Emma’s Story

[Cherie]

Steve locked the back doors of the van. Another day’s slow trading and barely enough cash to cover his expenses for the day, let alone put food on his table. He shouldn’t be surprised, traditional rainwear had been falling out of favour for years. People would rather get soaked than own a practical mac. What rainwear was around was expensive technical fabrics sold by trendy shops. The rails of raincoats, capes and sou'westers flapped on the rails as the old Transit lolled around the tight corners of the narrow streets.

The van was parked in the lockup. Steve made his way up the narrow concrete alleyway that led to the front of the building, then in through the front door. Wearily he started the long climb up to the six floor, not bothering to check that the note on the lift still said “out of order” as it had for all the time had lived there. Exhausted he opened his front door and clumped straight in the unmade bed. The music started again. Thump thump thump. He was going to complain to the neighbours yet again, but sleep intervened in his plan.

Steve awoke with his face stuck to the PVC bedsheet. Ordinarily he would have used his love of the shiny, slippery, material to de-stress, especially to try to forget the hunger. But today he was so tired he never made it under the black PVC covered duvet. It was Wednesday, his day off as there were no markets in the area. He thumbed through the new pile of bills and final demands before casually throwing them on the ever increasing pile of brown envelopes - all unopened. He made a half-hearted attempt at making the bed, but afterwards it looked just as screwed up and wonky as before, but it did give him the opportunity to run his hands lovingly over the soft plastic; his one and only vice and true love, unless you count alcohol, which he had not been able to afford for some weeks.

He planned in having a shower and getting tidy before going out to see if anyone he knew had any casual work that could help his financial situation. Everyone said they would keep an eye out, but so far none had come up with anything. So he slipped into his favourite navy blue TKO shiny nylon tracksuit with nothing on underneath and started hunting through the tiny kitchen for any morsels of food that he might have missed.

There was a knock at the door. He suspected it was the landlord asking for rent again, and was planning on ignoring it when something made him decide to answer it, maybe a lighter tone in the knock not reminiscent of someone after cash. He wished he hadn’t answer it. He was immediately lost in that smile and those hazel eyes.
“Hello”, she said, clearly trying not too appear as if she was staring at this weird apparition of a man dressed in a bin bag, with unkempt hair, stubble in his face and wearing nothing on his feet, “I’ve just moved in next door and I can’t get the heating to work, I wondered if there was a trick to it?”
Steve was transfixed and didn’t really pay attention to her question, “hello? Did you understand me?”, she said.
“Sorry, you caught me at a…”, he wasn’t sure where he was going with this, so continued, “…of course, no problem, I’ll come and have a look”.
The couple walked two doors down, Steve went as he was, in bare feet, suddenly conscious of the swishing sound from his nylon tracksuit.
Behind the shabby front door was the same layout of as his own, except the opposite way around. There was basic furniture in place already and several cardboard boxes which Jerry presumed were yet to be dealt with in the move.
If the heating was anything like his own, he knew it was a waste of time to try, but he didn’t want to admit defeat whilst there was a chance to get to know this lovely girl.

Steve explained how the heating was supposed to work, but after a while admitted that it looked like it was broken, “I have a spare electric fan heater you can borrow if you like?”, he offered. It was a lie. He had the heater, but it was not spare, but in fact his only form of heating.
“Oh, that’s ok, thanks for trying, I might pop out and get a heater myself a bit later”, she replied.
Steve tried to make conversation but seemed to be kindly and gently shown the door, he felt he had blown it. Maybe she could not see beyond the mess he looked? Maybe she had a boyfriend?
“We’ll look I’m Steve and if there is anything I can do to help you come and knock, you know where I am”.

He sat on the bed, dejected, but with a sense of purpose to try to get to know the girl. He stood up and peeled off the shiny nylon and went into the bathroom to shave and have a shower and try to tame his unruly hair. As yet he had no idea how he was going to engineer another meeting, but such things could wait until he was presentable enough.

