One Size Fits All by Catherine Keal

One Size Fits All a continuation of Fay Weldons story which can be downloaded from the bbcendofstory web site.
wc. 1168

She deserved to die with the plane crashing. It would be a whole lot easier, after all what was she going to do when she got to the other end. If she caught David and Lola together, would she make it their ‘Last Supper?’ What would poor Allie’s children think to have lost their mother to a plane crash, only to discover their adoptive one, was a scissor happy maniac!

What if the children never spoke to her again and she was left to fester behind bars in a Milan jail? Ending in tears, shame, guilt and what if’s... She could imagine the press having a field day…..................... the headlines reading.

MILAN MAYHEM
HASSENBURG’S HAIR-RAGE HEARTACHE
TOTTIES TONSORIAL TURMOIL


She walked along the corridor searching for the entrance to Gate 69. Her resolve tightened; she’d get on the plane. Lola was not going to…..….to ruin it.

In the quest to board, Ursula wondered what an Italian jail looked like; did prisoner’s wear ‘one size fits all’ uniforms. In France, she remembered, they wore blue. She’d discovered by this quite by chance at Fontevraud l’Abbaye. Fifteen at the time, pretty and innocent, they’d all winked, moving their wrists in an improper way, hiding behind bushes. Later grandfather inquired about their manners, the Friar in charge revealed: The men in blue gardening were all prisoners.

It was Frances’s doubts and her own folly that provoked this unnatural behaviour.
Frances, like the Spanish Inquisition, had sent her into - the unmentionable. And this queue was taking an age. She lent down, pulling out bottle of ‘Rescue Remedy,’ she swallowed. A bitter taste spread around her mouth, reminding her of an old friend Hilly. She’d been the ‘one size fit’s all’ girl at college; the one that every bloke leered and gawped at in her Biba dress. She could have had any man she wanted. So when she’d come home unexpectedly and found Bill, her husband of twenty years, in bed with his young secretary; she’d flipped. The secretary asked if she could use the phone for a taxi home. “You’ve shagged my husband; I really do baulk at the idea that you should use my phone as well. Get the hell out of here and take Bill with you.” Five years on, Hilly was busy reciting that same old story, while falling apart at the seams. ‘One size fits all,’ nonsense. One size fit no-one in any market-place, particularly within marriage.

The psychologists were truthful; focusing on sex every 6 minutes was about the limit of the male species. History hadn’t changed them one iota. They were programmed to the 3f’s - Football, Fishing and F******!

What surprised her was that there weren’t wars every-day between the sexes just over what was showing on the Television. David was a zapper, hogging the remote. But what would she do if he wasn’t there, goodness only knows.

She heard a roar of engines and ‘Easy Rider’ playing from headphones as she made her way onto the walkway. An image of David appeared, tied to a four poster bed; Lola feeding him Italian ice-cream wearing one of those thongy thingy’s, that cut up your arse like a knife. It made the croissant that she’d devoured earlier, turn over; she felt queasy. It was too early to have eaten.

Ursula crouched down checking her red holdall for the sick bag that she’d had since her last flight. Why did she have to be some sort of sad Bridget Jones refugee, buying tummy tuck knickers? No wonder David had gone off her. No wonder she felt sick; they were too tight, pressing. She’d have to find the ladies fast.

Only the week or so before she’d gone alone to see “Madam Butterfly” where two tall young men, were locked in at the knee, threatening a thrombosis, clearly uncomfortable, in the ‘one size fits all seats,’ that didn’t. They’d spoken to her at the bar during the interval.
“Have you still got those knickers in your hand?” Said the brown-eyed one. Surprised, Ursula looked down at her clasped hand, only to find her small blue flowery hankie, looking like a thong.
“Yes, here I am all alone, excited by the opera, knickerless and ready for a drink.” Should’ve been her reply, instead, like an imbecile, who lacked any imagination, she’d said. “This is a Balinese silk hankie, from my husband, not knickers.” So where was David her saviour when she needed him. “You don’t need to feel vulnerable around strange men.” Did David say that to reassure her? Was this a ploy to hold her back….She wondered, skulking off with her drink and hankie. Both men laughed, calling her something she didn’t quite grasp.

Then two days later at the factory. A young man was being flirty; preening his quiff into shape, he’d used that same word, calling her ‘one fit milf.’ She’d smiled. Later that week, at life drawing class, she’d asked a guy, if he could enlighten her on what ‘milf’ actually meant. “Mum’s I’d like to f**k,” he said.
“Oh, dear I’m sorry I asked.” She’d turned away, swiftly changing the subject to the weather outside.

A picture of David standing like ‘Muscle-Man’ in his posing pouch, flashed through her mind. What was she doing listening to these ridiculous fears? She joined the queue down the gangway with her boarding pass and climbed onto the bus. It set off, but then promptly turned around heading back to gate 69, where they were asked to disembark, due to a toddler being sick. She’d rifled through her bag expecting fear to grip. Common sense prevailed, instead, out came the sick bag.
“Here, this might help?”
“Si, grazie.” The elegant woman drew her child’s head gently towards the bag.
“Do you need a hand?” The woman’s hands were full, so Ursula opened the push-chair and walked back inside the terminal, accompanied by wails from the toddler; with a mother in a state of shock. They headed straight for the ladies.

What was she going to do to resolve it, this insecurity, ‘one size fit’s all,’ didn’t everyone share it? Her head was being zapped with worry, now to cap it all; the mobile vibrated and rang in Bach. Oh God, it was David’s ring tone. No, she couldn’t ignore it.
“Hello Snuggle Puss? I’m home, you’re not here.”
“I’m at Bristol airport, in the loo, we’re just boarding, but there was an incident. I was coming to meet you.”
“Please come home to your old man. I need you. I’m down with a cold. I’ve let go of the controls, Lola’s happy accepting responsibility for the show; she’ll be in Milan by now. Frances called; wants to do another interview. And I’ve bought you a little something.”
“Oh David, what have you wasted your money on this time?” said Ursula behind the toilet door, keeping up her cheerful tone.
“A silk thong - a tiny triangle - with string ties - Don’t worry - One size fits all!”

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