'Look at that,' Arthur said to his watch. 'Ten minutes she's been in there.' He fumed inside while outside the ladies toilet on the third floor in Rickham's department store. Every time they went shopping he waited. Waited while Sandra rifled through racks of skirts, blouses, and dresses. Reddened while waiting in various lingerie departments trying, unsuccessfully, not to look at D cups with all the other men.

It didn't seem to bother younger men who indeed seemed to actually draw pleasure from publicly fondling ladies' undergarments. To well-brought up men in their forties, however, it was unthinkable. Arthur looked at his watch again. It was too much. He had driven all the way from Wrexham to Shrewsbury because his wife had persuaded him that it would make a nice change from spending a Saturday in Chester. He had come to realise over the years that whereas to men, travelling is just an opportunity to reconnoitre new sets of cafes and pubs, women think of a holiday as shopping in another place.

He had naively assumed that they would be walking down by the river, visiting the castle and maybe fit in a matinee at the theatre. He didn't expect his wife to allow let alone insist that he wait amongst all the pornography here on the third floor. In whatever compass direction he turned, erotica flashed at him. Long-legged lovelies paraded in micro-skirts. Or on their backs waving fish-net stockinged legs in the air. It was a good job that he had a three-quarter length coat that covered, well, most of his embarrassment. Most of the porn stars in this section seemed to be called Pretty Polly. They should put such lascivious leg-wear well away from where men have to wait for their wives.

He raised his specs and again squinted at his watch and this time gave it a little tap. He walked the waiting-man's random trail to the fringes of the lingerie section and back to the vicinity of the Ladies Room: for the fifteenth time. He had counted. Several ladies had gone in and returned since he was trying not to look like a pervert. All right, perhaps she needed to, well, spend more than a penny; take longer than usual. But thirty minutes was a bit much even for Sandra. Another ten and he'll have to ask one of the lady shop assistants to see if she was in trouble. But surely there have been enough women going in now to notice if someone had fainted or had their hair trapped in a rotary towel. Suppose, though, she was unseen in a cubicle? Collapsed or upset for some reason. Had he said something to agitate her? He didn't know. He never knew. One minute he would be nodding a 'yes' to the appropriateness of the style of some coat or other and the next he was being given the evil eye and having to make his own tea when they returned home.
Arthur not only tapped his watch he put it to his ear. It was Sandra's fortieth birthday present to him. A Tag Heuer watch with real hands and not your digital that you can't see properly.

He strolled number sixteen. Someone was staring directly at him. Black hair, not a hint of grey he's pleased to note. The steel frame glasses enhanced the distinguished look his wife tried to cultivate in him. He looked away from the reflection and around again because he was sure that he was starting to attract the attention of some of the assistants. Another meandering man, who might be another waiting husband, could be a floorwalker. It was difficult in Arthur's long experience at this sort of thing, to look inconspicuous. He tried. He wandered over to a wall and looked vacant. Then when he refocused, he noticed that he appeared to be staring at an exposed nipple. It belonged to a manikin displaying a Gossard satin baby-doll nightie on which the string-thin ribbon shoulder bow had become as undone as his knife-edged composure.

Six-hundred pounds or not, this watch must not be working right and Arthur shook it. The time was up. It was over half an hour so Arthur was about to seek out an assistant when one collared him from the rear. He'd noticed her on previous visits and her nametag, Ms Elton.
'Can I be of assistance, sir?'
'Actually, I'm waiting for my wife but…'
'Are you sure, sir?' she said quite menacingly.

Then Arthur noticed the floorwalker advancing on them.
'Yes, but I am worried about her. Will you go and see if she's OK?'
The two shop-workers looked at each other making telepathic adjustments to their assessment of the situation. A moment later, Maggie Elton, assistant buyer, lingerie department entered the Ladies. Another moment later she re-emerged.
'There is no-one there. Now unless you leave we will call the police.'
'But she has to be. She went in over half an hour ago and hasn't come out!'
'She probably came out while you were, um, otherwise distracted,' Miss Elton suggested once again exchanging knowing nods with the navy-blue suit standing too close to Arthur for comfort.

'I, I hardly took my eyes of the door,' he returned but realising that it would only take seconds for her to emerge and off into the retail labyrinth.

The suit finally spoke, 'Have a walk around the store, sir. In cases like this the wife is usually waiting by the shop entrance where…' He restrained the continuation of the sentence but Arthur was picking up the telepathy now and knew he was going to say,'…where madam told you to wait.'

'I don't suppose I could see for myself, could I?' Arthur was reluctant to leave the spot where his wife told him to wait and you could never be sure that other people would search as thoroughly as yourself.

'Oh I don't know about that. In the Ladies?' Arthur thought Miss Elton was going to have a fit.
'Check it first for occupants, Miss Elton and I'll stop anyone else going in.' Sensible man. Arthur was warming to him.

It was like entering an alien world. There were flowers and scented soaps; rose pot-pourri and an elegant red padded seat chair. Naturally, he didn't expect urinals but somehow he didn't expected the terrace of cubicles filling a whole wall. Miss Elton stood by a gleaming white sink with her arms folded tight and wearing the most ferocious disapproving look at this invasion.

All the cubicles were empty. A rosewood framed frosted-glass door at the end was labelled 'Staff Only'. He tried the handle but it was locked. It was probably a cleaner's room. Above the sinks and mirrors, which were wider than those allowed in the Mens, was a window. It was open and about a yard wide but it would be a struggle to get through. Not impossible though.

'Does she have a mobile phone?' suggested the floor-walker when they both emerged, Miss Elton still with a face on and Arthur with a red one. He surreptitiously entertained an admiration for authoritarian women.

'I'm afraid not. It would be a good idea for situations like this.'
'Do you get this situation a lot then, sir?'
'I'll have a walk around the shop,' he said to the two of them and turned his back on the pair staring after him as he aimed for the down escalator. He saw the bright sunlight breaking and entering from High Street through the double front doors but not Sandra. He might as well see if she was waiting for him outside. Shielding his eyes from the glare for a minute or so, he gave up and went back inside. OK, so where does she go in shops like this? They've already gone through the racks in the garment sections, including men's even though he kept telling her that he didn't need any more. This was, as Sandra persisted valiantly in trying to explain to him every shopping day, because he was a man and so did not possess the required DNA code for anticipating the clothing needs of the next season. Arthur had a brain wave. As a department store it had to sport a restaurant, café or both. They had, at his insistence, coffee and pastries at the splendid Music Hall on The Square. But perhaps she had emerged from the toilets, not seen him straight away and assumed he was peckish again. He found the shop restaurant. He went back to the hosiery ringed Ladies. He was not affected by the enticing illustrations any more, he was too worried.

'No sign of her then?' the floor-walker started to show concern rather than mild amusement now. 'Perhaps she has a secret encounter..but'
'He would have to own a chain of shops,' Arthur interrupted the man's inapposite suggestion. Or was it?

'I'm calling the community policewoman who is attached to the shops in this street. Have another walk around while we're waiting. There's quite a few chairs around: she might've felt the need for a rest somewhere.'

Arthur hadn't thought of that and went off on a search and rant mission yet again. Fruitless.
end of excerpt

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