The photographer he had approached to help him market his “Computer Programming for the Small Business” enterprise had recommended a modern yet trusting pose and attire and the open-necked shirt in a pastel yellow had, he felt, done the job. The photographer had assured him that everyone in the business used powder and it was necessary to maintain a matt surface under the professional lighting set up; it was nothing to do with defusing the shine on his balding pate.
The small blue card that he had attached to the chocolates simply said, “I hope I make it through to the next round, best wishes, Brian.” Less being more was an adage that he applied to his life in many ways (unfortunately including his personality).
****
Lottery Lawrence sat in his small, but paid for, cottage. It was true in that he had won money on the lottery but, as usual, he had rather overstated the relevance of it.
The only photos he had now were of him opening bottles of champagne or grimacing as he gave oversized cheques to village causes. He really just wanted to leave all that behind, get a new image that didn’t cost him a fortune to keep up.
He headed to the village post office. “Getting a passport, Lawrence? Off on another holiday, are ‘ee?” Lawrence managed a smile, but still the photo booth made him look like a convict. Feeling beaten by the whole sorry saga, he stuffed the photo in an (expensive) envelope, along with one of his boat and slung it irreverently in the postbox.
****
It was on a steep slope on a beautiful Welsh hillside that Dougie Evans considered which photo he would send. Alfie had just run up said slope for the twentieth time with a slobbery stick in his mouth (which Dougie would throw back downslope, wiping his hand on his rough trousers before returning to his sandwich).
A photo. She wanted a photo. How could he get a photo? When there was a camera around, some of his friends would leap to their knees, opening their arms and their mouths wide, but he would always take the opportunity to pop to the bar or take a breath of fresh air outside. It was said that at weddings or parties, there would never be a photo of the whole gathering because Dougie Ev’s will always have pissed off outside…especially at weddings.
He watched Alfie again, marvelling at how he still loved sticks, despite being on the millionth one. Then an idea clicked. He smiled to himself, feeling able to rejoin the banter going on around him.
Chapter 16
Not a Bit Like the Pack-shot
The crowd that were following Lettie’s adventures in love now unfortunately included her mother. Grace Howells was a small neat woman who felt a requirement to comment on every element of as many lives as she was aware of. She made it her business to know everything and the subtlety with which she would go about this had morphed over the years into inquisition. She sat at the head of the table in the crowded kitchen and assumed the Chair.
“Right then, let’s get these envelopes opened. Letitia, pass them here.”
“Thank you, Mum, but I think I am capable of opening my own post. In fact, I think I’ll do it later when I have had chance to have a shower and unwind a bit.” Not surprisingly, Lettie was overruled. Grace patted her hair, which had been coiffured within an inch of its life, and pursed her orange-red lips in order to stop herself grabbing the envelopes from her daughter. Rizzo, Lisa and Alex fell quiet as the first one was opened when Lettie did feel ready.
“Postmark? Letitia, what’s the postmark? Letitia?”
“Mum, calm down. This is from Bristol.”
“Desperate Dan,” chipped in Lisa, now fully briefed.
Lettie gently opened the envelope, which was then snatched up by Grace, desperate to play a part in the great unveiling. Shrieks of laughter filled the kitchen as the collage was passed around.
“Excellent!”
“Hey, Lettie, he’s nice! His friend’s nice too – yeah, go for him and I can have his mate!”
“What do you reckon?”
“Well, what a ridiculous photo. He should show my daughter a bit more respect and get a proper one done. You don’t want to go near him girl if he’s too stingy to get a proper one done. Look, the head’s coming off. Stingy I call it.” Grace sat back, her arms folded, her mind made up.
Rizzo picked up the pieces of the photo and guffawed as the intention of Dan’s hand, which had previously been covered by a better-looking hand, was revealed to be reaching towards his neighbour’s chest. More mirth from the group rang out through the kitchen.