Emma cried again. She still had the money but it wouldn’t last long unless she could get a job, but with her issues that was not going to be easy. The flat was so small and the area was run down and a bit scary for a young woman coming from a big house in Edinburgh to THIS. She picked up the photo of Jason and cried again. Having shunned her family for a life of adventure with her dream man he was taken ill just before they were due to depart for their new adventure in Bolivia. The cancer spread quickly and soon she was so desperately alone, having lost everything she held dear. But she was determined not to go cap in hand back to her parents, not yet anyway. She ran a finger over the picture, tracing it around Jason’s face and down across the bright orange heavy PVC raincoat that was his signature outfit when he was out in the wild. She sat on the end of the bed and opened a box looking for the bedding, but found clothes. Being organised was important to Emma, so having opened the box she felt compelled to sort it and put the items away. At the bottom of the box were those shorts. She had no idea why on that day she had decided to wear them, having acquired them for going clubbing in her mid teens, black faux leather seemed wrong for a walk in the park, but she was fairly sure they played a big part in reeling Jason in after his comments about how sexy she looked in them. She was never ashamed of her curvy figure and considered her bottom to be one of her best assets. She slipped off her jeans and slid the shorts on. If only Jason were here now he would surely approve, and just for a moment she thought she saw him, standing there with that great big smile ready to tackle his next adventure, but then she realised it was just her mind playing tricks as she glimpsed his orange PVC raincoat that she had hung up next to the front door as a reminder of her love. She cried some more until she was exhausted and fell asleep on the bed, even though it was only 11am.

She awoke, startled by the knock at the door. Bleary eyed and half asleep she didn’t stop to consider how she looked as she opened it. Steve stood there with a smile on his face that he had no right to have, it reminded her of Jason and that made her angry, “what?”, she said sharply.
Steve was taken aback, he had not expected anger from her, especially as for once he didn’t think he had done anything wrong.
She had to admit that the sharply dressed and cleaned up man was a vast improvement on the bin bag wearing tramp she had met before, and she realised he didn’t deserve the response she gave.
Without thinking she said, “er, sorry, do you want to come in? Simon isn’t it?”
“Steve”, he corrected her, “look if I’ve come at a bad time…”, he so hoped she would say no it was fine, but he couldn’t help noticing that she looked a bit tired and her lovely eyes seemed a bit red and her gorgeous copper hair was less tidy than before.
She didn’t answer but held the door open slightly wider as an invitation, allowing Steve to see the tight shiny black leather shorts she was wearing. He knew he was in love the moment he first fell into those hazel eyes, now he was diving headlong into broken heart territory.

“Coffee?”, she said lazily. Emma had clocked her dishevelled look in the long mirror but didn’t give a fuck right now, Steve’s offer of company was a distraction that she needed right now until she could get her act together.
Suddenly she was aware that he was staring at her shiny arse and felt angry but didn’t know what to say as clearly faux leather shorts were an interesting choice to wear when alone in your flat.
Steve came to the rescue with a variation on the line he had rehearsed earlier, “looks like you are still sorting out your clothes, it can be difficult to get organised when you are moving in. Yesterday I was doing my big wash and that old nylon tracksuit was literally all I had to wear at the time, so I know what it’s like”.
The main lie was that it was an old tracksuit. He had acquired half a dozen to try out on his stall, but in reality he bought them as he was desperate to have one for himself and adored the feeling of a new crisp shiny nylon outfit.
Emma was annoyed that he suggested she was disorganised, annoyed that she had likened her shorts to his nylon thing he wore, but she just said, “exactly”, and continued to make the drinks.

