The Special Offer

Poor old Colin. Everything seemed to pass him by. Money, opportunity, a social life, women. There was Brenda at the local shop, she wasn’t an oil painting; and purple didn’t really go with orange; but her smile was shiny-bright and he often dreamt of abandoning himself to the deep folds of her bosom. Not that he would ever let Brenda catch him looking at her like that. He wasn’t one of those crude men who leered at her and made lewd suggestions.

No, Colin was more subtle than that. He was brilliant at hiding his feelings. Whenever Brenda served him with his morning paper, he was deadpan. He didn’t really like The Times. He much preferred The Sun but he could never ask her for it, not with the page three girls and everything, it would be crass.

‘Mornin’ Colin,’ she said. ‘Your usual?’

‘Yes please,’ he said, his face set in stone. Inside, his heart was thumping and there was a strange stirring sensation at the pit of his stomach as she lifted her bosom off the counter. She smiled at him and placed the cheese and onion crisps on top of his Times.

‘That’s just sixty-five pence please Colin,’ she said, struggling to see over the top of the till.

Occasionally, Colin had an impulsive thought. Perhaps it was the way the light glinted on her hairgrips, or the way her dandruff sparkled in the sunshine, but this was one of those moments. The thought of it made his mouth go dry and his heart beat quicker. He would ask her out to lunch for a double cheesy whammy whopper super burger.

‘Could I have a can of Diet Lilt please?’

‘Of course Colin.’

This was a calculated request. Brenda had to come out from the till on her way to the fridge. Even the choice of drink was calculated, for the Diet Lilts were on the bottom shelf and to the back. Colin changed his position to get a better view and suffered a pang of conscience.

‘Look… er shall I…’

‘Not at all Colin… keep’s me fit.’

Brenda’s tabard rose at the back as she bent forward. Climbing, it was slow, and tantalising. Gradually, the tight purple, Lurex skirt came into view.

It was a ship’s stern of a bottom, a magnificent twinkling event, a glorious orchestration, and Colin longed to dance to its enigmatic rhythms. Then all too suddenly, the treat was over. Brenda straightened up and handed Colin his can.

‘There you are dear. That’s forty pence please.’

The skin in the nape of his neck tingled as his hand brushed hers with the coin. She flashed her shiny-bright smile and turned to go to the till. Now many men would find surgical stockings a turn-off. But not Colin. Every wrinkle, every thread of elastic ribbing was a question mark. What were her legs really like? Did her skin have a satin, golden sheen, a glowing lustre? Or was it like a newly plucked turkey waiting for the oven. The sight of those hosiery-delights was all too brief and he shuddered internally. Brenda was back behind the till in an instant and her speed and agility impressed him.

‘Ten pence change dear.’ She held the coin out. He opened his palm. She looked him in the eyes. Was it his imagination or did she touch his hand just that little bit longer than was necessary.

‘You’ll have to have Fanta tomorrow Colin.’ There was a strange look in her eyes.

‘Fanta… Why?’ Was she glaring at him, or was it something else?

‘It’s on special offer… 10 pence off.’

‘Oh right. Thank you.’ This was it. She could only say no… what did he have to lose?

‘Er.. Brenda…’

‘Yes dear.’

‘I was wondering if…’

‘Yes dear? What is it?’

‘Would you save me a can of Fanta tomorrow?’

‘Of course Colin. Must take advantage of these little opportunities eh?’

‘Yes. Thank you. Goodbye Brenda.’

***

Poor Brenda. Everything seemed to pass her by. Money, opportunity, a social life - Colin. He wasn’t exactly handsome, that grey boiler suit hadn’t been washed for ages, and how many pairs of lime green socks could a man own? But there was an air about him. Dependable, honest and when she served him with his morning paper, his expression was always rock solid. She wondered why he bought The Times. He seemed much more of a Sun person to her.

‘Mornin’ Colin,’ she said. ‘Your usual?’

‘Yes please,’ he said.

His face had that fixed look again. She heaved herself off the counter, longing to know what that inscrutable expression concealed. She placed his cheese and onion crisps on top of his Times.

‘That’s just sixty-five pence please Colin,’ she said. Inside she was cursing because the box she normally stood on was missing.

He looked quite strong sometimes. Perhaps it was the way he stood, the angle of his tweed cap, or the way his chrome pens, in his breast pocket, glinted in the sunlight. Mmmm… she could do worse. Wait a minute; he was going to say something. This was different, he was going to ask for something else.

‘Could I have a can of Diet Lilt please?

‘Of course Colin.’

He never bought a drink. Diet as well, he must be looking after himself; she liked that in a man. She moved out from the till, heading for the fridge.

‘Look… er shall I…’

‘Not at all Colin… keep’s me fit.’ Brenda bent down and reached a can from the fridge.

‘There you are dear. That’s forty pence please.’

The skin in the nape of her neck tingled as his hand brushed hers with the coin. Smiling at him, she turned to go to the till. Suddenly, she remembered with horror she was wearing her surgical stockings and moved rapidly behind the counter.

‘Ten pence change dear.’ She held the coin out. He opened his palm. She looked him in the eyes and left her hand there, just that extra second more than was necessary.

‘You’ll have to have Fanta tomorrow Colin.’ She fixed her eyes to his…transmitting a pulse of anticipation.

‘Fanta… Why?’ Was she getting a response?

‘It’s on special offer… 10 pence off.’

‘Oh right. Thank you.’ She longed to know what he was thinking.

‘er… Brenda…’

This was it.

‘Yes dear.’ Come on… spit it out Colin…

‘I was wondering if…’

‘Yes dear?’

‘Would you save me a can of Fanta tomorrow?’

Oh Bugger!

‘Yes of course Colin. Must take advantage of these little opportunities eh?’

‘Yes Thank you. Goodbye Brenda.’