Introduction
Hmmmm. We had a little argument this morning which resulted in me losing my temper with him. Which is unusual and in fact surprised him more than it did me. It went along something like this:
Him: Why do you always slop about the house with that old dressing gown on?
Me: Because I like it.
Him: Why don't you get dressed?
Me: Why, are we going somewhere?
Him: Don't think so.
I'd brought coffee and the Sunday Bloody Telegraph to his bed knowing that Sunday was a day of rest, at least for men.
Me: You used to like looking at me like this at one time.
Him: Oh did I?
Me: You know you did.
Him: Ummmm (takes a mouthful of coffee)
I'd done him two eggs two rashers of bacon and fried bread and he ate the lot without a word.
Me: Was your breakfast alright?
Him: Yes.
Me: What else would you like?
Him: Nothing else.
No chance of a bit of meat and two veg there then.
Him: Are you going to get dressed?
Me: No.
Him: Why not?
Me: Because I am more comfortable like this
Him: What if someone comes round?
Me: Like who? Are we expecting someone?
Him: No.
It was becoming all the more futile by the minute. I went downstairs, found my book and had just started to read one of the racier bits when he hollered down the stairs:
Him: Where the hells my soap?
Me: Wherever you left it.
Him: No its not!
Me: Then I don't know.
Loads of thumps, slamming doors and swearing from upstairs.
Me: Have you found it?
Him: No.
Me: Get a new bar out of the cupboard.
Him: There isn't any
Me: Yes there is.
Him: Well I can't.......(crash thump bellow!)
Me: Are you alright?
Him: No.
Me: Wha’s the matter?
Him: (Crash thump clatter) I can't find the bloody soap.
At this point I decided enough was enough. I knew there were at least six bars of soap in the cupboard 'cos I'd put them there the day before, soon after I'd come back from shopping. I knew that if I went upstairs I'd end up shouting at him, knew if I stayed where I was he'd shout at me. So.........
You know I keep a pair of shoes and a coat in the car, amongst other things. What I call my emergency kit. Other clothes too but my coat most importantly. This means that should I decide to take off somewhere in a hurry I can do so without worrying too much about what I may or may not be wearing. I know exactly where the ladies room is at Watford Gap services and where I can park very easily without being seen. There is a space next to the lorry drivers park..........
I shall go home later, when I have simmered down, by which time presumably he will have done so too. Until then I will doze and listen to the radio and watch the bigwheelers moving in and out. In another lifetime I want to be a lorry driver……….
Its odd how the strangest and often the most interesting things happen to me when I am not trying to make it so. Take yesterday morning for instance. I had a row with the old man about nothing in particular, decided I’d had enough of him already that day, so got in my trusty Escort and zoomed off to my favourite motorway service station. It’s one I am very familiar with and one I am sure you have all heard of so I won’t here include its name. No really. I can do without hordes of people chasing after me!
Anyway, I’d got parked up in my usual quiet space, right where the lorries turn in and out of their own expanse of dirty concrete and was sitting quietly, half listening to the radio and half watching what was going on. The need for something to eat and drink wasn’t that urgent but the need to pee was so, after a while, I wandered off towards the ladies and remembered on the way that the car needed some water in it’s window washers. Yes there is a connection but not the one you are thinking of. I expect you’ll see it in the end.
Well I got back from the loo and went to the boot of the car to get out the bottle of window washer stuff, which is diluted ready for use in the half gallon plastic can the concentrate was originally in.
Maybe too many men have the wrong idea about women’s capabilities. I mean, I know damn well where the washer water goes. And the
oil and everything else so you can imagine I was a little bit incensed when the driver of some large vehicle or other offered to lend me a hand with my maintenance. I’d already had one pointless and one sided discussion with a man that morning, resulting in rapid voluntary estrangement from my house and home so I really did not want another one which might result in me committing murder or something worse. So I turned politely and told the man I was perfectly capable of filling the washer reservoir up……
He smiled at this, made some joke, half heartedly about women in distress, which I ignored pointedly but then, instead of buggering off to his wagon to masturbate with a porno mag he offered to check my oil and coolant levels for me.
God I hate men sometimes.
I told him I thought both oil and water were alright but he insisted, saying he would not want to see me broken down on the motorway later on.
God, I really hate men sometimes!
So for the sake of a quiet life I allowed him to withdraw my dipstick and inspect it. Of course the oil level was exactly where it ought to be, exactly as I knew it would be, there in line with the little notch on the stick.
The man wiped it on the side of his overalls then shoved it down into the engine again. When he withdrew it a second time the level was exactly the same.
He grunted something to himself, as if he was disappointed to find I’d been right.
“Old motors often burn a lot of oil!” he told me “On a long journey you might find the engine runs right out before you know it……”
“She doesn’t burn any oil” I told him firmly. “No matter how fast I go”
The man ignored me, began to unscrew the top of the coolant tank instead. Well I could see through the transparent side of the tank that the coolant level was alright but I didn’t say anything. Much as I hate them sometimes, often it is better to keep quiet when men are trying to be helpful, isn’t it?
