Petrol Wonderland

Five | Another Girly Chat

The automatic doors slid open with a dry 'swoop' and the pensioner stepped through eagerly, accompanied by an uninvited guest: a cold gush of air. She greeted the two teenagers with an overly warm smile which they attempted (but most likely failed) to mirror. From the creases embedded deep in her cheeks, it looked like the woman smiled a lot.

Blake shifted on her toes in an uncomfortable manner as the lady shuffled into the store, slow as a snail. As if time wasn't a concept she understood. She plucked a flowery wallet from her large, green felt-coat and said, "Good evening, girlies!" Then, she raised the wallet to the sky and shook it as if to reinstate its existence. "Just here for 'me fuel."

The two girls shared a brief glance. Blake nodded slightly and relaxed onto the balls of her feet. The motion was invisible if you weren't looking for it, subtle, yet it conveyed a lot. Namely: 'she seems normal, thank God.'

Cleo started towards the counter. She'd received the message loud and clear. 'Business as usual, then.' The other girl trailed behind and kept her eyes locked onto the door, making certain it slipped shut behind their retreating backs. As soon as it did, she felt instantly more at ease.

"Good evening," Cleo returned to the woman as she led her to her destination. From the shrill tone of her voice, it almost sounded like she was speaking to a dog. "Sorry about the doors ma'am. We had to close them... didn't we Blake?"

"Yeah, they uh... They kept sticking so we had to... reset it. Turn it off and on again. Worked a charm!"

Cleo twisted around her head in an owl-like fashion and raised an eyebrow, two which the other girl just shrugged. The woman didn't seem to notice the exchange, though. She simply flicked out her fingers as if to swat an imaginary fly, her heavy, silver rings clinking together as she did.

"Oh don't worry my lovelies, it's no problem. No problem at all. I'm not in a hurry," she cooed. "I understand what you're getting at with those doors, though. Modern stuff really is a nightmare, isn't it? Technology and I don't really get along well. Looks like nothing has changed yet! My son always has to do everything for me with the 'google' and that, you know. Poor lad! Bless his heart and soul."

She laughed. A grating, glass-cracking sound which shredded through Blake's thoughts. She tried to hide her physical cringe at the noise as the two co-workers pretended to laugh alongside her.

After just a few, short weeks of working in customer services they'd learned to perfect their fake laughter. Yet now it felt like her training was slipping and own laughter was becoming equally as grating. Her eyes flicked uneasily to the carpark. Everything stood still.

"Oh!" perked up the woman, suddenly. "Sorry, my love, I meant to ask you something. Silly me, ever so forgetful! I have a question for you."

Cleo's tone was suspicious. "Go on..."

"You haven't seen my son around here, have you?"

"... Maybe. What does he look like, exactly?"

"Oh, he's twenty-seven years old. Twenty-eight soon! He's a lovely young man. So clever, too. I'm ever so proud of him. He's just started an apprenticeship at a garage this year. Oh! That reminds me. I'm going to buy him a car for his twenty-eighth, but if you see him please don't tell him that. He just loves surprises!"

"What does he look like?"

"Oh! Of course, sorry. Well, he's very very big and strong, my lad. Very handsome. He does rowing you know."

"Hair colour?"

"Oh, I don't know that one, my love. He's always changing it! Has he come through here?"