I always get away with it.
It’s the wheelchair, I’m sure. People see a wheelchair
and assume the person in it is a paragon of virtue or a martyr.
We’re not supposed to be interested in fashion, sport
or sex and we don’t throw temper tantrums or sulk. Therefore,
I play it to advantage. Do you blame me?
I suppose it started when I was about ten. My mother had to
leave me in a shop on the ground floor as there was no lift,
and I was cheesed off. A sparkling display of make-up caught
my eye. I was only going to ask how much things were, but
no one seemed to be about. My fingers reached eagerly for
the rich colours. An iridescent raspberry red lipstick in
a golden case popped from the stand into my lap. I stared
at it but couldn’t bring myself to return it. Instead,
I put it in my pocket, telling myself that I couldn’t
possibly have replaced it without causing the whole display
to collapse. Convinced of my own excuses, I assured myself
that I had done nothing wrong and promptly forgot all about
it. That is, of course, until the next time.
Shopping, then, became my hobby. It was like having one of
those I-Spy books where you tick off what you’ve seen.
In my case, I ticked off what I’d nicked. The pages
filled rapidly. They were only small things: make-up, jewellery,
balls of wool, perfume. Nothing ever so expensive. None of
my friends noticed, so I didn’t have to explain myself.
I usually did my bit of lifting at the weekend when we went
to town. While they were trying on outfits, I was busy elsewhere.
It was boring sitting outside the fitting rooms waiting for
them. I don’t think anyone was aware of me, let alone
what I was up to. So I carried on, almost daring people to
see.
One Saturday morning during the summer when Mum was out, I
wheeled myself into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. We’d
run out of milk so I had to go to the shop. This narked me
a bit. Mum could have said; she knew I was useless without
my morning cuppa. Trundling into the supermarket, I noticed
they had a new security guard. Obviously, I’d clocked
all the others. I stared hard at him, so I would remember
who I was looking out for. A little jolt went through me.
Why? He was hardly good looking. Had to be fit, I suppose,
to run after people. As I was staring, he turned his shaved
head towards me.
‘Need any help?’ he asked.
‘Do I look like I need help?’ I knew I sounded
surly, but I couldn’t stop myself.
‘No. Not particularly.’ And he turned away. This
was new. People usually smiled at me in a funny sort of way,
all teeth and no humour. Pity, I suppose, they called it.
I called it insulting. Anyway, I carried on and got the milk.
Also I picked up some chocolate bars and pushed them under
my cushion with my accomplished sleight of hand. As I attempted
a wheelie to get me in the right direction for the checkout,
the security chap came over to me.
‘A basket would help, you know,’ he said, with
a little smile.
‘I’ve only got this pint of milk. I should think
even I could manage that.’
‘For the chocolate, I mean.’
I looked at him, not knowing what to say or do. This was the
first time I’d been caught out. I tried to squeeze some
tears from my eyes but he didn’t seem too impressed.
He strode off and came back with a basket into which he put
my milk and waited for me to add the chocolate bars. As he
leaned towards my right ear, I could feel his warm breath
as he whispered: ‘Tissues are in aisle three.’
In spite of myself, I had to laugh. A security guard with
a sense of humour. A person, a man, who was treating me as
if I was just a normal, naughty customer. I paid for the stuff
and as I passed him on the way out, I stopped and unwrapped
a Twix. I crunched into it, then offered him the other finger.
To my surprise, he took it and in two bites, it was gone.
‘Didn’t have time for breakfast,’ he grinned,
brushing crumbs from his fresh white shirt. ‘I’m
Toby. See you again soon.’
I scowled at him and headed home.
Of course, I didn’t go near the supermarket for a few
days. Pride, I suppose. Then Mum said, ‘You haven’t
been out much lately. Anything wrong?’
‘Course not. Just a bit tired, that’s all.’
‘We could go shopping.’
‘No, I’m a bit off shopping at the moment.’
‘Off shopping? Whatever’s up with you? You used
to love to go out with the girls. Don’t want to come
with your old Mum, is that it?’ She was smiling but
I could see she was a bit hurt. I gave in.
‘Oh, all right, then. But I must change my shoes. These
aren’t made for going round the shops.’
Mum laughed at the joke and we set off.