I don’t know what he expected to see inside that little tank but all that was in there was pale blue coolant at exactly the right level. No more nor less than that!
“Sometimes these older type engines tend to leak……” he offered lamely
“Well this one doesn’t!” I said.
The man stood up suddenly and I stepped back.
“Sorry!” he said “I was only trying to help. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve……”
“It’s alright!” I said “No need to apologise”
I had to feel kind of sorry for him then, in some strangely indefinable way. He looked so disappointed that he’d not found something he could help me with, crestfallen I suppose you’d call it.
“Used to be my job” he said quietly “Aye One Rescue. You know, good as the A.A. it was, when I was there”
“Oh yes?” I said.
He nodded “Now it’s removals I do. Part loads, pictures and antiques”
“I do all my own maintenance” I said “Used to be my job too. Courier driver, I was, at one time. I had BMC vans then”
The man looked suitably impressed.
“What Sherpas? He asked interestedly.
I shook my head. Clumsy great lumbering things, those Sherpa vans. Too big, slow and underpowered to be any use for what I used to do.
“Maestros” I told him proudly. “I ran a fleet of nine. Six other drivers and me with two vans in reserve. Small parcels mostly, private mails, that sort of thing, mostly between Brum and London”
I must say the man looked very impressed by this.
“I thought I’d met you before” he said.
I smiled “You may have, but I doubt it. My vans never broke down. Once, and once only did a driver run out of fuel. I sacked her for that! For negligence. Right down the bottom of the M25 by Gatwick”
“That was a bit hard wasn’t it?” he asked “I mean, sacking her because she ran out of petrol?”
“Diesel” I said “And that’s what vans have a fuel gauge for. Getting that one going again cost me a lot of money, it did”
The man nodded knowledgeably “You’d have to bleed it” he said.
“Yes” I told him. “That’s what I did!”
That must have been the last straw for the man. Here he was, a knight in shining armour, well filthy overalls if you insist, searching around for a maiden to rescue, when who should come along but me! Complete with socket set in both aye eff and metric and with a bloody great screwdriver stuck into my belt. It hadn’t been that difficult bleeding the air out of a Maestro’s fuel system anyway, if I remember rightly. Just a couple of screws to loosen on the filter and a single five sixteenths nut on the pump. And yes I’d dermatitis a couple of times too, from the diesel, so don’t you tell me about the drawbacks.
The stupid thing is this driver of mine had been running on red diesel, you see……
So it was negligence and theft in reality I’d sacked her for, because while there is nothing wrong with red diesel in a tractor it is somewhat illegal to use it on the road for more than a few miles. That’s why the white stuff is called derv – ‘diesel engine road vehicle’ the acronym means and the reason why it costs three times as much as the red is because of the tax the government put on it. I’d paid her for white but she’d filled up with red, pocketed the difference and put my vehicle in danger of being impounded by the customs and excise. They will do that you know and you never get it back. So, had she been caught I’d be eight and a half grand down to Barclays with no van to show for it and with a hefty fine from C&E to contend with as well.
“What a cow!” the man in the greasy overalls said. “Tell you what. Why don’t I buy you a drink?”
I had to laugh at him then, in a jovial sort of way, as I’d never been picked up in quite that sort of manner before. Which is not to say I hadn’t been picked up at that particular service station. Oh no! It had happened to me there more than anywhere else in the country, but usually at my instigation. This time I hadn’t really thought about it and it had still happened. I can only assume from that that some men still find something attractive in me.
“You can buy me coffee and a cake if you like!” I said boldly, which cheered the man up straight away.
……………………
Well the cake was stale and the coffee too hot, too strong, and too tasteless, but I didn’t complain. Instead I asked him if he had a schedule to keep and no, not today, was what he told me.
“Didn’t realise I was so hungry” I announced, collecting cake crumbs with a sucked fingertip. The man gazed at me wonderingly.
“Can I get you something else then?” he asked “If you’re still hungry I mean”
I shook my head, remembering my manners and the fact that I only had about two quid in change in my purse. I could only buy him a bar of chocolate in return if I had to, with that!
“Its alright” I told him “I shall have to be going soon anyway. I’ve got to cook the old man’s dinner!”
“Aah!” he breathed “The old man. There is a husband is there?”
“That’s what there is” I said “One who lies in bed on Sunday morning and issues orders” I grinned “This Sunday I came out and left him”
Then I remembered how I’d come away in such a rush. With only a nightie and dressing gown on under my coat. Oh fuck and……… oh well! The dressing gown, what little could be seen of it might easily pass for a jumper of some sort, or, if I sat down carefully an all in one pale pink top and skirt. Furtively I squinted at my reflection in the window. No, thank goodness, the top of my nightie could not be seen.
The man laughed “You must have come out in a hurry then” he said.
