‘Good
morning, Mansel. What can I do you for today?’
Mansel approached the Post Office counter and treated Julia to an impish
smile.
‘Two first class stamps, two television license stamps and this bag of
elastic bands, please, Julia’
He never took liberties, this one; he was never fresh or over familiar
as some of them could be. Always nicely turned out too. Not like many of the
men a few years past their prime in their old grey suits and flat caps. Or chain
store seconds tracksuits and inappropriate shoes. He wore nice, smart clothes that suited him
well. That welsh accent that rolled musically from his throat didn’t do him any
harm either. .
‘Any plans for the rest of the day, Mansel?’ she asked. She always had
to ask. He wasn’t one of those folk who came in and said ‘A second class stamp
– it’s my leg you see….’
‘I need the elastic to tie up some honeysuckle in garden, it’s coming on
a treat and the scent makes you feel like you’ve walked into paradise,’ he
smiled again, a smile that went right to his dark brown eyes. Little sign of
those eyes becoming a rheumy yellow. They were bright and brimful of
intelligence. She liked the way he looked after his house. She past it on her
way to work. The estate agents would call it ‘Very highly maintained throughout.’
His garden wasn’t one of those anal ones laid out like a military camp with
flowers of the same colour in strict lines but a rich cornucopia of brilliant
colours that put you in awe of the vibrancy of nature. He had a quiet pride in
his appearance and of his property. Barry, her ex, was a slob who had concreted
over their garden as soon as he could and parked a rusting
While she was sorting
out the TV stamps, Julia noticed Mansel’s eyes glance briefly at her chest then
look away very quickly. She looked down herself and was horrified to notice
that a number of the buttons on her blouse had popped open, Julia had, though
she said so herself, a full, voluptuous figure and had chosen to wear a filmy
black bra that morning in a fit of style over practicality. Virtually all her lacy
glory was exposed. She quickly did
herself up and was pleased to see Mansel had blushed a deep crimson. He’s still
got enough fire left in his belly to want to look, she thought, but he has the
good grace to be embarrassed for me.
’ Sorry about that!’ she said to him to ease his discomfort, ‘I wondered
why it felt chilly in here this morning and I couldn’t get rid of that young
lad from the computer shop who bought seven different values of stamps!’ The
blush, which Julia found very refreshing, had subsided from Mansel’s cheeks and
his eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘The pat answer would be to say there is no
need to apologise on my account’, he said. ‘And I think the pat answer will do
on this occasion!’
Julia hoped Mr
Tremlett, the post master, hadn’t noticed her involuntary exposure. He ran the
place with his dried thin stick of a wife and never missed a chance to brush
past Julia too close or to decide to pick something up off her counter that
involved leaning into her. He had stiff black trousers which, should she ever
think of them, made Julia gag. Hadn’t these people heard of dry cleaners? Had
they no noses? He also had a greasy attempt at a comb over. Julia couldn’t
imagine the impact of baldness but wished men would accept it with dignity.
Mansel, of course, had rich thick hair of a gleaming silver with a slight wave
to it. It was always clean and well cut.
Fortunately the Tremletts were in the back of the Post Office sorting
out the parcels. At least I hope that’s all they’re doing, thought Julia and
then sniggered at the thought of Marjorie Tremlett, with her hair in a tight bun,
pinched sulky mouth and tiny hard eyes getting hot and fruity with Tremlett
with his disgusting pants, comb over and lolling tongue.
Mansel raised a quizzical
eyebrow. ‘Oh, private thought’ said Julia and, as then was no one else in the
Post Office, decided to share a little with this tall, friendly man. ‘Mr and
Mrs Tremlett have been locked in the back room for some while. I was just
hoping that sorting parcels was all they were getting up to!’ She wondered if
she had gone too far but Mansel eased her momentary anxiety with another of his
grins. He leaned into the counter and whispered confidentially. ‘There’s
probably a club they go to. Everyone wearing string and brown paper. At the
beginning of the evening they throws their own roll of cellotape into a
circle!’ Julia snorted with laughter then silently cursed herself for being so
coarse. You can’t have been coarser than flashing your boobs at him, she reminded
herself. Reluctantly she gave Mansel his
change and stamps and treated him to what she hoped was a dazzling smile. ‘See
you again, Mansel,’ she said, and he held her eyes and gave a little half
salute as he turned to leave. As he went through the door, Julia wondered if he
felt lonely. She knew he had lost his wife a decade ago. Then Mrs Henderson
came in with a host of bills to pay and a tale about her daughter’s car breaking
down in
The afternoon was
crisp, clear and sunny so Julia decided to walk into town to do her shopping.
