a low pounding, rubber boots squeaking, the chafing of cloth and slow breaths, until he appeared in the mouth of the passage. He wore the same clothes as his brother, but his apron was dark from work, his coat sleeves pushed back as far as they would go up his wrists. But still they were edged with rust colour.
Murray was weighing and wrapping, turning the waxed sheets into bags and sealing them, deft and precise, never touching their contents. He spoke without looking up. “Couple of sirloin for Mrs. Glendinning, pal.” Then he snapped open a carrier bag and began to stack the packages inside.
Malcolm turned away to where a wedge of meat sat like a rock on a high cutting board and bent over it. Although his hands must be moving, all Keiko could see was his back, a wide block of white broken by apron strings. There were two muffled thumps that made Malcolm’s back judder, and then he turned around to face them, slapping the bricks of cut meat from his bare palms onto the scales.
“I’ve left the fat on, Mrs. Glendinning,” he said, his soft voice booming a little as he strained to be heard over the width of the counter and the sound of Murray rustling the carrier bag. “You don’t have to eat it, but don’t go trimming it before you fry them, because-”
“I’ll manage from here, son,” said the woman, winking at Keiko. “It’s like taking a chick from under a hen getting a steak out of Malcolm sometimes.”
Malcolm smiled but was already moving away again.
The shop bell sounded and a man strolled in. Fishing in his jacket pocket for his wallet, he joined the woman at the counter.
“Well, what’s the damage, then?” he said. “What are you after from us today?” He looked at Keiko and chuckled. “Aye, they’re doing all right are the Pooles.”
“We’re managing, Mr. Glendinning,” said Murray, in a level voice. “The three of us.”
“Och away, I’m just havin’ a laugh with you,” said the man. “Let’s just hope this one lasts, eh?”
“Wheesht, Eric,” said his wife. She smiled tightly at Keiko. “Just ignore him, lovey.”
“Ignore what?” said her husband. “I’m saying I hope she stays. I’m hoping the luck’s turned. Where the harm in that?” He grasped the bag that Murray held over the counter to him, groaned at the weight of it, and walked out. Mrs. Glendinning took the change with another tight smile and followed him.
“Tosser,” Murray said when they had left.
“What did he mean?” said Keiko.