“Was there something you wanted?”, said Emma, not turning around from stirring the mugs, “you know, a reason you came round?”
“Well I wondered if you wanted a hand with unpacking, or maybe advice on the local area, maybe we could go out and get a drink sometime”, Steve replied, throwing all ducks at it and hoping one would stick.
“So no special reason then?”, Emma replied as she blew on her drink to cool it.
“Well, um, you know. When someone comes into a neighbourhood you like to make an effort to make them feel welcome”, he wanted to change the topic, “oh that’s an interesting coat”, he said pointing at the bright orange PVC raincoat hanging up.
Emma didn’t reply to that comment, “thanks it is all bit daunting coming to a new area, and now I need to try to find a job”.
“Rainwear is my speciality you see”, Steve replied to his own comment ignoring the girl’s one, “that’s what I do, I sell rainwear, I have a stall I take to several markets. All sorts of clothing for bad weather”.
“My boyfriend would like that”, she said.
Steve froze, not knowing what to say, of course someone as lovely as Emma had a boyfriend, he was a fool to assume otherwise.
“That was his coat, he wore on all his adventures, I keep it as a memory, but it’s too big for me, it’s silly, I really should get rid of it, especially in this small flat”.
Steve was so relieved she was talking in the past tense, but he could hear the sadness in her voice, “what happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”, he said in a soft tone.
“Bloody brain tumour that’s what. Fucking cancer got him. We were out shopping for the trip of a lifetime to Bolivia, I was trying on cagoules in Blacks and had chosen a very nice Peter Storm one - you know the sort that packs away very small, but has a PVC lining that means it is more waterproof than you would expect for being so lightweight. I thought it looked cool on me, but Jason got angry and said it was no good and I looked like a tart. How do you look like a tart in a cagoule? It was the first sign something was wrong, but we didn’t realise”.
“I am so sorry”, Steve paused, “but if it is any consolation, Peter Storm cagoules are very cool and sought after, I’m sure you looked lovely”.
Emma’s face turned to anger, “you fucking idiot, weren’t you listening? Jason loved me to wear shiny rainwear; I still have the blue plastic jelly jacket he bought me when we got caught out unexpectedly in a downpour. It was the cancer making him do what he did, normally he’d compliment me and we’d probably have a kiss and cuddle in the store dressed up”.
“No, I see, I’m sorry, of course, I just meant”, Steve didn’t know what he meant and was floundering to get out of the hole he had dug. The thought of Emma trying on the cagoule was very distracting, but the thought that she owned a plastic jacket which might well still be in this flat somewhere right now was wonderful.

Emma walked from the kitchen area and sat opposite Steve, cupping her mug between her hands. He tried desperately not to look at her bare legs and the tight PVC shorts, having to place his hands in his lap to cover the bulge in his jeans. He felt so guilty that Emma had suffered such a loss but here he was getting a boner looking between her legs and the gorgeous shiny faux leather covering her.

Thankfully Emma changed the subject, “are you not working today?”
“No markets on today, it’s my one day a week off, I even do a stint in Webberly on a Sunday”, he replied.
“Oh. Sounds like it’s quite a busy job”, she leant forward and put her mug down on the cardboard box serving as a makeshift coffee table. A small squeaking sound came from her shorts as she did so, “pardon me”, she said instinctively, having been bought up to be polite, then realised that she was apologising for something that didn’t happen and felt embarrassed. Luckily Steve realised what really happened and smiled, “naughty shorts, you should train them to better behave in public”.
Emma gave a quiet involuntary laugh, “that’s the sort of silly thing Jason would have said”, she thought to herself.

“Do you sell much rainwear? Is it a good business?”, Emma was going somewhere with her line of questioning.
“Do you want me to lie?”, Steve said with a gloom on his face suggesting an unfavourable answer.
“Not too good then?”, she said.
“People don’t seem to want to be protected from the elements anymore. They seem to be happy to get soaked in a tee shirt rather than wear a sensible mac. So no, sales are decidedly shit if I am honest”, he replied.
Emma appreciated the honesty, Steve felt like a real person, with real issues, just like her. Since Jason died she had struggled with other people’s happiness around her; how dare they smile and joke when such a tragedy had befallen the universe?
“Usually on a Wednesday I go round to see friends and acquaintances in the area to see if any of them have some cash-in-hand work to help the finances”, he continued.
“So why are you here?”, Emma replied.
He so wanted to tell her that just being in the room with her right now was making him the happiest man alive. That he had never seen someone so beautiful. That her fiery hair and hazel eyes have tied his heart all up in knots. And of course that he just adores those sexy PVC shorts and would love to… but no, he couldn’t do that, “I think I want to help. It’s a weakness of mine. If I see the slightest need in someone I feel compelled to try to sort it out. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you looked like you had been crying? Is that because of Jason?

