Male Order Part 2
“Come in!” …..
And lo and behold, there he stood, beaming through the Gandalf greying beard, as she faked surprise that it should be him, yet again, and so soon. “I have a large delivery here for a Miss Ella Sinder“ he twinkled. “Wow, yes - so soon - thank you, gosh, yes, that’ll be for me then.” “Well hello, Ella - that was my old mum’s name”, said the warm voice that she’d tried so often to conjure up from her pillow in the last week. “Gosh, that’s just amaaazing. And um, your name?” “Me, I’m just Harry”, he purred. She gasped, “Wow, that was my grandfather’s name! “ He grinned. “So where do you want it, Miss Ella? The delivery, that is.” “Well, it’s a bench kit, so in the garden please. I’m hoping to put it together this afternoon.” She turned away quickly lest he see the rising blush. He swept up the heavy box as if it were empty, and followed her down through the garden to a patio by the water. She strove not to wiggle or giggle, as he appraised the beauty of the garden and the charm of the stream.
“Can I offer you a coffee?” she suddenly announced, wondering at her own bravado. “That’s very tempting, Ella - but I’m running way too late today. We need to go get that signature of yours again.” “Of course”, she wittered, fumbling with a tall rosemary bush, as he strode back up to the house.
He was waiting by the top step, where she briefly teetered in her silly shoes. In an instant a strong arm caught her, his hand briefly on her shoulder, his face close to hers. There was an imperceptible pause … “Whoah, steady there, my dear. Mmm do I smell Gucci?” She quivered and flustered ahead of him to the kitchen, but he remained by the van with the signing gadget. She bumbled back outside, where they went through the old routine, but this time she just finished with a flourish. “I don’t recognise that signature today, Ella - where’s my X?” She giggled and blushed a little and placed her mark. “There’s my girl”, he said softly, ”Good luck with the bench”. Then he winked, climbed into his van, and was gone. No blown kiss this time.
Yet again she felt bereft. In the flummox, she’d totally forgotten to return the trophy glove. No progress then, but she now had no doubts whatsoever about the significant spark between them. The pace would be slow, sure and dignified from now. She rehearsed the lines for deepening their exchanges, to slowly introduce and explore their personal backgrounds. He was probably a fair bit younger than her, but she was good for her age. Was he spoken for? Pffft! no problem. After a deliberated pause, she placed her next order - for a Victorian garden arch. The delivery date was flagged up for Thursday.
She popped out to the post office on Wednesday, and on her return found a note on the kitchen table. It read ‘Miss Ella? Where are you? Parcel in greenhouse. Nice bench for a coffee. X’ She ran to the river, sat on the bench and roared her disappointment. She hastened the next order: a rather hefty standard lamp for the bedroom. She would ask him to carry it upstairs for her, so that he would see the sumptuous boudoir she had been busily creating. She, of course, would wait demurely downstairs brewing coffee. Meanwhile, she wouldn’t get caught ‘Out’ again, so stayed firmly around the house, being sure nowadays to look her best every morning - no more slobbage.
It was a beautiful sparkly November morning when she heard the van. She promptly put on Doris Day and the coffee pot and laid out a plate of posh biscuits. Then came the knock on the door, but no response to her chirpy call. She went to the door. There stood a squat red-faced young man with a tall parcel. “Miss Sinder?” Visibly deflated, she casually asked after Harry, and was told he was on another round this week, but would be back for most of the Christmas runs. She signed for the lamp, and took to her bed for the rest of the day, the dear glove under her pillow.
There was only one course now. She began to place multiple bulky daily orders in the run-up to Christmas: boots, pressure cooker, stepladder, case of Prosecco, ukelele, foot spa, MP3 player, coffee machine, i-Pad, box of watercolours, another case of Prosecco … the plump packages were soon piling up all around the house, surmounted by disgruntled cats. But no two delivery men were the same, and there was still no sign of Harry. She placed one last desperate order, for a pair of huge light-up wicker reindeer, on special delivery. Then she cracked open the first case of Prosecco and unboxed the patent leather boots.
It was almost dusk on Christmas Eve when the doorbell rang. Wearing a leather miniskirt, layers of random leopard print, flashing earrings, and clutching just one more large Prosecco, she opened the door a crack, and there stood Harry, beaming under a Santa hat. Behind him a pair of huge plastic-wrapped reindeer. “Special delivery, Ella,” he said softly. “ These boys and I thought you might be glad of some company for Christmas .. and you’re my last delivery. “
“Harreee baybee!” drooled Ella, flinging wide both the door and her arms, Prosecco spilling everywhere. At this point, as one of the cats raced in between her feet, she stumbled, and slid gracelessly down the doorframe. Harry's eyes widened in horror as he retreated, abandoning the unsigned reindeer, and mumbling a hasty beardful of seasonal excuses before leaping into the van and out of her life.
On Christmas morning, a tattered and woebegone Ella clambered over multiple boxes to descend the stairs. As she reached the landing, she peered blearily across the valley, and there, outside Maeve’s, sat a large yellow van.
All through Christmas, she sank deeper into a blur of boxes and Prosecco. But the day after Boxing Day dawned sunny. The yellow van was finally gone, all the Prosecco drunk, and now it was her birthday, and she intended to enjoy it. She made a rich chocolate cake, opened up the coffee maker, fired up the MP3 player, and bopped around to Motown. The watercolour set glowed seductively on her desk, the ukelele was tuned, and the i-Pad sported the first line of her new poem-come-ballad: “Don’t need that tainted glo-o-ove anymore ..”
Before long, the doorbell rang lengthily. After a swig of coffee, she took her time before opening the door, to reveal a handsome man, smiling through huge armfuls of luxuriant blooms. “Miss Sinder? I suspect it may be your birthday.“ “Ah yes, indeed it is. Do please bring those beauties inside for me. Maybe you’d care to help me with this cake,” said Ella, brightly. “And I’m just wondering if this glove might fit you?”