She only worked mornings at the post office. Tremlett needed someone to cover
the rush of Pensions, family allowance and benefit checks otherwise he’d have
no time left to leer. Tremlett apart, she liked her job. She didn’t need to
work. Her parents were gone now and had left her, an only child, well provided
for. Since Barry had run off with that floozy from the Red Lion (at least Julia
only showed her baps by mistake – that one never covered hers up!) , she needed
something to get her out the house and you saw enough life from the other side
of a Post Office counter to count your own blessings. To be honest, she was
very happy on her own. She had her house and her freedom and was glad when Barry,
growing podgy, disinclined to shave or wash and liable to fill up her kitchen
with bits of oily motorbike, had announced he was off with Giselle. It was a
real relief and Giselle was welcome to his belching and his too tight and very
unflattering jockey briefs.
Those pensioners that
queued outside the little Post Office from eight o’ clock on a Thursday morning
really made her laugh. Did they think they were going to run out of money? ‘I’m
sorry Mr Hardy, no money for you this week; you didn’t get here early enough!’
She supposed it was a social occasion for some. She knew Mansel was a pensioner
because he had collected at the counter when he got to sixty five a few months
ago but had soon arranged to have the cash transferred automatically into his
bank account. Eminently sensible, although Julia was glad that a lot of the
other pensioners wanted cold cash in their claws, otherwise she’d be looking
for another job.
She did some food
shopping in the supermarket and then decided to wander to one of those shops
that sold little brass Buddha’s, incense sticks and unusual vases. While she
was in there, admiring a wooden box with attractive lattice work on the lid and
wondering if she could find a use for it, the flimsy plastic bag she had got
from the supermarket decided the game was up and decided to split open. Her
shopping made a frantic bid for freedom and scattered in a rush to the four
corners of the shop.
‘Bugger!’ thought Julia and began to scrabble on the floor to retrieve
it all, wondering where she could put it now the bag had given up the ghost.
‘Here, let me help you’ said a
familiar voice. She had been so engrossed in the frivolity of the box she
hadn’t noticed Mansel was also in the shop. He had a packet of thin canes for
climbing plants in one hand and a tin of her marrowfat peas in other.
‘You can put your shopping in
this bag with mine until we get something sorted for you’. Mansel had one of
those sensible bags for repeat use and Julia found herself piling her odds and
sods into his shopping. All fresh and organic, Julia noticed. Nothing like the
processed junk in tins that I bought. Mansel was wearing a light brown v-necked
jumper, white shirt and smart chinos. As Julia, close to Mansel, popped a tin of catfood into his bag, she caught
his essence of soap and sandalwood. Frankly Barry had always smelled vaguely
sour but with this man she had to fight an urge to bury her face in his chest
and suck him into her lungs. When they stood up after their crouched
collection, Julia had difficulty meeting his gaze.
‘All done by the look of it’ said Mansel. ‘Now we need to sort this out
and get you a decent bag to put it in. And……this is my opportunity, and please
don’t think it was because of what I accidentaly saw this morning, my
opportunity to ask you if you would like to go for a cup of coffee with me.’
Julia noticed he looked a little nervous and had flushed red again. She liked
that.. ‘I mean, we need to sort out the shopping. But I’ve been thinking of
asking you if you’d like to join me for coffee for a while.’ Mansel suddenly
began to study his shoes intently.
‘I’d love to’, she said. ‘We need
to sort out the shopping of course, but
to be honest, I’ve been thinking of asking you for a while also.’ Mansel smiled
and paid for the canes and placed them into his bag. As he had this shopping
bag in one hand, Julia linked through his opposite arm and clutched it more tightly
than was strictly necessary.
‘One thing though. I know you are
a proper gentleman, Mansel, of the old school, but I’m a woman who believes
fiercely in equality and independence. So, before I agree to come with you, you
must also agree to go dutch.’ Mansel looked a little reluctant. ‘I’m not keen,’
he said. Julia squeezed arm a little tighter. ‘But if that’s what it takes,
that’s we’ll do’.
‘It’s only fair’, said Julia,
‘After all’, I got my state pension paid into my account too today.’