Emma stood up and paced over to the window. Bright light illuminated the edges of her white tee shirt and made the shiny black surface of her shorts shine. She tried to straighten her hair and wipe her eyes, “sorry, yes, I miss him so much”.
Steve spotted something black and semi-shiny just under the flaps of a cardboard box and had a hunch. As Emma was turned away he lifted the flap to reveal the black Peter Storm cagoule folded neatly. He lifted it carefully out, “tell me about him. What was he like? What did you enjoy doing together?”
The soft nylon felt lovely and he could just see the signature shiny rubbery lining at the collar.
Emma was surprised at Steve’s question. Why would he want to know things about her man? But she decided to take him up on the offer and spill the beans.
Steve was listening, but also imagining how gorgeous Emma would look in this cagoule with those PVC shorts at the same time.
“He loved the outdoors and hated being in an office, which was awful for a banker! He had these eyes that made you fall in love. He probably could have had any girl but I got him and he was loyal. If I’m honest, the thing we liked to do together was laugh, he had a wicked sense of humour. His feet were a slightly funny shape, but weirdly I loved them”, sorry am I saying too much? The therapy of being able to say these things out loud was painful and wonderful in equal measure. Not bottling things up was a new feeling.
“No please go on, I think the worst thing in the world is having to keep memories private when you lose someone”, Steve said sympathetically.
Emma turned. She made no comments about Steve having her rain jacket on his lap, “he did do one annoying thing”, she paused, “he had an obsession with not wearing raincoats indoors. If was pouring with rain he would carry his orange mac and put in on just as he stepped outside, so he always got a bit wet for a few seconds. When we came home he always made me take my coat off before entering the house. I told him he was a dick but he said it was just something he hated. It wasn’t a big thing now I look back on it, but even he wasn’t perfect”.
Steve smiled, “well…”
Before he could continue his dream came true and Emma snatched the cagoule, unzipped it and put it on, “there! Fuck you Jason fucking Attridge and your fucking stupid obsession, fuck you for leaving me, fuck you for being so bloody lovely and fuck you for breaking my heart”, tears ran down her cheeks, “come on Jason come here now and make me take my raincoat off! Come on Jason”.
She was getting hysterical but Steve realised she needed the outburst, he stood up next to her, not making a move at her, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest sobbing loudly. In that moment there was no sexuality, despite the smell of lovely nylon close to his face, Steve only felt her pain and for a moment joined her in wishing Jason were still there for her, even though it would be his loss. He tried so hard, but the tears came anyway.
He waited a few seconds then wrapped his arms gently around her, being ready for her to resist at any moment, but she didn’t.

The family stood around the graveside as the coffin was lowered in. A large wreath of white chrysanthemums spelt out the word “DAD” as Steve fought tears, as did his brother and sister. Only his mother was sobbing publicly - her full length shiny black PVC trench coat would have seemed disrespectful and out of place on this warm June afternoon to anyone else, but for the family it was a fitting goodbye.
After the service Steve walked arm in arm with his mother, comforted by the soft shiny material of her sleeve.
“So will Jenny or Dave be helping you on the stall from now on?”, Steve asked of his siblings.
“Oh no. I have decided to pack in the business and move to Spain to join my sister in retirement. I have enough money and the cost of living is so much better out there. To be honest, I loved your father dearly, but living hand-to-mouth all the time has taken its toll on me and it is time for a new start away from markets”.
Steve was shocked. The idea of his mother going abroad and not wanting to continue his father’s business seemed disloyal, but deep down he knew she was right. The three children were all grown up with their own lives; only Steve didn’t have a partner but he was doing ok in his insurance job.
“But Mum, all those years Dad built the business and all for nothing?”, her son protested.
“Built! Hah. There never any building just existing. He should have given up or branched out years ago. There is no money to be made in a market stall selling clothing, that’s all I can say”, she replied with a softer voice than her sentiments suggested.
Steve didn’t want to believe that all his father had worked for was worthless.
“I’ll take over the business, I can scale it back and just do Saturday markets in memory of Dad”, he suggested with a triumphant tone as if he had solved word peace.
“Lovely dear. You are welcome to give it a try, but I do need to sell quite a bit of the stock to cover the funeral expenses, so there will not be much left for you”.
“Mum, I’ll help with the money, I’m doing ok at the moment and I’m hoping for a promotion which will mean better pay”.
“That’s sweet darling, I might just take you up on that offer”.

Steve and Jean perused the rails in the lockup. Neither said anything, but both were thinking that it was going to be hard to make any money out of some of these items. The market stall sold all types of clothing, but had a much larger rainwear section than you would expect for its size. Fred’s typical customer was an older gentleman buying the same shirts, trousers and socks that they had all their lives - ex-Army and Navy Stores mainly or at least clothing in that older style. But the whole family knew his father’s passion was rainwear and both he, and Jean, wore heavy PVC, rubber or nylon routinely in and around the house. That’s why Steve, Dave and Jenny were not surprised to see a favourite PVC mac at the funeral.

