BEWARE: HOME WEAR AND TEAR CAN LEAD TO HARDWARE.

‘John…’

‘John…!’

‘Jo-o-ohn…!!’

Shoppers in all directions looked around to see who was calling out. What’s wrong with her, they wondered. While at the same time, the source of the increasingly insistent name calling wondered to herself, ‘What’s wrong with him?’ How could her husband not hear? Everyone else in the cavernous hardware store seemed to, judging by their inquisitive glances.

John was a dozen paces ahead of Beryl. He continued walking, giving no indication he had heard, but thinking, ‘That woman could raise the dead.’ He scowled as he walked, his expression reflecting dark, menace. ‘She’s got a gob like a bloody fog horn.’ This was not a novel observation. Over the thirty-eight years since they murmured their marriage vows, things had changed. Sadly, their ability to communicate, verbally and physically, had steadily diminished. Three-score years and more of living together had stifled and suffocated their relationship. Now they felt enmeshed in an inescapable web, spun by their mutual dislike. It bound and repelled them both.

‘John…’

           ‘Jo-o-ohn…!’

He could hear her footsteps getting faster as she increased her pace.

‘You…rotten…bugger,’ her words muffled through shortness of breath. Her mind spinning with frustrated anger...’I know you can hear me. You bastard!’

She was right. He could hear her embarrassed panting, her huffing, puffing mingling with the flip-flop of her sandals. John imagined her flustered face as it flushed ever redder. She would be getting so mad. He extended his own stride, putting more distance between them. His boots thumping with a rubbery thud on the concrete floor.

‘Hey,’ she called out, louder than ever. Finally flinging aside her shopping basket and any remaining modesty, she bellowed ‘Waaaait!’

At that moment, John swung left and disappeared. People nearby struggled to make a connection between the wailing woman and the harried man. He was there a second ago. Barely any customers browsing for this or that in the stuffed racks noticed him hightailing it unseen down Aisle 23.

Her head pivoted left-right-left as she pursued her slippery quarry, searching here and there. The veins in her neck stood out, purple, throbbing. ‘Where is that bastard?’ Her voice hoarse and raspy. One or two people shrugged and looked away, going about their own business, avoiding interaction with hers.

Hurrying to avoid detection, John turned right into the main aisle, passed paint, plumbing and electrical, then left into the tools section. It was a designated area with its own check-out, he knew she would not come looking for him there. After all, she was always complaining he had more tools than he needed. Often adding…he doesn’t even know how to use the tool he has.

The frustration had got the better of Beryl. She was bent over and panting hard. A young staff member in blue work shirt and slacks asked, ‘Do you need to sit down love?’

Looking up, she offered a tortured smile, ‘Oh. Thank you. Yes.’

‘Hang on, I’ll just grab a chair from the tearoom.’ He seemed a nice kid, probably equally kind to his own grandmother.

Meanwhile, John found refuge in a quiet corner behind the assorted racks and product bins housing nuts, bolts, washers and fasteners. He made a dubious pretence of searching for something.

--o0o—

‘Are you alright?’ a friendly voice asked. The kind face of a man, a few years older than herself, looked down with concern at Beryl seated in the grubby plastic chair. Her head drooping forward slightly as she sought to regain her breath.

‘Oh. Sorry, I was miles away. Yes. Yes. I’m okay. Thank you.’

‘Ah that’s good. I was just a bit concerned. You sitting there all alone.’

Beryl hesitated, unsure how or whether to elaborate. ‘I.. I was trying to find my husband.’

‘Yes, this place is enormous isn’t it.’

‘I did see him. Called out to him. But he chose to ignore me.’

‘Oh dear. Well…we men are like that sometimes.’

‘He’s always like it. He’s hopeless!’

The gentleman gave a discrete little cough with an understanding smile, as if to say…I’m sure you know best. ‘Look,’ he said offering her his hand, ‘My name’s Edgar.’

Mistaking the handshake gesture, Beryl took Edgar’s hand and pulled on it to help her stand. ‘Whoops!’ said Edgar, as he caught hold of a nearby shelf to steady himself from toppling towards her. Both laughed.

After the initial embarrassment, she regained her balance and composure, smoothed down her frock and said, ‘Sorry,’ with a nervous smile. ‘I’m Beryl.’

They exchanged further pleasantries, then compared notes and realised they were both heading for the garden department. Apparently, gardening was a mutual interest, as was their love of hydrangeas.

--o0o--

In the meantime, John had found his way to the café after cautiously checking the coast was clear at each aisle intersection. About to tuck into a hotdog, his eyes partly closed in rapture at the anticipated taste, he didn’t see Beryl ambling past with a selection of plants in her trolley. She saw John but studiously ignored him. He, having taken his first bite, was too busy to notice anything, other than contending with the generous lashings of mustard and tomato ketchup, oozing from the roll and between his fingers.

--o0o--

‘Beryl.’

           ‘Beryl!’

The sound of a large trolley nearby with a wobbly wheel overshadowed the call. Beryl imagined she heard something but it was too indistinct to alert her. As she joined the queue for the checkout, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Shrugging it off she hissed back, ‘Don’t you dare!’

‘What?’

‘I said don’t….’ A chance thought took her words away. She turned to find Edgar behind her, blushing red.

‘I’m sorry Beryl.”

“No Edgar. I’m sorry.’ Her mind spun while hurriedly rephrasing, ‘What I mean is, I’m happy it’s you and not John.’

‘Oh… Well…’ Edgar blushed afresh.

‘Did you manage to find what you wanted?’

‘Um. Yes I did. Actually I wanted to catch you before you left. I don’t suppose you would be interested to meet up sometime for coffee? I thought perhaps we could exchange gardening tips, or something.’

‘Yes. I would like that.’ His heart jumped; so did hers. She spotted John approaching, wiping ketchup off his face with the back of his hand. Beryl hurriedly added, ‘You’ll find me on Facebook. Beryl Grainger.’ She felt the urge to kiss him – although her lips had not touched another’s for many years. Fumbling for the appropriate words Beryl said, ‘Do contact me. Soon. Please. Bye.'

‘Bye.’

‘Beryl.’

           ‘Beryl!’

Beryl ignored John.

She watched Edgar until he disappeared out of the store. She saw, with a sparkle in her eye, that something in her life had changed forever. Never in Beryl’s wildest dreams did she think that what she yearned for would be found in a place like this. It just goes to show, there is something for everyone in a good hardware store.

--o0o--

Postscript:

Hard wear and tear at home can sometimes be repaired if a couple try a quick fix with DIY. But beware, delay may lead to white anting undermining the foundations. Eventually, if rectification is no longer viable, things come apart and a separation is inevitable. The solution: find somewhere new.

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