Supporting Cast by Kit de Waal

Author:Kit de Waal [Waal, Kit de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780241973431
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2020-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

Trish

Hastings, Christmas 2018

Buy your usual size it said on the side of the packet.

Trish was sixty-two and looking good was taking more and more time these days. Twice the effort for half the results. Slimish she might be, but firm had become a thing of the past. Her body was letting her down like everything else.

A few months back, after she’d seen what it had done for a friend of hers, she’d invested in a very expensive elfin crop courtesy of Alex, who she’d known for years but who never managed to offer any kind of discount whatsoever despite them training together and working together for ten years back in the day. But Trish’s chin wasn’t strong enough and, really, for an elf, she had very frizzy hair. The crop led to straightening irons and straightening lotions and straightening spray and, all in all, Trish’s bloody new haircut was just a very bloody expensive bloody mistake.

Buy your usual size it said, so she did.

The puce-coloured spandex Magic Knickers Trish slipped out of the cellophane looked like cycling shorts for a very big doll but there was no going back. She held them up to the light of her bedroom window. They grew no bigger on closer inspection. She pulled at the seams. She held them flat against her stomach and saw there were two uncovered inches either side of the wonder garment.

Trish took a deep breath, positioned herself near the bed for safety and shook her head. If she died, she would be found in something she had vowed she would never wear. She would die of shame, but there again, she’d be dead already. Best to just get on with it.

She had to sit down to get both feet through the tiny openings. They were already snug and they were only ankle high. She worried as she writhed and wriggled that the Magic Knickers would stop the blood flow from groin to foot and she’d get deep vein thrombosis or gangrene in her toes. She wouldn’t have to worry about being sexy then, not with one leg and no foot on it.

She managed to get the thing up as far as her knees before the hard work really began. Progress was slow. It was inch by inch, left then right, careful with her sharp nails not to pierce the knickers nor pinch her paper-thin skin as she tried to get a purchase on the silky elastic material. Still, she persevered.

She got them up to her groin and almost over her bottom before she allowed herself to fall gracelessly and heavily backwards on to the quilt. Her face was damp and her neck was slick with sweat.

‘Dear God,’ she puffed as she lay with her arms outstretched. ‘I’m wearing a bloody tourniquet.’

Trish lay there panting. If anyone had been listening outside the bedroom door – not that that was bloody likely, but if they had – they would have assumed she had taken a lover, as they say in the books.

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