The couple sat at the other end of the dining area in the pub. He had a flamboyant moustache, all slick and oiled to match his hair. She was rejecting plump for overweight and had a round plain face, peroxide blonde hair and a white wool coat. She removed this as they sat down. He ordered his meal and then decided for her. ‘And My Lady will have…’ he said as she donned her coat and sashayed outside (really) for a fag. On her return she slipped out of the coat and dragged it behind her, trailing it across the floor. I’m sure I’ve seen Marilyn Monroe do that with a mink in one of her films. She repeated the process between courses.
We were intrigued by the pale lemon concoction, all of six inches high, which arrived as her dessert and, as they were leaving, Leanne (our daughter) asked her what she had ordered. My Lady wasn’t given a chance to answer. Mr Slick-Moustache made his way to Leanne, put an arm around her shoulder and slid a finger down the menu. ‘This,’ he pointed, breathing into Leanne’s ear.
My Lady didn’t look amused.
As soon as he turned his back Leanne shuddered. ‘He smelled of talcum powder,’ she told us.
We promptly named him Talc-man and he’ll probably end up in a story.