The Cheeky Chappie’s photo was greeted with approving nods and he was put on a “quite possible” pile as they all leaned forward to assess the next one.
“Now, that’s better. He’s a handsome man. And look, chocolates too. That’s your man, Letitia; listen to your mother.”
Brian the Snail caused ridiculously excessive laughter that increased as Rizzo mimicked Le Penseur’s pose to good effect.
“Sorry, Mum, you can have him if you think he is that good. Not my cup of tea at all I’m afraid. Let’s have a look at his chocolates though…”
Lisa propped the photo up on the mantelpiece and this set them all off giggling again.
“Ah, an expensive envelope, that’ll be Lottery Lawrence I’ll warrant.” Lettie was right and they were all admiring the picture of his boat when the small photo booth photo fell out and ruined the impact. Amongst the laughter, Alex grabbed the pad and pen and scrawled, “Wanted, dead or alive,” and placed the photo on it, the vacant eyes and prominent forehead of the allegedly wealthy man sealing his fate of derision and withdrawal from the next round.
The final envelope was pushed across the table to Lettie. Her initial amazement at receiving twenty-six replies to her message had greatly reduced in impact as she realised that the best that might come of the whole saga was the Cheeky Chappie, who had really only scored passable and this was a long way off from definite. Grace continued to clutch Brian’s photo, obviously not content to let her daughter pass up such a golden opportunity. Alex gazed at Lettie thinking this is the one she wants it to be. Lisa crossed her fingers – perhaps she should try this Classifieds lark? Rizzo gazed into the distance, imagining his face pressed into Lisa’s cleavage.
“Oh well, here goes nothing!” Lettie tore open the envelope and they all craned to see the photo. Lettie squealed with delight, whooped with laughter and turned it around for all to appreciate. In the background of a forestry scene, there was a blurred figure in a red shirt, but the main focus of the photo was a large black Labrador crashing through a river with a massive stick in its mouth, sending up spray for yards either side.
Grace put Brian down, aware that she had lost the battle.
Chapter 17
Full as an Egg
Big Eve Mathews was sat with her mother, in the sitting room crammed with furniture, as the two women chomped their way through afternoon tea. On the largest table of the nest sat a teapot covered by a crocheted tea cosy in a mixture of scratchy fawns. The cosy was a bit of an ornament – the pot barely had time to brew, let alone cool as the women slugged it down in the quantities required to put away a snack large enough for a road gang. This snack was never listed on the diet records that dumbfounded doctors and kept the local slimming club in membership funds, but it went a long way towards keeping Eve’s mother, Gloria, housebound.
It was a miserable day in a miserable house. The furniture, dating from the years when choice wasn’t an option and people were glad for what they were given, had been decanted from the larger family home into the small bungalow after Eve’s father had died, and Gloria could no longer manage the stairs. Despite the fact that only Eve and her mother ever really sat in the sitting room, there were enough overstuffed chairs to fill a doctor’s waiting room.
The women were chatting in the way that people do to simply fill time. Both were putting off the ritual of getting out of the chairs, which was becoming more farcical as the pounds crept quietly on and the knees weakened. This rigmarole was reminiscent of male sea lions heaving themselves out of the sea, their
fat stores rippling with the waves of effort required. The “harrumphing” sound that Eve had to make enhanced the effect and the village children would have lined the windows in glee had they known what was happening within.
Once Eve was upright and mobile, she would then have to assist her mother and Gloria would be similarly harrumphed to her feet to begin the long painful journey to the bathroom. It was a dance that was carried out a number of times a day and one in which the steps would never be improved upon, no matter how much practice was put in.
Eve was helped in her daily mission by a friendly neighbour who would make Gloria a wholesome lunch rich in vegetables and low in fat, as required by the diet sheets and this allowed Eve to retain an element of her “indeepenndence” as she had come to call it.
