14. The Supermarket Incident

THE SUPERMARKET INCIDENT

R osie stood in her kitchen, frowning at the depleted contents of her refrigerator. With three women now living under her roof, food seemed to vanish at an alarming rate. She sighed, closed the door and turned to face her housemates.

"Right," she announced, "we need to go shopping. This house has more women than food, and that's a situation I never thought I'd find myself in."

Maria looked up from her fashion magazine, her newly dyed red hair catching the sunlight. "Ooh, shopping! I love shopping. Though I suppose you mean the boring kind with vegetables, not the fun kind with shoes."

Catherine, who had been furiously typing away at her new blog, 'Life Begins at Divorce,' barely glanced up. "Do we have to? I'm right in the middle of a scathing post about Richard's controlling behaviour. Did you know he once tried to dictate what colour I painted my own toenails?"

Rosie raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're planning to eat your laptop, yes, we have to. Come on, it'll be fun. We'll make an outing of it."

As Catherine finished writing and put away her computer, the doorbell rang. Emma's voice carried through the letterbox, "Oi, you lot! We've come to rescue you from suburban boredom!"

Rosie opened the door to find Emma, Lisa, Julie, and Trisha on her doorstep, all looking far too excited for a Tuesday afternoon.

"Perfect timing," Rosie said, ushering them in. "We were just about to go grocery shopping. Want to join us?"

Emma's face fell. "Grocery shopping? Boring! I was thinking more along the lines of sky diving or perhaps a nice protest march."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Don't be dramatic, Emma. Grocery shopping can be fun with the right company. Besides," she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, "I heard the new Waitrose has a wine tasting section."

Seven pairs of eyes lit up simultaneously.

"Well," Trisha said, a slow smile spreading across her face, "we wouldn't want to miss out on expanding our palates, would we?"

And so, twenty minutes later, the Sensational Sixties Squad found themselves entering the sliding doors of Waitrose, armed with shopping lists and an joy usually reserved for taking a bra off at the end of the day.

"Right," Rosie said, trying to instil some order, "let's start with the essentials. Fruits, vegetables, bread…"

"Wine tasting!" Emma interrupted, already making a beeline for the back of the store.

"Emma!" Rosie called after her, but it was too late. The others had caught the scent of adventure (and alcohol) and were following in Emma's wake like a line of ducklings.

Rosie sighed, grabbed a shopping trolley, and followed.

By the time she caught up, Emma was already chatting up the young man running the wine tasting booth.

"Now, darling," Emma was saying, fluttering her eyelashes in a way that was more alarming than alluring, "let's see what you've got, shall we?"

The poor lad, who looked barely out of his teens, gulped nervously. "I, um, I suppose so. We do have a lovely Chardonnay that's just been opened..."

As he poured generous 'samples' into their tasting glasses, Rosie felt a moment of misgiving. "Perhaps we should finish the shopping first," she suggested weakly.

But her protest was drowned out by the clink of glasses and Emma's enthusiastic, "Cheers, ladies! Here's to grocery shopping with style!"

One sample turned into two, then three. Thank goodness the shop was close enough to Rosie's house that they had been able to walk there. The young man in charge of the wine tasting booth, initially flustered, soon found himself enjoying the attention of seven vivacious women who laughed at his jokes and seemed genuinely interested in his explanation of wine regions.

"You know," Maria said, her cheeks flushed pink from more than just the previous evening's makeover, "David never let me drink wine. He said it made me silly."

"Silly is good," Julie declared, raising her glass in a toast. "Here's to being silly, and to hell with men who don't appreciate it!"

They all cheered, drawing curious glances from nearby shoppers.

Rosie, who had been nursing her first glass, realized with a start that they had been at the shop for nearly half an hour and hadn't bought a single grocery item.

"Come on, ladies," she said, trying to herd them towards the produce section. "Let's at least pretend we came here to actually shop."

Giggling like schoolgirls, they followed Rosie, weaving slightly as they navigated the aisles. Catherine insisted on stopping at every free sample stand they passed, accumulating an impressive collection of tiny cups and toothpicks in her handbag.

"Ooh, look!" Emma exclaimed, holding up a pineapple. "Doesn't this remind you of Richard's hair when he turned up at the house last night?"

The image of Catherine's usually impeccably groomed husband with pineapple-shaped bed head sent them into fits of laughter.

As they moved through the store, their volume seemed to increase in direct proportion to the amount of wine they had consumed. Rosie found herself shushing them repeatedly, to little effect.

