by Linda Coles
She’d never asked him his name. She didn’t expect he’d give it without asking why she wanted it, and that would mean conversation, so she called him Grey Man. Even though she only worked there two days a week, she knew he went in every day and ordered a pot of tea and a tuna mayo sandwich. Every. Single. Day. He never deviated: no cheese alternative, no ham and mustard, no scone for a treat, nothing different, and he’d been doing that same routine forever. Maybe the rest of his life followed the same pattern: routine, routine and more routine.
He’d never really bothered Madeline, though. She just got him his usual and took it over to his place by the window where he sat each day and read his paper at exactly the same time. There was no real point in taking a window seat if you were just going to sit and stare at your newspaper or concern yourself with two down or eleven across each day, but each to their own; his routine must work for him. Madeline was reminded of her stepdaughter Ruth, who also did the crossword every day. She must get it from her father: crosswords frustrated the hell out of Madeline, but then it wouldn’t matter whether she liked them or not because there was none of her DNA floating around inside Ruth’s body to influence her from Madeline’s side. No, Ruth was her stepdaughter.
Madeline pulled the door closed behind her and made her way down the side of the house to the garage and the car. The side door creaked loudly as she entered, reminding her to get it oiled. She pressed the button for the front roller door opener, and bright sunlight streamed into the dark space.
“Looks like another beautiful day, Dexter,” she said to the big chubby cat sitting just outside the door, his deep ginger fur gleaming vividly in the morning sunshine. “Keep an eye on things while I’m gone, will you?” Dexter looked back at her as if he’d no intention of doing anything today but taking it easy, and certainly not keeping an eye open for rogues about the place. Most of his day would be spent on the sun lounger on the patio; then, when the sun got too hot he’d move to a shady concrete slab and coolness.
She got into her Audi and drove out of the garage, noting that Dexter still hadn’t moved. She waved goodbye to him, like he was even once going to wave back, and set off into the village to Sally’s and a day that would include the miserable Grey Man.
The morning flew by. Regulars called in for their mid-morning lattes and cappuccinos, the strong rich aroma of fresh coffee was always a welcome smell, and she watched the fresh cheese and rocket scones dwindling away to none, which was always the signal that the arrival of the lunchtime crowd wasn’t far away. Some people used a watch to tell the time, but Madeline, for two days of the week, used cheese and rocket scones. They’d never been wrong yet.
At precisely 12.05 pm, Grey Man entered the little café and stood in the doorway. What was it about his miserable ways? If a child walked around looking like he did, Granny would’ve given him a dressing-down for dragging his chin on the floor and not picking his feet up. He was a grown-up version of that child, with no Granny handy to tell him otherwise. “My god,” she thought, “he’s got to be single. He never takes pride in himself.” She surreptitiously looked him up and down from her spot at the counter and didn’t worry that he might see her observing him because his face was permanently pointed to the floor. It must have been interesting. He never looked up, and when he ordered his lunch he wasn’t any different. As he approached the counter where she stood, she could see great big beads of sweat on the top of his bald patch, making what little wispy hair he did have stick to the side of his head in a nasty, sticky, wet-looking way. He must have felt the moisture because he removed a large blue-chequered handkerchief from his pocket and gave his head a wipe, sending the wispy bits into tangled, damp disarray. Considering it was such a hot day outside, his dowdy grey suit, the same one he always wore and the reason she called him Grey Man, looked much too heavy for him, yet he hadn’t thought to wear something lighter, or at least take his jacket off. A teeny-weeny part of her felt sorry for the man, at least until he opened his mouth.
“Tuna mayo roll and tea.”
Here we go again. That was it. That was all he ever said. No please, no thank you, no nothing. And certainly no eye contact. She watched him studiously as he counted out the right money. Not many people used cash these days but he obviously preferred it. She scooped up the small pile of £1 coins and loose change and replied in an overly sweet voice, “I’ll bring it right over,” though he would never have seen the overly sweet smile that went with it.
