Mavis and the mystery man

8.30am.

Mavis Benwell had been awake for hours.

There was a nagging issue which was plaguing her mind and it had clung steadfastly onto her brain like a limpet.

Ever since midnight, she had battled with the one problem which would not leave her alone. It nagged and nagged, and itched like a sore that you just couldn’t reach.

‘How can I make a good impression on him,’ she kept asking herself. ‘How can I convince him to like me.’

Her visitor would be arriving at around 6pm that evening. It meant she nine hours to come up with a solution.

But nothing came to mind. She had gone blank just at the moment when she least wanted to be empty of thoughts.

‘This could so easily go completely wrong,’ she muttered as she paced the well worn carpet in her tidy but threadbare bedsit with its peeling wallpaper and faded paintwork.

No man of any description had visited her home in the 15 years she had lived there.

None had shown even the slightest interest in turning up.

The very first one, who would come through the door at 6pm, was extra special.

If all went well, this one could be in her life for a long time to come. This was a huge day for Mavis but she knew it could all collapse around her unless the whole evening went like clockwork.

9.30am.

‘What should I do. What should I do,’ she kept saying to herself.

She looked at her watch once more. 9.32am and she was still no nearer to a solution.

And then Mavis had her Eureka moment.

‘Got it!’ She shouted loudly and clapped her hands as she did it.

‘I’ve only gone and got it. This will be brilliant,’ said Mavis as she did a spot of fist pumping.

‘I’ll make him my famous chicken a la king with extra pepper and the best white wine that I can afford.’

It was at that point that Mavis realised she had none of the ingredients she needed.

Mavis hurriedly put on her kagool, her crumpled tartan T shirt, as well as her jeans which were into their third day of wear.

‘They’re reasonably clean,’ she argued and then added the last layer of her attire - her extra sturdy walking boots.

She bundled her unkempt hair into a headscarf and set off to the butcher and the grocer’s store, hauling a whole bag full of very old and worn carrier bags on the mile long journey.

11am.

Her once tortured mind was now full of ideas. Too many ideas.

‘I could do a crab mousse starter, my chicken for main and a delicious meringue with mango coulis for dessert.

’He will like that. Or will he?’

The doubts which had been a black part of Mavis’ psyche set in once more. It was the same indecision which had blighted her life for years.

‘Hmmm. I better get some cans of beer in case he’s a drinker. I better get soft drinks in case he isn’t.’

Her hands were shaking in a manner that Mavis had not known since she was a giggling teenager.

‘Behave yourself Mavis,’ she said as she scolded herself. ‘You are a grown woman of 45.’

11.20am.

By the time she reached the butcher’s shop, she had regained her composure.

‘Morning Mavis,’ said Richard Tye the butcher. ‘Big day eh?’

‘Tell me about it Rich,’ Mavis replied. ‘I’ve been up half the night wondering what to do.’

‘What’s it going to be then. What will you serve up for this mystery man?’

‘There’s only one thing that will do for an occasion such as this Rich,’ said Mavis.

‘Chicken it is then,’ Richard answered.

Jarvis the sullen grocer was next on her list.

’Yep.’

’Peppers please. Those sweet red uns.’

‘He’s still coming is he.’

’Yep.’

’Better give you my best fresh veg then, hadn’t I?’

Mavis was a whirlwind of activity as she rushed between the shops gathering every ingredient she needed.

She was a spendthrift by nature but not today.

Soon, she was heading back home with both arms struggling to cope with the weight of the shopping bags. She almost fell through the door of the bedsit.

Mavis placed all of the ingredients in a neat order before getting down to some seriously impressive culinary skills.

3pm.

The hours, which had passed at a snail’s pace in the darkness of the early morning, were now flying by as she got busy with her passion for cooking.

Mavis was a focused chef on a mission. And by 5pm, the feast was ready.

The table was set and the food was keeping warm on the hot plates.

Now, she faced one last hour of nervousness. She bathed, she put on makeup for the first time in years, and she chose a dress which she hoped would make a big impact.

It was mature to suit her years but with the slightest hint of allure.

5.30pm. Almost there. Mavis sat in the one seat inside the bedsit which directly faced the door. Her gaze never left the handle as she waited for the big moment to finally arrive.

The voice of her beautiful daughter Mia was the first sound she heard coming up the stairs.

Mia was a good girl. She had been there for her mum for years. She visited the bedsit every week and always brought a fresh supply of food and drinks on her visits.

Mavis knew she was lucky to have Mia in her life. The 20 year old was tall, sporty, attractive, intelligent and had a heart of gold.

For years, she had been the perfect child and now she was a grown woman.

But just like her mum, Mia lapsed into fits of giggles at the enormity of the day.

‘He’s here mam,’ Mia said with the same chunk of nervous energy that her mum had.

‘Well don’t just stand around looking like a spare part. Bring him in,’ Mavis urged.

An awkward silence followed before it was broken by Mia.

She breathed a deep breath and cleared her throat before saying: ‘Trevor. This is my mam.’

‘And mam, this is Trevor. My fiance who you have been dying to meet.’