Maud resolved never again to go out wearing clashing clothes, or without mascara, after a chance meeting with her erstwhile beau, whom in the interests of privacy we shall call .... Ken. He was waiting to collect his daughter from drama class as Maud arrived to collect her own aspiring actress offspring. Ken cut a sorry figure with a bad haircut, hash burns in his fleece and stale fag breath.
Maud tried to angle her face in such a way that she appeared to have a delicate jawline, and gazed mysteriously out of the window into the dark November evening. Ken folded his arms defensively and hummed a tune, looking discomfited. Maud thanked God for the skills of her dashing young hairdresser, Alex of Short n Curlys.
Ken's cheeks burned with humiliation and he felt a deep gnawing in the pit of his stomach as he realised afresh that he would never get to slip between Maud's perfectly ironed sheets. He murmured, "It's an upsetting time for everyone." Then he went outside to draw deeply upon one of his cheap cigarettes, hoping to look like Heath Ledger in Brokeback Mountain, but failing.
Maud remained dignified, reversing out of the church car park in a slow skilled manner, as though she had all the time in the world, which indeed she had; and as though she knew how to drive out of a parking space, which she did not.
Maud went home and did her ironing whilst heating up some Linda McCartney pies. She watched Channel 4 news and thought sombrely of The Fallen, wondering briefly what Ken was doing. In all likelihood he had returned home to his filthy house and was in the midst of catching botulism from his unclean 1980s style kitchen. He would be dragging deeply upon a fag, rueing the day he had gone an eff word too far with Maud.
Maud thought about an interesting programme, "All in the Mind," about antipsychotic drugs that she had listened to on her way home in the car. She reflected that if she had allowed Ken to get his feet under her table she would most likely have had her radio retuned by him to something such as Revolution Radio (Oldham's premier station) or "Smooth FM: Easy Listening for the Over-Forties." She shuddered as she recalled her last marriage, when Radio 5 Live had replaced the dulcet tones of James Naughtie and Sarah Montague. Such differences cannot easily be overcome.
Meanwhile, several streets away, hot tears ran down Ken's face as he upended a tin of Asda Smart Price beans into a saucepan which still bore the remains of some previous repast. He picked up a teatowel, stiff with dirt, and wiped his eyes, oblivious to the malodour of the grime ridden fabric.
Maud continued ironing. She had heard on Radio 4 that ironing your sheets is a definitive sign of being working class, yet she could not countenance going to sleep beneath a creased duvet cover, nor laying her elfin-styled head on crumpled pillow cases.
Many were the wise friends and relations who had warned Maud that she was too fastidious in her housework, too picky with men, was not getting any younger and would in all probability live and die a Spinster, but their words went unheeded. Yet she had tried to lower her standards by going out with an unfortunate looking ginger haired man.
Maud returned home the next night from her important job working with autistic children. She recalled wistfully how teatime conversation with Ken (on the evenings when he was not getting stoned) had consisted of him holding forth about how the wheel trims on a Vauxhall Astra were particularly difficult to get the dirt off, or him describing how he had lost yet another customer from the motor trade who had dared to point out some blemish remaining on a car that he, Ken had personally cleaned.
Yet whenever Maud had tried to talk about her day, Ken had made a sweeping motion with his hand from the front of his head to the back, to indicate that the long words she was using were "going over his head." Ken often told her that he never read books, and evidently took pride in the fact. He also disapproved of Maud's child, Martha, reading teenage novels because his own daughter, the same age, was only allowed to read Mr Men books. Martha was writing her own novel, "Shady Sistas", about a girl detective with an eccentric mother.
Maud tried to angle her face in such a way that she appeared to have a delicate jawline, and gazed mysteriously out of the window into the dark November evening. Ken folded his arms defensively and hummed a tune, looking discomfited. Maud thanked God for the skills of her dashing young hairdresser, Alex of Short n Curlys.
Ken's cheeks burned with humiliation and he felt a deep gnawing in the pit of his stomach as he realised afresh that he would never get to slip between Maud's perfectly ironed sheets. He murmured, "It's an upsetting time for everyone." Then he went outside to draw deeply upon one of his cheap cigarettes, hoping to look like Heath Ledger in Brokeback Mountain, but failing.
Maud remained dignified, reversing out of the church car park in a slow skilled manner, as though she had all the time in the world, which indeed she had; and as though she knew how to drive out of a parking space, which she did not.
Maud went home and did her ironing whilst heating up some Linda McCartney pies. She watched Channel 4 news and thought sombrely of The Fallen, wondering briefly what Ken was doing. In all likelihood he had returned home to his filthy house and was in the midst of catching botulism from his unclean 1980s style kitchen. He would be dragging deeply upon a fag, rueing the day he had gone an eff word too far with Maud.