He turned and went to his usual table, the sickly oniony smell of today’s body odour lingering at the counter and clinging to the insides of Madeline’s nostrils like thick cobwebs.
“You bloody miserable old git,” muttered Madeline under her breath, heading out to the back kitchen to make up his roll and get his tea. “I should bloody spit in it,” she mumbled out loud as she poured hot water onto a tea bag in a pot and mixed tuna and mayo for his roll, putting it together quickly and efficiently as always. Couldn’t keep the man waiting.
She took his order over to his table, where he continued to completely ignore her and everyone else in in the café, and placed it down in front of him. His damp head was sticking out of the top of his newspaper. There was no ‘Thank you,’ though she’d have been more surprised if he’d said it than not. So she left him to it, noting his plastic shoes and his still-profusely-sweating balding head. A large wet bead turned into a small river and trickled down the back of his scalp to his collar, leaving a damp patch. Gross. It was enough to put other customers off their lunch.
Going back to her station at the counter, she busied herself with a cloth. A moment later she sensed someone approaching and looked up from what she was doing. Grey Man was back at the counter and that surprised her.
“Tea’s stewed.” Flat and monotone, no-frills delivery.
He was being clear about the problem, she’d have to give him that, but most people do elaborate with pleasantries around it, like maybe, “Sorry to bother you but my tea is a bit stewed. Can I get a fresh pot, please?” None of that for Grey Man, though. She looked at him and he looked at her. His dull grey eyes were the same colour as his dull grey suit, and the skin on his face was a lighter shade but just as dull and grey. The whole grey look he had going on matched the imaginary name she’d given him perfectly. Christian would have been proud of his grey-ness, though sadly for Madeline, they were worlds apart. She’d rather serve tea and a tuna roll to that Mr. Grey, given the chance... In fact, she’d happily serve anything to him full stop.
“I’ll get you another pot,” was all she said. If he only wanted to communicate in just a few words, two could play at that game. He slowly walked back to his table and half-eaten tuna mayo roll and sat back down, opening his paper and continuing on.
“What’s up with him?” enquired Margaret, one of the other lunchtime staff. “He’s looking his normal happy self.”
“Sodding tea’s stewed so I’m making him another pot,” Madeline said wearily.
“Miserable old bugger.” Margaret shook her head at him, not that he would have noticed, and carried on with what she’d been doing.
Madeline raised her chin slightly to her by way of agreement. She took his fresh pot over and placed it down on the table, smiling at him. Maybe she could teach him how to be pleasant? Nothing.
The words “Need a fresh cup” somehow left his mouth and ground in her ears.
For heaven’s sake.
Wordlessly, she went back for a fresh cup, putting it down in front of him a little more heavily than she intended so that other customers looked round to see where the noise had come from. Grey Man still didn’t make eye contact – no surprise there – so she left him to his fresh-brewed tea, the start of a plan forming in her mind. The old git deserved to be taught some manners. He didn’t have to be so bloody rude, no matter what was going on in his tiny grey life. The plan developed quite rapidly. A knowing smile spread across her lips, and was duly noticed by Margaret.
“What you smiling at?”
she asked lightly. “You look like you’re up to no good.”
She was bang on there.
That afternoon after work, Madeline drove back home, parked the Audi back in the garage and went round to the back door to let herself in. As expected, Dexter was flat out on the concrete trying to keep cool in the shade. The heat from the afternoon sun was lessening a little, but wearing a thick fur coat couldn’t be pleasant in high summer. He raised his head off the concrete just long enough to check who it was – no one to get excited about, no rogues about the place – and went back to his dream, his tail twitching ever so slightly, letting her know he wasn’t pleased at being disturbed.
