Chapter 22
22
The queue at the post office was even worse than the pharmacy had been the day before. Thursday, it appeared, was the day when everyone wanted to post or collect their packages.
‘You don’t mind if I pay with these, do you, dearie?’ Sarah eavesdropped on the old woman in front of her before watching her pay for whatever old lady things she was getting entirely in pennies. ‘Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty…’
Sarah glanced at the register: six pounds twenty. She was going to be there a while.
By the time the woman had paid – having inconveniently discovered that her wallet wasn’t just sterling as she had thought, but also contained several Euros, and inexplicably a single Drachma – Eva was getting restless. Assuming the pick-up would be a one-minute job at most, Sarah flicked her phone onto some video app and handed it to her daughter.
‘Can I pick this up please?’ Sarah slid the card through the window to the lady on the other side of the glass.
‘I know you,’ she said, her face widening into a squinty smile.
‘Do you?’ Sarah asked.
‘You’re at the Mind Birthing class, aren’t you? Don’t you think it’s great? How long have you got to go now? Only four weeks left for me and this little one.’ The woman stopped to breathe and rub her tummy, the already impossibly wide grin stretching even further.
‘Oh,’ Sarah said, wondering if she was expected to answer all the questions in one go. ‘Yes, it’s good. Seven weeks for me. Although mine are always late.’
‘Oh, it’ll be so special. I love it when they’re tiny. Not that I’ve had my own yet. This is my first. But I’ve got three nephews. Here, have a look.’ She proceeded to pull her phone out onto the desk when a loud throat-clearing from a man behind Sarah in the queue attracted her attention. She scrunched up her nose and gave Sarah an apologetic shake of the head.
‘I’ll show you at the next lesson,’ she whispered. ‘Now, let me go and get the package for you.’
A moment later and she was back at her desk, her grin replaced by a far more morose look.
‘Look at this. The delivery people today. No damn respect for people’s property.’ She lifted up the package to explain what she meant. It wasn’t hard to understand. One side of the cardboard box had crumpled entirely in on itself, and there were at least two other large dents in the package that Sarah could see. ‘You’re going to have to open it up,’ she said to Sarah, her face still shaking at the sight as if the box had somehow been the victim of a premeditated attack. ‘Check that everything works. I can’t let you take it like this.’
Sarah eyed the package. Of course, wouldn’t that be typical? The bloody children’s paint sets finally arrived only to have to be sent back again. Then again, there were twenty-odd in the pack, and she only needed half a dozen to donate to the school. ‘Do you know what, don’t worry, I think they’ll be fine. It doesn’t matter if one or two are a bit broken.’
‘Of course it does.’
‘Honestly. I’ll just take them. I haven’t got the time to send them back.’
The woman’s hands were still on the package and showed no signs of loosening their grip.
‘Oh, I can’t let you do that. What if you come back and say it’s broken?’
‘I won’t.’
‘But you might.’
‘No. I won’t.’
The beaming smile was having a hard time staying in place.
‘I can’t let you take it like that. I can’t. You have to open it up here. Check that it’s okay. It’s policy. I have to stick to policy.’
‘Oh, for crying out loud.’ It was the throat-clearing man behind Sarah again. ‘Will you just get on and open the bloody thing up, please? Some of us have better things to do than stand here all day listening to you lot jabber on.’
Sarah sighed. He was right. What was the point in protesting? She should just let the woman open it, although she was going to be taking it home even if there were a couple of broken paint boxes. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Open it up and check.’
Smiling once again, the woman got to work. The standard brown packaging gave way to a neat, small, white box that looked far better quality than Sarah had thought cheap paints would come in. However, once again, one corner had been dented.
‘I’ll have to open this one too,’ the cashier said.
‘It’s fine.’ Only when she twisted it over to get to the tape on the side did Sarah notice the small, lilac writing on the package.
‘Actually, that’s fine. The inside box looks pretty strong.’ Sarah’s words rushed from her lips. ‘I’ll take it home now.’
‘But we need to see the contents,’ the cashier said. ‘Check that nothing’s broken.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘It’s not fine. It’s dented.’
With her temperature soaring and a reflexive swallowing motion that she had absolutely no control over in overdrive, Sarah racked her mind for what to do. The item in that package was about as far away from children’s paints as you could get. She may not have known anybody standing in the post office queue behind her, but that didn’t mean she wanted to share her first glimpse of the Clitomaster sex toy with them.
‘Could I open it, please?’ she said to the lady. ‘It has some sentimental value.’
‘That’s not policy.’
‘Well, it is my item, I paid for it, and my name is on it, so perhaps it should be your policy,’ Sarah replied sharply.