Maud thought about an interesting programme, "All in the Mind," about antipsychotic drugs that she had listened to on her way home in the car. She reflected that if she had allowed Ken to get his feet under her table she would most likely have had her radio retuned by him to something such as Revolution Radio (Oldham's premier station) or "Smooth FM: Easy Listening for the Over-Forties." She shuddered as she recalled her last marriage, when Radio 5 Live had replaced the dulcet tones of James Naughtie and Sarah Montague. Such differences cannot easily be overcome.
Meanwhile, several streets away, hot tears ran down Ken's face as he upended a tin of Asda Smart Price beans into a saucepan which still bore the remains of some previous repast. He picked up a teatowel, stiff with dirt, and wiped his eyes, oblivious to the malodour of the grime ridden fabric.
Maud continued ironing. She had heard on Radio 4 that ironing your sheets is a definitive sign of being working class, yet she could not countenance going to sleep beneath a creased duvet cover, nor laying her elfin-styled head on crumpled pillow cases.
Many were the wise friends and relations who had warned Maud that she was too fastidious in her housework, too picky with men, was not getting any younger and would in all probability live and die a Spinster, but their words went unheeded. Yet she had tried to lower her standards by going out with an unfortunate looking ginger haired man.
Maud returned home the next night from her important job working with autistic children. She recalled wistfully how teatime conversation with Ken (on the evenings when he was not getting stoned) had consisted of him holding forth about how the wheel trims on a Vauxhall Astra were particularly difficult to get the dirt off, or him describing how he had lost yet another customer from the motor trade who had dared to point out some blemish remaining on a car that he, Ken had personally cleaned.
Yet whenever Maud had tried to talk about her day, Ken had made a sweeping motion with his hand from the front of his head to the back, to indicate that the long words she was using were "going over his head." Ken often told her that he never read books, and evidently took pride in the fact. He also disapproved of Maud's child, Martha, reading teenage novels because his own daughter, the same age, was only allowed to read Mr Men books. Martha was writing her own novel, "Shady Sistas", about a girl detective with an eccentric mother.
Ken had told Maud that when he walked around Asda, women were continually giving him the glad eye. This gave Maud an inferiority complex, because the only men who ever made passes at her were British Gas repair men, and then only by text message once they had left the house. Maud reported the high incidence of Ken's admirers to her sister, who said decisively, "they are probably giving him looks of pity, because he is No Looker." She than explained, to Maud's surprise, that on meeting Ken she had returned home to her husband and related that Maud had met a man who looked like "one of those rubber models of a little old man doing gurning" and whom, in her opinion, was "fighting above his weight" in trying to woo Maud.
It was a pity, thought Maud, that her friends and relations did not point out the obvious flaws in her beaus from the off. This would save her a great deal of time and energy.
Maud heated up some nutritious carrot and parsnip soup (made by the New Covent Garden Soup company, because Maud did not have time in her busy schedule to deal with root vegetables.) She was suddenly inspired by the optimistic thought that Fate must have in store for her a different man to the Ken she had known, who repeatedly swore in church, shouted during minor disagreements "f*** off, I've shat bigger" and to all appearances had ADHD and anger management issues.
The final straw for Maud had been when she had taken him up on his repeated offer to clean her car, and he had ill-temperedly told her that he had a hangover but would give it "a quick wash and vac while you wait." When she arrived at the garage he was in a foul mood and cleaned her car in a sulky, surly manner not unlike teenage boys Maud had taught, who picked up the felt tips they had thrown at her, but with a poor attitude. Maud had never cared about the scowls of these boys as long as she dd not have to pick up the felt tips, and she was unaffected by Ken's glares and mutterings of eff words under his breath as he gave the car a cursory clean. Even when he yelled, "I've got a f***ing hangover, WHAT PART OF THAT DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?" she remained unperturbed.
However, when a young woman walked into the garage Ken's whole demeanour changed in an instant; he broke into a beaming smile as he brought out her car, gleaming, waxed, polished and vacuumed to perfection. "A tenner," he said, "mates' rates and all that." When the woman had driven away, Ken reverted to his effing and sighing. He then suggested that Maud bought him breakfast. Maud struck at this. For £12.50 a man would come to her office, clean her car inside and out, and she would not even have to speak to him, leave alone deal with a clear case of adult ADHD and probably conduct disorder.She had no intention of paying for his breakfast.
It was ten minutes after this that Maud had said a firm and permanent farewell to Ken in Asda cafe, to his evident astonishment.
Now, in the midst of November, Maud was at peace with her spinsterhood and realised she could devote her time to her daughter, her writing and her exercise regime.
Meanwhile, half a mile a way in his house that he was perpetually too idle, stoned or both to bother vacuuming, Ken rolled another spliff and wondered if he was truly satisfied with his parting shot to Maud, which was that she could now "find herself someone to have an intelligent conversation with." The ex girlfriends he had told Maud about, who all desperately wanted him back, had mysteriously failed to reappear in his life.
And here the story of Ken and Maud concludes, for Maud was about to move into an interesting and slightly surreal world of corsetry, a sex pest lesbian, a gnome and a drink spiking scandal.
0 comments:
Post a Comment