She dropped her bag on the breakfast bar and, before she forgot, which didn’t take much, took a small tin of tuna out of the cupboard and opened it. She put the majority of it in a bowl for Dexter, should he decide to grace her with his presence later for his dinner, and put a couple of large spoonfuls in a small sandwich bag. She sealed it up and took it out to the shed. Opening the door, the heat from inside the shed nearly knocked her over. It was like an oven that had been on long and slow for a casserole, but she ventured in and put the little bag of tuna on a shelf.
“It won’t take too long to do its thing in this heat. It must be ninety degrees in here,” she said to herself, and closed the door again. The first part of the plan was already in motion. Shame she couldn’t add the finishing touches until next week, but there was comfort in knowing it was in nature’s hands, so as to speak. Patience and Madeline could be great friends when she wanted them to be.
Chapter Four
Friday
Although she hated having to go to Sainsbury’s on a Friday afternoon, Madeline did look forward to Fridays because (a) it was nearly the weekend, and (b) more importantly, it meant girly lunchtime chatter with Rebecca. They’d been meeting up on a Friday for about three years, the time she had been commuting into Croydon to work at the office equipment place twice a week, and it suited them both really well because Rebecca worked nearby, at her husband Edward’s office. She did a bit of bookwork, although knowing Rebecca, Madeline figured it was more filing her perfectly lovely nails rather than filing invoices, digital or otherwise.
Rebecca was her best friend. Rebecca and Edward had moved into the other side of the village a few years back and they’d seen each other at various events put on by the little theatre in the village or at the community centre and such like. Then they had bumped into each other at the street party that happened every year when the festival was on. It was always a bit of a riot, and they’d ended up sitting next to each other and just hit it off. Edward and Gordon had sort of hit it off, as only men do, but that hadn’t stopped Rebecca and Madeline from becoming close friends. With her sons and Ruth having all left home, and Rebecca’s children having done the same, they each had a bit of time to themselves. They both welcomed the female-only companionship, and when they realised they worked reasonably close to each other, the Friday lunch ritual at the Baskerville pub had started.
Madeline was ordering their usual at the bar, a gin and tonic for her, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for Rebecca, when she felt her friend brush her shoulder and smelled her Chanel No. 5 – Rebecca always wore Chanel. Madeline turned to greet her.
“Hello, Rebecca,” she said, and hugged her tight in a welcoming embrace.
“My god Madeline, what’s with the bear hug?” Rebecca asked, laughing as she fought to pull away. “It’s only been a week. Have you missed me that much?”
Oh, I’d love to tell you about my week… sticky buns and all.
“I’ve just been looking forward to seeing you, that’s all. In need of a girly chat and lunch. I think my bloody hormones are out of whack again, and this heat is nearly killing me.” It was the truth.
“Then you should just take the chemicals the doctor offers you and be done with it like the rest of us. None of that herbal nonsense. But I know you won’t listen.” Rebecca had been trying to get her on to HRT, but Madeline wasn’t having any of it; she wasn’t one for pill popping if something a bit more natural was available, although sometimes, just sometimes, she was tempted. Rebecca always meant well.
“Let’s not go there. Let’s have a drink instead,” she said, anxious to get off the subject of HRT again. She picked up her gin and tonic and passed Rebecca her glass of wine, and they both headed over to their usual table in the corner, from where they could both see who came in and went. Madeline sat down with a heavy thump in the leather chair, then took a long drink from her glass. As she set it down she noticed just how much she’d just slurped down. So did Rebecca.
“Steady on, Maddy. You okay?” She and Gordon were the only ones who called her Maddy. Not even Ruth called her Maddy; that would be too affectionate.
“I’m good. Just needed a gin to kick back, which I’ve now got.” She smiled. “Actually, I’m famished. Shall we order lunch now? Are you having your usual?”
“Yes, please. And let’s share a bowl of fries too.” Rebecca’s idea of sharing meant she’d have four fries and Madeline would end up scoffing the rest, which was why she had an ample waistline and Rebecca didn’t.