Eve’s “indeepenndence” was a real stumbling point between her and her mother. Gloria could see no reason why Eve should wish to live in a draughty shared flat when there was a perfectly good spare room in Gloria’s bungalow. Eve had luckily had the foresight to move out of the family home before her father, Dennis, died and he had been quietly helpful behind the scenes in assisting her. He had soon come to terms with his position in the family pecking order, which had slipped a notch every time an additional member arrived. His only really positive action towards Eve had been shielding her from her mother’s overbearance. The job of live in nanny to the children of an acquaintance of his, for he was not strictly allowed to have friends, had enabled Eve to ease herself free of the apron strings that had bound and gagged Dennis for so many years.
When the job had come to an end, Eve had moved into the small flat where she was now living and had so far kept her quiet promise to her father on his deathbed that she would not move back home. And, therefore, Eve, Skinny Twat and a man called Trefor lived a strange existence in a miserable flat.
Eve could chatter for hours about Peter (for Skinny Twat had not actually been christened a Twat) but Gloria felt that the relationship was just not going anywhere and that Eve moving in with her would give Skinny the push he needed to pop the question.
“When I was your age, I’d been married to my Den for ten years, had had your two brothers and you were on the way,” she would say most days. “I used to fight them off with a stick at the local dances, but you…well, I just don’t know what to make of you. I really don’t.” This was not said in malice and was meant to inspire and motivate Eve, but instead it usually made her reach for another custard slice.
Yes, but you didn’t have to spend your Saturday nights wiping your mother’s arse though, did you, thought Eve, the resolve to retain her “indeepenndence” hardening.
Eve had a job at the local mini market to cover the lunchtime rush. This allowed her to see to her mother in the morning, then escape to work for a few hours where she clung to a semblance of normality that she treasured. Stuffed into a fetchingly clingy nylon pinny, Eve would serve behind the hot food counter, packing and selling hot pies and pasties to the local school kids and building labourers.
As well as providing her with social interaction, it also provided Eve with a cheap supply of cakes, as neither she nor her mother minded the fact that the cream was hardening or the packaging had been crushed in the corner. Indeed, it became quite a mystery to the senior shelf stacker as to why so many of the custard slice boxes had crushed corners. Unfortunately, Eve’s job was as damaging to her as Skinny’s glass collecting “job” was to him and were they to have swapped, they may have both lived much more happily. But, Eve enjoyed it, and the State donated the balance that allowed her to pay her share of the rent and the bills, in addition to a carer’s allowance to look after her mother. Therefore, Eve was able to expand her wages to cover the occasional luxury that would delight and intrigue the inebriated Skinny who would bury his face in its lacy folds.
Today, Gloria must have been feeling particularly bitter as she persisted in her jibes about Skinny and his lack of respect for Eve and how she must learn the art of enticement and beguilement and not just give him what he wanted on a plate. Of course, age had muddied the waters somewhat slightly and Gloria was happily able to forget that she had actually preferred her Den’s brother, but her tantalizing guile hadn’t managed to ensnare him. Instead, as a shelf with her name on beckoned, she’d settled for Dennis, and he, having been rejected by Rita Morgan three times, made do with Gloria.
“Well, actually,” said Eve, “Peter and me have discussed getting our own place, but we haven’t decided when yet.” This was only really bordering on a lie as, although she discussed it quite regularly, he tended to intersperse his side of the debate with, “Oh, can I just kiss this bit here, can I? Can I? I love this bit I do,” and Eve would release a little more of her bosom from its captor and carry on talking whilst Skinny slobbered with unfulfilled desire.
Discussing future plans with Skinny was as frustrating a business as having to tell a relative with dementia that he is a grandfather. It’s always good news heard for the first time, and Skinny’s level of discussion had this quality. Although his almost daily enthusiasm for the new idea was very flattering, Eve was beginning to tire of having not moved on much further than deciding that they wanted quite a big house with a garden and a granny flat so that they could still keep their “indeepenndence”, should Mother need to move in.
