Out of Date
by
Gail Bollands

 

 

Bill slowly lowered the telephone receiver back onto its stand. In a bewildered state, he returned to the kitchen and plonked himself down at the kitchen table. For a few moments he stared blankly over his breakfast, focusing on nothing in particular - Oh Blimey,what have I gone and done, resounding in his head.

The previous month Bill had submitted his profile to a dating agency for the elderly. In Saga Magazine he had spotted an advertisement for ‘Jolly Geriatrics’, who promised to find friendship, companionship or romance for the over 50’s. His profile had read:

Male, retired taxidermist, 60 years young, would like to meet a similar aged lady, with mutual interests in gardening, history and travel.

Bill had never married or socialised much. At school he was one of those ordinary, quiet kids who kept out of trouble and generally went unnoticed. This anonymity began to change when his mother decided she could cut his hair how everyone was wearing it at the time. The style only varied according to what size mixing bowl she used. When she had styled his hair she swore Bill looked like one of the Beatles. He swore too, under his breath, thinking he looked more like Friar Tuck. Bill did his best to remain ordinary, but when puberty struck, in the form of severe acne, he was propelled into the realm of the outstandingly hideous looking kids. He survived his last three years at school by immersing himself in his studies and avoiding the kids who took great pleasure taunting him about his appearance. He left school at 16 with 10 good O’level passes and a smug grin on his face, after learning that his tormentors had not one acceptable O’level pass between them.

Bill never really expected the agency to contact him, so he was astonished when they rang to say a lady who lived a few miles away in Glossop wanted to meet him. The agency had arranged a meeting for them the following Saturday evening at a venue not far from where they both lived. Bill's mouth had courteously accepted without consulting his brain and now he had to deal with the consequences of this answer.

 

Saturday came far too quickly. At 5 pm, three hours before their meeting, Bill began the unfamiliar ritual of preparing for an evening out. He took his one and only grey suit out of the wardrobe and slipped on the jacket and pulled on the trousers. The last time he had worn his suit was five years before for an aunt’s funeral, but it still came as a shock to him to find his midriff had swollen so much since then. There was now a good four inches shortfall in the waistband. Being quite inventive, he found an elastic band and threaded it through the button hole and around the button. The jacket would not fasten either, but he couldn’t solve that problem with elastic bands. He tried tucking his shirt into his trousers loosely so as to cover the gaping area and left his jacket open. There, he thought, that doesn’t look too bad. He washed his hair and styled it slightly differently to how he usually wore it – he combed it to the left instead of the right, thinking it made him look a little younger.

After he had shaved, he reached for the expensive aftershave his mother had bought him for his 21 st birthday. He uncorked it and tipped a generous amount into the palm of his hand. He placed the bottle on the sink, rubbed his hands together and cupped his palms to his cheeks. For a second or two, Bill was blissfully unaware of the effect the out of date aftershave was having on his skin. Then suddenly, his face began to tingle. The tingling turned to burning, and the burning turned to pain – excruciating pain. Bill gave out an almighty shriek and ran around the bathroom like a demented, dancing red Indian. Frantically he grabbed the towel, threw it into the sink, and soaked it under the cold tap. Then he thrust it to his cheeks. This afforded him some temporary relief, but whenever he removed the towel, the burning returned. He spent a good 20 minutes cooling his cheeks before the discomfort began to ease.

Through the mirror his crimson cheeks looked as if they had been scrubbed raw. His heart sank as he realised he wouldn’t be going anywhere with a face like that, let alone wearing a suit he couldn’t sit down in. He went downstairs, made himself a cup of tea, and put the flowers he had bought to take with him in a vase on the kitchen table. He sat and pondered how the evening might have gone, and what his date might have looked like. After all the anxiety and nerves of the last few days, he thought he’d feel relief that he wouldn’t have to go after all. Ironically, he felt quite the opposite and so wished that he could have gone.

 

Later that evening, Mavis Nettlethwaite nervously glanced at her wristwatch every minute or so as she waited for Bill in the Fox and Hounds. Sat on her own with her freezer box by her feet, she tried to ignore the glances of the other patrons. Mavis had high hopes about her meeting with Bill. He lived locally and sounded like just the kind of companion she was looking for. And it must be fate, she thought, that he’s a taxidermist. For two years Mavis had kept Georgie, her beloved chihuahua, in the freezer. On his deathbed she had promised him that she would immortalise him again one day and finally lay him to rest in his cosy little crib at the side of her bed.

 

© Gail Bollands 2009

 

 

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