Usually the shopping precinct had me prickling with excitement,
but not today. I knew I’d get no fun from the outing
and I certainly wasn’t going to try any lifting. The
edge had been taken off now that someone else knew about it
and I must admit I was a bit wary. Mum stopped every few yards
looking in windows and pointing. It was beginning to annoy
me.
‘I think I’ll get a Coke. You carry on, Mum. Meet
me in the café when you’re ready.’
‘Are you sure, love? I think I’ll just go back
and look at that skirt.’
I pushed myself to the corner table of the café. As
I drank my Coke, I tried to work things out. Was the shoplifting
my way of coping with my disability? I had a secret no one
else knew about. Did that make me feel important? I wasn’t
aware that it did but it seemed strange that I didn’t
feel inclined to do it any more now that Toby had witnessed
my activities. Oh yes, I remembered his name.
‘Hi. Mind if I sit here?’ I looked up and there
he was.
‘Why aren’t you at work?’ I asked, rudely.
‘Even security guards get days off. It doesn’t
matter, I’ll sit somewhere else.’ He started to
walk away. I felt a bit out of control. Why couldn’t
I be nice? ‘Toby. I’m sorry. Of course you can
sit here.’
He looked pleased and took the seat next to me.
‘Haven’t seen you at the supermarket lately. Perhaps
you’ve been at work.’ He seemed genuinely interested.
‘Actually I was a bit embarrassed after last time and
I haven’t been in the shop since.’
‘No need to worry on my account. But it was your fault
I sussed you the other day.’
‘I don’t know what you mean?’ And I didn’t
because usually I’m so careful.
‘I was looking at you in the security mirrors.’
He shifted in his seat.
‘Why?’ I was ready to be huffy again.
‘Don’t you know? Haven’t you looked at yourself
lately? You’re gorgeous.’ Both of us blushed.
I gasped. No one had talked to me like that before.
Through the shoppers, I saw Mum bustling along with several
carrier bags. She saw me and waved.
Toby followed my gaze. ‘Someone you know?’
‘I’ll have to go,’ I muttered, still embarrassed.
‘It was good to see you.’ I found I meant it.
As I wheeled myself away he called, ‘I’ll be in
the Crown tonight – about 7.30.’
Was that an invitation? I suppose so. I hadn’t been
asked out on a date before, so I wasn’t sure. Anyway,
I could just turn up and see what happened. If I decided to
go, that is.
‘Who were you talking to?’ asked Mum dumping a
couple of carriers in my lap as we met up.
‘No one,’ I replied.
‘I’m sure I recognise him from somewhere. It’ll
come to me. You don’t have to hurry off, you know. I’m
dying for a cuppa.’
‘Can’t you wait until we get home?’ I said
impatiently. ‘Anyway it’s getting crowded now.’
‘You’ve got a right grumpy streak about you, sometimes,
you know. You’ll regret it one day.’
‘Sorry, Mum. I’ll try to behave.’ She shrugged.
Poor Mum. She’d given me everything she could and all
I could do was be mean to her.
I put my hand out, ‘I really am sorry.’
‘You know I can’t stay mad at you for long. Hurry
up, then. I’m dying to show you what I’ve bought.
If we went out for a drink later, I could wear the shoes.’
‘I may have plans tonight …’
As I manoeuvred myself through the doors of the Crown at 7.45,
I felt a guiding hand on my chair.
‘I’m glad you came. Let me get you a drink.’
I looked up into his welcoming face and felt very pleased
that I hadn’t always got away with it.
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| Shortlisted
Entries shortlisted to final judging stage in the First Line
short story competition were from: Karin Bachmann, Pieterlen,
Switzerland; Astrid Bartlett, North Wootton, Shepton Mallet,
Somerset; Michael Bolt, Corfe Mullen, Wimborne, Dorset; Elizabeth
Candlish, Crail, Fife; Phyllis Higgins, Frome, Somerset; Brenda
Joy, Maghull, Merseyside; Patty Lafferty, Seaton, Devon; Sue
Pickard, Epsom Downs, Surrey; Claire Sadler, Limerick, Ireland;
Jane Tilson, Staplehurst, Kent; John Winfield, Orston, Nottinghamshire.
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