Gloria was interested in the revelation, but still cynical. She knew enough people to keep up with local gossip, and hence she knew what Skinny’s job really entailed: “And what are you going to pay for this place with? Beer mats and Stop ’n’ Shop vouchers?” But Eve hadn’t got that far. She’d seen the house that she felt they should live in, but hadn’t really thought much further than needing to paint the front door red. She’d have to discuss it further with Peter that night. Perhaps she’d wait up for him, fully clothed, so that her lingerie wouldn’t detract from the conversation.
Gloria pushed the last of the cream puff into her mouth, belched quietly and started to shuffle forward in her all-consuming armchair. Eve recognised the signs, repaid the compliment with the custard slice, wiped her hands on the unlucky denim that was stretched over her thighs and prepared to harrumph…
Chapter 18
Weaning onto Solids
“Hello? Is that Dougie? Hi, this is, er, Lettie.”
There was a silence and Lettie could almost hear the thoughts gathering.
“Lettie! Hello, yes hello, good to speak to you at last. Hang on, let me turn the music off. Yes, there we are, there we are. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” laughed Lettie, “how are you?”
“Yes, I’m good thanks. I’m glad you phoned – I wasn’t sure whether you’d like the photo. Bit of a cop-out on my behalf. Didn’t want to blow my chances too soon and the dog always gets admiring pats.”
“I loved the photo! I thought it was great. And, anyway, you should have seen the competition!”
“Oh, the best of a bad job, was I?” He laughed and settled back in the kitchen chair, not noticing how he was brushing his dark wavy hair back and grinning. “Go on then, tell me what I was up against.”
The sound of his soft Welsh accent warmed Lettie and she could feel his smiles across the phone lines. She too was giggling more than was truly necessary and twiddling a lock of hair around her finger in a way that Rizzo would have identified immediately as purposeful.
Doug laughed as she relayed the contents of the other envelopes, reassuring him that she wouldn’t normally mock, but that it would be a waste not to. Molly was at her side and Lettie relaxed and absentmindedly put down a hand and tickled her under the chin. Molly was soon moving her head and then her body round to get the most from the attention and if she could have spoken, she would have said “Oh, Baby. Yes. Oh, right there. Mmm. Wonderful.”
The phone call went back and forth, if there were ever a silence, one or the other would say, “Tell me about X,” or “What do you think of Y?” and the conversation would move again, meandering like an old river nearing the sea. I
t was only when Rizzo came into the kitchen and turned on the light that Lettie realised that they had been talking for over an hour.
As Rizzo motioned as to whether she’d like a cup of tea or coffee, Lettie suddenly felt exhausted, her face hurt from smiling, her ear from having the phone pressed so firmly to it. They said their goodbyes, promising to phone again in a couple of nights and the receiver was replaced in its cradle.
Dougie sat at his table, feeling like a teenager again, a smile etched across his face. Alfie, who’d been Dougie’s footrest for the past hour, got up, disgruntled at the withdrawal of affection. Dougie felt the need to do something, but didn’t want to risk grazing the glow that he felt within. Pub? No, they would feel it their duty to worm all the details out of him and then their mocking would be relentless until they’d burst the bubble and he’d agreed to write the whole experience off as meaningless, allowing them all to sink their pints in relief. No one ever felt safe watching the status quo alter; a successful relationship usually spelled a shift in pub habits and this was to be avoided at all costs. It only ever served to remind each person there of how wretched and unfulfilling they had allowed their own lives to become.
Instead, Dougie and Alfie rattled their way down the narrow lane to the High Street. They crossed the road, barely needing to look for the traffic that was so rarely there at that time of night. Feeling the need for a treat, Dougie put Alfie to sit and went inside Glan Llanfair’s late night one-stop shop, grabbed a couple of Chelsea buns from the seen-better-days shelf and a couple of cold beers.
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