"So, Rosie," Emma said loudly as they perused the cereal aisle, "have you decided between Derek and Mike yet? Because personally, I think you should go for Mike. He's got that silver fox thing going on."

Rosie felt her face flame as several heads turned in their direction. "Emma!" she said with a smile. "Could we perhaps not discuss my love life in the middle of Waitrose?"

But Emma was on a roll. "I'm just saying, darling, you deserve someone who appreciates you. Someone who won't run off with his midlife crisis on legs."

"Here, here!" Maria chimed in, waving a box of Weetabix for emphasis. "Men are like cereals. You think you want the sugary, exciting one, but in the end, you're better off with the reliable bran that keeps you regular!"

This profound statement was met with raucous laughter and a round of applause that echoed through the store.

"Ladies, please," Rosie pleaded, torn between mortification and the urge to laugh along with them. "Let's try to keep it down, shall we?"

This was a shop she frequented regularly, as did Derek, and she imagined Mike did too. They all lived so near to one another. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but she felt it was one thing laughing and joking about this in private but she didn't want to be overheard laughing about it in public.

"Are you OK?" asked Emma. "Have I upset you?"

"No. I just feel awkward chatting about it all in public. Everyone I know uses this supermarket, I don't want to be heard mocking Derek or anything. He's Mary's father. I just feel awkward about it."

There was something else as well. While the others all felt she should throw herself into Mike's arms, she felt huge warmth towards Derek. She was torn. She wanted time to think about it all in private and not debate it in the middle of a crowded supermarket.

"Sure," said Emma. "You're right. I won't mention it again."

As they moved round to the freezer section, Catherine leaned over and looked at the frozen vegetables.

"You know. I haven't had sex in so long, I think my lady bits might have frozen over. Just like those cauliflower florrets."

Julie nearly choked on the cheese sample she'd been munching. "Catherine!" she gasped, equal parts scandalized and amused. "I never knew you had it in you!"

"That's the problem," Catherine replied mournfully. "Nothing's been in me for years."

This set them off again, their laughter bouncing off the freezer doors and causing a group of teenagers to stare at them in a mixture of horror and fascination.

Rosie, who had been attempting to shop amidst the chaos, realised they had attracted the attention of a stern-looking man in a manager's uniform. He was striding towards them with purpose, his face set in a disapproving frown.

"Oh dear," Rosie murmured. "Ladies, I think we might be in trouble."

But the others were oblivious, now engaged in a heated debate about the merits of various personal lubricants they had spotted in the health and beauty aisle.

"Excuse me, ladies," the manager said as he reached them, his voice clipped. "I'm going to have to ask you to lower your voices. We've had complaints from other customers about the... nature of your conversation."

Emma, never one to back down from authority, drew herself up to her full height (which, admittedly, wasn't very imposing). "Now see here, young man," she began, jabbing a finger at his chest. "We are paying customers, and we have every right to discuss whatever we please. Just because some prudes can't handle a bit of frank discussion about sexual health-"

"Emma!" Lisa interjected, trying to salvage the situation. "I'm so sorry, sir. We'll keep it down, won't we, ladies?"

There was a mumbled chorus of agreement, though Rosie noticed Emma rolling her eyes dramatically.

The manager nodded stiffly. "I'd be grateful if you would. This is a family shop. We have to be mindful of all our customers."

As he walked away, Emma muttered, "Family shop, my arse. Where do they think families come from? The stork?"

This set them off again, their laughter only slightly muffled by their attempts to contain it.

Rosie, sensing disaster on the horizon, tried to steer them towards the checkouts. "Come on, let's pay for these and head home. I think we've had quite enough excitement for one day."

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. As they rounded the corner into the toiletries aisle, they came face to face with none other than David, Maria's estranged husband, accompanied by a young woman who was most definitely not his colleague. She looked suspiciously like the woman they had seen him in the park with.

The silence that fell was deafening. Maria, her eyes wide with shock, stood frozen, a pack of toilet paper clutched to her chest like a shield. David looked like he'd seen a ghost - or rather, seven very tipsy ghosts, all staring at him accusingly.

It was Emma who broke the silence. "Well, well, well," she said."If it isn't the man of the hour. Tell me, David, does your little friend here know you're married?"

The young woman looked bewildered, her eyes darting between David and the group of women who were now forming a protective circle around Maria.

David, to his credit, looked thoroughly ashamed. "Maria," he began, "I can explain."