Well it was blindingly obvious to me then wasn’t it, and I’m bloody stupid. No makeup! Hair all over the place! Coat all crumpled and to make matters worse, when I looked down at it, it was unmistakeably a dressing gown I could see. Hell and damnation I was lucky the law didn’t come and take me away. I could just see the headlines now:
“Semi naked pensioner exposes herself to motorists”
and
“M’Way crash caused by flashing pensioner”
“You could say that” I said.
The man looked at me over the top of his coffee cup, his knight in shining armour persona to the fore again.
“Anything I can do?” he asked me.
For some reason I felt his concern was genuine. He continued to stare at me while I finished my coffee, appeared to want to ask me something more when I put down the cup.
“It’s alright” I said “I’ll go home in a while and do him some dinner. If I am quiet and he’s still in bed like I’ll bet he is he’ll never know I’ve been anywhere”
“If you’re sure” the man said disappointedly.
“Yes I’m sure” I said
“Well if you get any bother you can tell him Big Pete Sandon will come round and sort him!”
“That’s you then, is it?” I asked.
The man grinned “Yeah, that’s me!”
“Well I’m Vicky” I said, holding out my hand.
His hand was as warm as his eyes had been when he’d gazed at me over his coffee cup. Suddenly I felt stupidly attracted to the man. He’d been unnecessarily helpful and generous towards me, worked hard at making conversation and shown an interest and an understanding of what I had to say, now here I was disappointing him and deflating his ego by telling him I was about to go home to my husband.
I didn’t want to let go of his hand, but neither did I want to go on holding it over the table. Reluctantly I pulled myself free.
“More coffee before you go?” he asked hopefully
More coffee? I nodded.
He smiled.
And I had an idea.
“Removals?” I asked obliquely “Is that what you’re doing today?”
The man paused uncertainly, awkwardly half risen from the table.
“Just a part load today, as it’s a Sunday” he confirmed “Auction house stuff. Got to be in Chiswick by Monday ready for the sale”
“Mmmmm” I said “so how much room is in the back”
The man sat down again, I thought somewhat unsteadily. Perhaps he could see where the conversation was leading.
“It’s a seven and a half tonner, Luton top, and theres only a set of chairs, a dining table and a bureau in the back. It’s good stuff. Georgian I’d say”
He looked around hastily, as if worried about being overheard. “there is a lot of repro stuff about though” he added meaningfully.
Now in the same way as I don’t know anything about art, but I know what I like I don’t know very much about antiques. But you know, I’ve read a little bit about this and that. Enough to be able to hold a conversation if necessary or to make a comment good enough so that I don’t look silly.
“First, Second or third George?” I asked.
“What, oh how should I know” he flustered “I’m only the driver”
I pulled a face “And there was me thinking you were going to show it to me!”
“Were……yes, I can do that” the man said “I want to check it anyway. It wasn’t very well packed”
“Alright” I said “Lets forget about the coffee. You go and see if Old George is alright. Then you can show it to me. It’s an interest of mine, is that type of furniture”
That was a lie but he never knew it and I was beginning to think I might have overdone the innuendoes too, but he didn’t appear to have noticed those either unless he’d taken them in subconsciously.
Well his thoughts were already straying elsewhere.
……………………………
We stood on the taillift and rode up on it together. Then he undid the roller door and shoved it upwards with a clatter.
Like most wagons of this type, in order to let the light in the roof was made of some kind of transparent plastic and like most wagons of this type it was chipped and knocked about by clumsy use inside.
“Alright?” he asked, offering me his hand.
Now I could have stepped off that taillift without any problem but I took his proffered hand anyway. Matters were coming to a head now, I could tell, so I didn’t want to fall over.
There was a neatly folded stack of old blankets on one side at the back with others of their kind wrapped and stuffed and draped all over Old George, with dust sheets and several broken down cardboard cartons lying on the floor.
“’S all right” the man said “I don’t think it has moved about much.
“Coo, you could live in here” I said.
The man laughed “It’d be chilly in the winter and too hot in summer” he looked at obliquely “Besides, there isn’t no bed………...”
“Never mind Pete” I said, leaning back against the stack of blankets “We can do it on here……”
Startled, he stared at me.
“What……?”
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” I asked unbuttoning my coat.
“Shit!” he cried in alarm. “For fucks sake wait till I close the door!”
Dodging past me like a whirlwind he pulled the taillift up with a tremendous clatter then heaved on the loop of rope which brought down the roller shutter. I doubt whether that wagon had ever been closed up as fast before in its life.
I took off my coat, untied the front of my dressing gown and, soon after that I found out why he was called Big Pete.
Oh, and in case you’re still wondering, it was George the Third furniture.
Apart from the bureau. That was a fake.
………………
Life in the Middle Lane (series) © Aahlu 1998.
Life in the Middle Lane
Part III
by
Aahlu
Part III
by
Aahlu
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Thu, 20th May, 2010
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