The Man In Tesco

   

‘Who’s the dishy man?’ asked Clare.

Lauren and her next door neighbour Clare were in Tesco’s, doing their weekly shopping and Lauren who was comparing the contents of two ready meals, ignored her friend and continued to read the small print on the back of the pack she was holding.

Clare gave her a nudge with her elbow.

‘Uh. What?’

‘I asked who the dishy man was?’

Lauren gave up reading the pack and put the cheaper meal in her trolley. ‘What are you on about now?’ she asked, without really wanting to know the answer. Clare a single mother of two was always going on about this dishy man, or that fit fella and Lauren, happily married with three lovely kids, wasn’t in the least interested.

‘I’m on about gorgeous, over there.’

Lauren looked around she couldn’t see anyone she would have considered gorgeous anywhere in the store, ‘Where?’ she asked.

‘Him there, just going out the door, the one with the checked shirt and the broad manly shoulders,’ Clare crooned, with a dreamy expression on her face.

Lauren’s gaze flicked to the doorway and was in time to see the back of a man in a checked shirt disappear into the darkness outside. ‘How would I know who he was, I didn’t even see his face?’ she asked.

‘No, but he saw yours and his eyes lit up, he was waving and smiling, but you ignored him, you were so busy reading the back of your spaghetti bolognaise.’

‘Well I didn’t see him and I don’t know who he was, so can we get on with the shopping, I’d like to get home before Corrie starts.’

The following Thursday evening they were in Tesco’s again. This time Lauren was reaching for a tin of beans, when Clare, who seemed to have adopted this violent form of communication, jabbed her in the ribs again. ‘There he is,’ she squealed. ‘At the check outs.’

Lauren followed her friend’s finger that was pointing rather rudely at the man in question, and was just in time to meet his eyes as he looked up after finishing his packing. On seeing her, he smiled, gave a little wave, picked up his groceries and left the store.

‘Well! Who is he?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Oh, come on, it’s obvious that he knows you, so you must know him.’

‘Honestly Clare, I’ve no idea who the man is. So can we just forget it get on with the shopping?’ 

Over the following weeks the same thing happened each Thursday night, and although she was curious, she didn’t make a move to find out who he was, until her ribs were so sore with Clare’s constant jabbing that she couldn’t take any more. The next time she spotted him, she left Clare at the check out and hurried outside after him as he disappeared in the direction of the car park. It took her a little while to catch up with him and when she did he was just about to drive off. Reaching the car she knocked on the glass and he wound down the window, smiled and said, ‘Hello we meet again.’

Lauren frowned, close up he looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him and felt a bit of a twit having to ask, but she asked anyway. ‘Excuse me but do you know me?’

The man laughed, ‘I’ll say I do, you’re the mother of one of my boys.’

The statement was so ridiculous that she was struck dumb and didn’t even react when he said, ‘Goodnight.’ and drove away.

The statement might have been ridiculous but it threw her mind into turmoil. She walked back into the store in a daze and helped Clare finish bagging the groceries then paid her bill. As they left the store, Clare, who by now practically hopping with curiosity, said, ‘Well come on, spill the beans, who was the hunk.’

‘You wouldn’t believe me, if I told you,’ she said.

‘I would! I would! I would!’ shrieked Clare.

‘I really haven’t a clue,’ she said and held her hand up to prevent Clare speaking. ‘But he said that I was the mother of one of his boy’s’

Clare her eyes round with wonder, asked, ‘And are you?’

‘Don’t be stupid Clare, we’ve been friends since school, you tell me when I’ve ever gone out with anyone other than Rob.’

‘August 2001 Ibiza.’

‘What?’

‘Your hen party when we got drunk out of our minds.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Too true you don’t, neither do I, but we were with two boys that night and one had blonde hair, just like him.’

‘So what’s that got to do with the price of bread?’

‘How old is young Robert?

‘You know fine well how old he is, You and John were at his sixth birthday party in May…Oh! My God! You don’t really think…?’

‘No I don’t, but I don’t know for certain and neither do you.’

‘Oh, God what am I going to do?’

‘The only thing you can. When you see him next Thursday, ask him outright.’

The next week was purgatory, Lauren couldn’t sleep she couldn’t eat and she found herself constantly comparing young Robert with his father, they were the spitting double of each other and she would dismissed the whole thing, if it hadn’t been for the fact that big Rob’s hair was dark and young Robert’s was a light sandy colour. She’d always though that his light hair had come down from her granny, but now she wasn’t so sure.

When Thursday eventually came around, she got to the store early and waited nervously outside. She was determined to catch him as soon as he arrived and have it out with him.  It was five to six when he drove into the car park and sooner than wait, she rushed over to meet him. He smiled as she approached, but she didn’t give him time to say hello, she just blurted out the question. ‘Did we meet in Ibiza?’

‘No,’ he said looking puzzled.

‘Where, then?’ she demanded.

‘At the first game of the Junior League, I’m your Robert’s football coach.’