CHAPTER 3
837 Words
CHAPTER 3
“HAVE YOU GOT that ‘Fifty Shades’ book?”
Thelma Frost looked at the little old lady standing opposite. Her head barely reached above the counter top.
“It’s out on loan I’m afraid, but I’ll put your name on the waiting list.”
Thelma sighed. The world was obsessed with s*x. She was sick of the constant s****l innuendos from the lonely old men who spent all day supposedly reading in the library. One of them she’d caught holding a mirror and bending down next to a young girl in a short skirt standing there unaware in the fiction section. Every time you opened a newspaper or magazine there was somebody’s breasts looking at you. s*x was everywhere. It was on more and more TV programmes, and especially rife on the music channels. You couldn’t even look at a music video these days without the unpleasant sight of half-naked women gyrating provocatively about. Why don’t they just take all their clothes off and fornicate and get it over with?
“Shall I do the shelving?” Monica’s voice brought Thelma out of her reverie.
“Yes, thank you Monica. I’m going for some lunch now.”
Thelma took her packet of sandwiches and flask of tea out of her locker, and walked towards her usual seat in the park next to the library. She experienced a slight twinge of irritation at the sight of a young couple kissing and cuddling on her seat, and had to backtrack to the empty bench near the public toilets. A smell of stale urine wafted out from the men’s lavatory. Thelma clicked her tongue in annoyance and moved off again to the other end of the small park. At this rate her lunch half hour would be over before she’d even had a chance to eat anything.
As she savoured her mother’s salmon and cucumber sandwiches left over from the Sunday teatime visit of her elderly aunt and uncle, she surreptitiously watched the young couple kissing on her seat. She gave a tut of disapproval; they should be doing that sort of thing in private. She carried on watching, dark sunglasses hiding her line of vision. She could see the boy had his tongue in the girl’s mouth. She looked away to pour some hot tea from her flask, and felt a fleeting sensation of something unknown in her nether regions. By the time she had put the cup to her lips the couple were walking away, arms around each other.
The afternoon shift dragged on. As Thelma stooped over to pick up some books from the bottom shelf of the returns trolley, the muscles in her lower back sent out a painful stab of protest. She stood up gingerly, holding the small of her back with her right hand and some non-fiction books in the other.
The pain was happening more and more. She knew she was out of condition. She needed to find out about joining an exercise class of some sort before her back gave up the ghost altogether.
“Is that you, Thelma?” Her mother’s voice sounded as soon as Thelma returned home and put the key in the lock.
Who else would it be? The Queen of Sheba?
“Yes it’s me, Mum.”
“What?”
“It’s me.”
“You’re twenty minutes’ late. Your dinner’s cold now.” Sylvia Frost’s mouth was forming a tight ‘o’ of disapproval as Thelma entered the kitchen.
“Sorry, Mum. I went to the leisure centre to see if there were any classes I could join that would help my bad back. The receptionist said there’s a new Pilates course starting next Monday evening.”
“What?”
Thelma closed her eyes for a second and let another stab of annoyance pass.
“I said there’s a new Pilates course starting next Monday evening.”
“You’re joining the gym?”
“No. Just a Pilates class. Apparently it tones up your muscles a treat.”
Thelma put her dinner in the microwave to heat up.
“So you’ll be out now every Monday night?” Sylvia’s voice took on the whine that Thelma knew only too well. She waited for the start of the emotional blackmail.
“I sit here all day on my own, and nobody comes near nor by.”
Yep. There it was. There’ll be the bit about putting her head in the oven next.
“Sometimes I feel like putting my head in the microwave.”
That was a change from the oven. Wouldn’t gassing be a better way to go? Just place a pillow in the oven, put your head on it, turn on the gas and close the kitchen door…
“I’ll only be gone a couple of hours. It’s not like I’m flying to the moon. Why not join something yourself? An evening class perhaps?”
“What?”
“How about joining an evening class?”
How am I going to get there?
“How can I get to an evening class? I’m too old to get on the bus to the college.”
No you’re not. It’s just that Dad drove you around everywhere when he was alive, and you became dependent and lazy. You’re only 68. For God’s sake get a life and stop complaining!
“I’ll take you in the car. It’ll be good for you to meet new people.”
“No, no. I could never go anywhere on my own.”
- Writer