“Why not? I’ll go and order it, then.” She stood up to go and place their order at the bar. On her way over, she heard the distinctive ping behind her as a text landed on Rebecca’s phone. She turned to see her friend reading it with a smile bending her perfectly filled red lips at the edges. She ordered and paid for the food and went back to join her.
“You look like the cat that got the cream.” Rebecca had the decency to blush. Knowing Rebecca, Madeline had a fair idea what it was about. She bent forward and, almost in a whisper, said, “Come on, then. Who is he now?”
“That obvious, eh? Shit, I need to be more discreet.”
The twinkle in her eyes made her a bit jealous. It’d been a while since Madeline’s had twinkled quite like that.
“The gardener’s son, Todd,” Rebecca said. “Home from university and making his home at my place a couple of lunchtimes a week. Except he’s not sleeping.” Her eyes shone brightly, but at least she looked just a little embarrassed.
“Rebecca! I knew you had another,” said Madeline excitedly, trying to keep her voice hushed. “You really are bloody naughty. That must be about five that I’m aware of since I’ve known you.” But she wanted the gory details anyhow. “Go on, then, tell me more. Tell me all about it.”
“Not much more to tell than he’s twenty-one. He’s –”
But Madeline didn’t give her friend time to finish before she jumped in. “Twenty-one? Are you insane? You’re nearly fifty!” Rebecca threw her head back and laughed, her expertly blended blond hair bouncing on her shoulders, her perfectly white teeth gleaming as she did so. She was a stunningly beautiful woman who always looked lovely without appearing to try too hard. She always wore just the right amount of make-up, and her hair was always perfectly coiffed. If she had to call her out for one thing, Madeline thought she dressed a bit too young. Cougar dressing, you’d call it. And by all accounts, this cougar was happy playing with other cats’ cubs.
“Go on, then,” she said again. “How did it happen?” She wanted the details because she was intrigued as to how a nearly fifty-year-old woman could attract a much, much younger man. Although she already knew the answer – Rebecca’s natural good looks and great body were all she needed. Madeline didn’t have quite the same qualities; she was more quantity.
“He came with his dad working one day, and we just kept catching one another’s eyes while he worked and I pottered in and out. Then one afternoon, he popped back on his own to drop something off and I took the opportunity. It wasn’t hard – I knew he’d say yes. Not many young men out there would turn down the experienced older woman, and he wasn’t one of them.” Her mischievous smile suited her. She went on, “Garden shed was the first time. I never knew an old table could be so much fun! But now we’ve moved inside more. It’s a little more comfortable.” She took another sip of her win
e then carried on, Madeline hanging on her every word, mesmerised by how the other half lived.
“Todd sort of looks like he might be into surfing, although I’ve never asked him. We don’t talk too much.” Rebecca winked and it was Madeline’s turn to blush.
“Slightly longer sun-bleached hair,” Rebecca continued, “and abs as tight as knots on a shoelace.” She leaned in closer before saying, “And knows how to please me too, and not just for the standard twenty minutes that I’ve become accustomed to. We enjoy lively lunches.” She winked again as she emphasised the word ‘lively,’ leaving Madeline in no doubt about what she meant. Madeline shook her head at her friend, feigning shocked disbelief, as their food arrived.
“Two cheese and ham toasties and a bowl of fries. Enjoy.” said the waiter, and left.
“So, that’s enough about me. What’s been happening in your world since last week. Anything nice?” Rebecca shook salt onto the bowl of fries, then picked the longest one off the top and nibbled it like a rabbit eating a carrot.
That’s why she’s not the same size as I am. I don’t nibble – I munch.
Picking up a fry and stuffing the whole thing in her mouth, Madeline poured tomato ketchup onto the edge of her plate to dunk the next one in. She shook her head in response.
“Really, I obviously need to get out more because nothing of note has happened. Unless you count getting road rage again last week on the way to Sainsbury’s.” Remembering Pink Fluffy Woman and the soft iced buns, she grinned.
