Di Castle, Portsmouth u3a
South East Region
An Opening Full of Surprises
She peered through the opening; a crack in the shed door. The wood, battered by winter storms and burnt brittle from last summer's hot sun, had left warped, badly fitting panels.
Her eye levelled with the contents and, not for the first time, she felt a strong urge to open up and see what was concealed within. Previously, the door had hidden many secrets behind its sturdy frame but that was about to change.
There was definitely something odd about Gerry. Subtle changes appeared so slowly, it was no surprise the true extent had escaped her but, earlier today, when she drew breath and took a longer look at his flabby form leaving the house, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he was entirely himself.
Every morning for the last few weeks he had shut himself away in the bathroom for increasing lengths of time and his shed at the bottom of the garden had also become a refuge where he would remain closeted for most of the afternoon. If she had seen any benefit in the garden, she might have overlooked what might be happening in the shed but the herbaceous borders and vegetable plot, which he always maintained were his domain, looked rather the worse for wear. In fact, nothing was growing at all.
It all started when he retired back in the spring. Suddenly released from the shackles of his job at the local council offices, he joined a cycling group with a view to keeping fit. The weekly meetings and weekend cycle rides over Langton Moor had extended into daily rides over the local common and he was now fashioning a rack for the car boot so that he could even take the wretched bicycle even further afield to county events.
It struck Gaynor that, if he began taking the car to the next Kings Langton Cycling Group meeting and then cycled the proposed 20 miles, he would be away for the best part of a day. What would happen, she asked herself, about her weekly shampoo and set at Trim and Curly in nearby Winfield, if she did not have access to their vehicle? Also there was the weekly shopping. How would she cope if Gerry had taken the car?
It was soon after joining Kings Langton Cyclists that Gerry had arrived home with his new cycling gear. This comprised a black stretch nylon jumpsuit with luminous orange stripes extending from below the waist to his ankle. The top half of the jumpsuit sported a slogan on the back with a large letters saying, ‘ARE YOU TOO CLOSE?’ However, when Gerry went on a long rally he was required to wear a number badge which covered up the middle letters leaving only the letters ARSE visible. She had wanted to tell him but he had seemed so excited at the prospect of participating in what he referred to as the greatest assembly of the year that she hadn’t the heart to say anything.
Of course, the nylon jumpsuit would have looked good on Danny Smith the eighteen year-old who lived next door. A slim, wiry individual, trim on the waist with long slender legs, it was no surprise the local girls hung around outside his house. However, the shiny figure-hugging suit didn’t have the same effect on a grey-haired fifty-nine year-old who had eaten too many business lunches for thirty years. Gerry was, unfortunately, well-nigh on 15 stone and he was only five feet tall in his shoes. The jumpsuit, to be fair, was quite stretchy but it tended to resist in certain places, particularly in Gerry’s tummy area and below where it was definitely too tight, not that Gerry had much manliness to hide these days but there is only so much that some stretch nylon can do. She thought perhaps the largeness of his stomach area was actually quite fortunate as it did tend to collapse down towards the crossbar partly covering his lower regions so his little lumps didn’t show too badly.
Gerry also had invested in some very expensive – well he told her they were – sunglasses and a cycle helmet of luminous orange to match his trouser flashes. When he was dressed, ready to depart on cycling mornings, he would stand and flex his muscles and perform stretching moves against the dining room wall pushing down on one leg until his other leg collapsed beneath him. Then he would pick himself up and start again. He thought she didn’t notice when his exercises went wrong, but she couldn’t help it – she was trying to eat her breakfast after all.
That day, when he left, he was whistling the latest chart topper ‘Born to be Free’. This was all too much, Gaynor thought and, waiting for his portly shape to disappear down the drive, she started to do some detective work. Her first stop was his shed. Luckily, she had remembered she had a spare key, although it took some finding, but once in the lock and jiggled about it turned allowing the door to swing outwards revealing a large opening. The expected array of garden tools was noticeably absent - these having been pushed to the back end of the hut.
Inside she found several bicycle magazines – nothing strange in that, she thought – until she saw that each had one page turned over to mark something important. When she opened up one of the magazines at the marked page she had the biggest surprise of her life. There was a picture of Gerry on the page looking out at her – not smiling, which was quite usual lately, but wearing, as well as the black and orange jumpsuit, a thick gold chain with medallion. That was new! Also, his hair looked different – it was all fluffed up. She took a closer look as it didn’t look entirely like Gerry. For a moment, she wondered if she had looked at her husband properly in the last few weeks. Of course, he tended to wear his motorcycle helmet most of the time and, if he did take it off, he would wear a hoodie, another attempt to look like Danny next door. But there was more. Looking hard at the photograph she realised why he looked different. After what she had seen, she thought she would also take a closer look in the bathroom. Tucking the magazine under her arm she made her way to the house.
A quick hunt through the bathroom cupboard and cabinet revealed nothing but she had more success in his bedside cupboard where the source of the difference was plain to see. Gerry was using a special hair colour for the ‘older man’, the wording claiming its use would return greying hair to its youthful colour and condition. It was a proven method, it stated, to attract the opposite sex. What?
Gaynor took another look at the magazine and underneath there was no mistaking the wording – it was an advertisement and not just for the tomato plants in the greenhouse. It was Gerry’s picture clearly positioned centrally on the ‘New Friends Wanted’ page. His picture caption said, ‘Opening up for love – recycled teenager’.
She took another look at the box, and the name of the hair product. No surprises there. The brand was ‘Recycled Teenager’.
A quick search in the local chemist revealed an identical box displayed in the men's section. Selecting one, she paid and made her way back home. She removed Gerry's box from the cupboard, took it to the bathroom and emptied the contents into the basin, flushing them away to hide all trace. Replacing the new ‘Fiery Red’ gave her some satisfaction.
As she placed the box of hair colour back in Gerry's bedside cupboard her mouth twitched with pure mischief.
There was only one more thing to do. Opening the magazine, she noted the telephone number from the advert and Gerry’s unique code. It took only a few minutes to leave a muffled sexy message as Cute Caroline. Now she just had to await a text on her new mobile number.
She was enjoying herself and would relish their first date.
That Recycled Teenager would soon find himself recycled . . . in the divorce courts.