But Maria, fuelled by wine and righteous anger and flanked by her friends, found her voice. "Explain? EXPLAIN? You explained before. That's why I moved out. You are a lying, cheating, manipulative excuse for a man. I don't want any more explanations. I want a divorce."

"A divorce? Don't be ridiculous."

The attractive young woman looked up. "You are married? You told me you were divorced."

"Shhh…" said David, aggressively. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Really? Nothing to do with me? Fine. In that case, I'm off."

"No, don't go. For God's sake. What's wrong with women. Why are you all such drama queens?"

Maria had heard enough. Before her husband had realised what was happening, she had hurled the pack of toilet paper at David's head. Her aim, unfortunately, was less than perfect, so the pack sailed past David and knocked over a carefully constructed display of shampoo bottles, sending them clattering to the floor in a tsunami of hair care products.

The crash echoed through the store, followed by a moment of stunned silence. Then, chaos erupted.

Emma, seizing the moment, grabbed another pack of toilet paper and lobbed it at David, this time hitting her mark. "That's for every time you made Maria feel less than the amazing woman she is!" she yelled.

Seeing their friend in distress, the other women joined in. Soon, the air was filled with flying toilet paper, cotton balls, and the occasional bottle of shampoo.

David beat a hasty retreat, ducking and weaving to avoid the barrage of toiletries while swearing at the women and telling them how childish they were. As soon as he was out of sight, a cheer went up from the Sensational Sixties Squad.

Their victory was short-lived, however. The manager, alerted by the commotion, came running down the aisle. When he saw who was causing all the trouble, his face went purple with rage.

"That's it!" he bellowed. "Out! All of you, out of my store this instant!"

Rosie, mortified, tried to apologise. "We're so sorry, we'll clean this up…" she started.

But the manager was having none of it. "Out!" he repeated, pointing towards the exit.

Gathering what little dignity they had left, the women made their way to the front of the store, past gawking customers and whispering employees. As they stepped out into the parking lot, the reality of what had just transpired began to sink in.

For a moment, they all stood in silence, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and barely suppressed mirth.

"Well, I'm glad we managed to conduct a basic shopping trip with our bringing huge embarrassment upon ourselves," said Rosie.

Then, as if on cue, they all burst into laughter.

"Did you see David's face?" Maria gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "I don't think I've ever seen him move so fast!"

"Forget David," Trisha chortled. "Did you see the manager? I thought he was going to explode!"

As their laughter subsided, Rosie looked around at her friends - dishevelled, giddy, and banned for life from Waitrose. She should have been mortified. She should have been angry. Instead, she felt a bubbling sense of joy and camaraderie.

"Well, ladies," she said, unable to keep the smile from her face, "I think we can safely say that was the most eventful grocery trip in history."

"Hear, hear!" Emma cheered. "Now, who's for a takeaway? I don't know about you lot, but all that excitement has made me peckish."

As they made the short walk home, still giggling and recounting their favourite moments from their supermarket adventure.

"You know, I've just realised something important," she said. "Life after sixty isn't about slowing down or fading away. It's about seizing every moment and laughing in the face of adversity. We might only have 20 years left…we haven't got time for excusing bad behaviour and meekly backing away when there's trouble."

The pub was dimly lit, the air thick with smoke and the murmur of conversation. Richard sat at a corner table, surrounded by his old army mates. Empty pint glasses littered the table, a testament to the hours they'd spent reminiscing about their glory days.

"I'm telling you, lads," Richard slurred, his fist coming down hard on the table, "civvy life's a bloody nightmare. No order, no discipline. And the women? They've got no respect for authority."

His mate, Tom, clapped him on the shoulder. "Still having trouble with the missus, eh?"

Richard's face darkened. "Ex-missus. Catherine's got it in her head that she can manage without me. Ha! She wouldn't last a day in the real world without my guidance. She's got all these ‘friends' – a bunch of dopey old women. She spends all her time with them and they're trying to keep me away from her."

"Maybe it's time to let her go, mate," another friend, Steve, suggested gently. "Find yourself a nice young bird, start fresh."

Richard's eyes flashed dangerously. "Let her go? Not bloody likely. Catherine's my wife, and I'll be damned if I let a bunch of meddling old biddies turn her against me. No, I've got a plan. I'll show her she needs me. One way or another, I'll get her back where she belongs."

As his mates exchanged worried glances, Richard drained his pint, his mind already plotting his next move. He'd spent his life giving orders and having them obeyed. He wasn't about to let Catherine defy him now.