The woman’s lips twisted and pursed. ‘Fine,’ she hissed, her smile now well and truly gone. Glowering, she slid the glass partition to the side and slid the package over to Sarah.
Now that the box was in her hand, it was obvious to see what good quality it was. The textured cardboard was a nice touch, and the name on the side was embossed. Aware that the queue behind her was growing larger by the second, Sarah peeled back the plastic tab and peered inside.
‘Everything’s fine,’ she forced a grin back to the now severely stony-faced cashier. ‘All good. Nothing broken.’
‘You need to get it out so I can check. I have a form I have to sign, see. To say I’ve witnessed it.’
‘Can you not just take my word for it?’
‘No.’
‘I really have to show you?’
‘You do.’
Again came a throat clearing from behind. Well and truly wishing that Wokingham was on some unknown fault line so the ground might spontaneously open up and swallow her, Sarah closed her eyes. She was going to pass out. That’s what it felt like. She hadn’t ever actually fainted before, but if standing in a packed post office, pregnant, with her daughter in her pushchair while she held her newly purchased vibrator out for public inspection wasn’t enough to send someone unconscious, she didn’t know what would be. With a deep breath, she pulled the item out of the box.
‘What is that?’ the woman asked.
‘It’s… umm…’ Sarah’s voice caught in her throat.
Fortunately, someone behind her in the queue already had the answer.
‘Is that one of those Clitomaster things?’ a voice said. ‘The ones that puff out air on your hoo-ha?’
Feeling like she was now going to vomit as well as pass out, Sarah’s eyes went to the direction of the question: a plumpish, bespectacled lady, older than her mother.
‘Yes, I… I think it might be,’ Sarah said.
‘I hear they’re fabulous. Been planning on upgrading myself.’
‘Oh, really?’ Sarah said, fairly sure she’d slipped into some parallel universe.
‘Can you check if it works?’ The cashier still hadn’t dropped her point. ‘We need to see it function.’ Sarah looked down at the item in her hand. It was like she had left her body now. She had to have left her body. There was no chance she could still be in it when something like this was happening.
‘I still need to sign it off. Can you just give it a quick check?’
Feeling entirely disassociated from the movement of her hands, Sarah pressed the large button on the front. Nothing happened.
‘It looks broken,’ the cashier said.
‘For God’s sake, it’s not broken.’ It was the throat-clearing man. ‘It just needs bloody charging.’
‘Just pop some batteries in it instead?’ someone else asked. ‘Has anyone got any batteries?’
‘These things don’t use batteries now,’ the bespectacled woman replied. ‘It’s all done by chargers. Means they last longer. And they’re stronger too.’
‘Should you even be using one of those in your condition?’ asked the battery lady. ‘Can pregnant people use vibrators?’
‘It’s not a vibrator, it’s a Clitomaster,’ Spectacles reminded them all.
‘For the love of all that is holy,’ interjected the man directly behind Sarah. ‘Please let this woman take her damn sex toy and leave.’
Everyone stopped talking, and Sarah shoved the Clitomaster back into the box.
‘Fine,’ huffed the woman behind the counter. ‘But don’t even think about returning it.’
Sarah turned and mouthed a silent thank you to the man, who chivalrously averted his gaze as she scurried out of the post office.
The cold air struck her skin as she got outside. That was what she needed. Air. Taking a couple of deep breaths in, she glanced at the object in her hand. Sodding Drew and his hare-brained ideas. She was going to make him pay for this one. Then, searching for her bag, she froze.
‘You have to be kidding me.’ Steeling herself against the mutters, she marched back into the post office and back to the front of the line, where she nonchalantly placed her hands on the handle of her pushchair.
‘What? Like none of you have ever left your child in a post office?’ she said.
‘Oh, baby.’ Drew massaged his wife’s feet, failing miserably at keeping a straight face. ‘That sounds horrible. I’m sure it was mortifying.’
‘It was.’
‘But on the plus side, the toy has arrived?’ He eyed the package with anticipation, already thinking about how he could incorporate it into the next chapter.
‘Can you believe we’ve only got seven weeks? Seven weeks and this one’s going to be here. Unless it arrives early. Christmas Day. I bet my money on it. The minute the food comes out of the oven, it’ll be there, stopping me digging into my cranberry sauce and pigs in a blanket.’
‘If that happens, I’ll pack you a Tupperware tub so you can eat it on the way to hospital.’
‘I knew there was a reason I married you,’ Sarah said, managing to angle herself around and kiss him on the lips.
Polly was right, Drew found himself thinking as he pressed his lips into his wife’s. She really was incredible.
‘Now, I was thinking about this final chapter,’ he said, breaking away and nodding his head to the box. ‘How about a bit of solo work?’