Jean’s car wasn’t big, but the clothes she took from the lockup - ones she thought would sell - hardly filled the boot space. It was all the best stuff, but they had agreed that Steve would keep all the rainwear for the stall.
He tapped his phone to make the cash transfer to his mother’s account directly. £5,000 would help her a lot and it was the least Steve could do, but secretly he had pulled in every last penny he had to afford it, and now he was cleaned out until pay day.

The Golf drove off, emitting a small puff of diesel smoke as his mother departed, leaving Steve to pick over what was left. Not a lot was worth keeping, but since he couldn’t afford new stock at the moment, there would be no markets for a few weeks.
There was buzz in the air as all the teams were asked to gather in the Board Room for the announcement of the bonus. But the atmosphere changed when the MD walked in with two sharply dressed men in suits and announced that the company was in administration. There was no money to pay staff and so everyone was to collect their belongings and leave after the meeting. Forms were handed out for employees to claim redundancy from the government scheme. Steve later found out that the directors had been diverting funds to their own ends as soon as they knew the company was in trouble, and had even stolen the staff pension contributions for the last six months. They had already set up their next company and weedling their way around the rule forbidding them from being company directors whilst being investigated.

Jenny helped Steve with his most pressing bills after his redundancy, while he waited for government money to come in. He was signed on at the job centre, which was largely a very depressing and fruitless exercise, but necessary in the circumstances. Less depressing the day that Lenard was promoted and Jerry got Mandy as his new contact. Mandy was a curvy lady with a lovely smile and wore a brown leather skirt on some occasions. Jerry looked forward to seeing her, especially when she had to coax paperwork out of the printer and wiggled her shiny bottom and cursed at the old machine - which was a wonderful sight.

Emma pulled back gently from Steve’s embrace and hid her face, “sorry, it’s silly, I should be stronger”, bur she glanced up and saw that Jerry had been affected by her story and smiled a thin smile, “don’t get me started again”.
“Sorry”, said Steve, “I am so sorry for your loss”.
“Pffff, thanks, that’s what everyone says, it’s glib”, she turned around and her nylon cagoule crackled as she moved.
“Well I mean it”, Steve watched Emma as she moved to the kitchen area. Her jacket covered her waist and the top of her shorts, but he could still see the lower part of the shorts and her lovely curvy bottom under the shiny PVC.
“Do you want to help me on the stall? I can pay you?”, it was a lie but Steve wanted to be with Emma and the offer seemed like a good way to distract her from grief. He could barely afford to keep himself afloat let alone cut someone else in.

Emma didn’t like disorganisation and wanted to get her flat sorted completely before joining Steve on the stall, so they agreed to next Monday. That gave him enough time to sort out some better stock and to do that, he needed his sister’s financial help again.

“Is she pretty?”,asked Jenny.
“Stunning”, said Steve.
“Oh then you have not a fuck of a chance. Give up on the idea”.
“I can’t”, her brother pleaded.
“Look go to that interview tomorrow and get that job, then all your troubles will be over. It’s in insurance, you should be able to walk it”, his sister replied.
Steve was depressed at the idea of the job that Jenny had found for him, although deep down he knew it made sense.
“Just £500 for some stock and I will never ask for any more money again”, he pleaded.
Chip found a scent and barked loudly. The siblings shouted for him to shut up at the same time, and giggled at each other when they did. Steve always liked it when his sister wore her pink plastic jelly jacket and matching trousers, and this drizzle was the ideal time to wear the outfit. He was wearing his own matte-black rubber full-length raincoat, with normal jeans and his father’s Hunter wellies that he had inherited.
Because of Fred’s liking for shiny rainwear, and the openness of the family, everyone had grown up accepting PVC, latex and nylon as normal and sensible materials for bad weather. There was nothing sexual between siblings when they dressed like that, but Steve very much liked seeing women in shiny rainwear and did get off on it.
A cyclist shot by in the muddy path, spraying brother and sister with brown puddle water, “Oi! shouted Steve”.
The cyclist stuck up a middle finger, and at that moment Chip lunged from the bush, barked and startled them, sending them flying over the handlebars and ending up in a patch of nettles and at that moment the heavens opened!
Jenny sniggered, “oh ok, but this is the last time. Go get that girl, but I fail to see how buying MORE rainwear will help”.

The box arrived. Steve was so excited. He opened it carefully so as not to risk damaging the contents. The £9.99 premium for next day delivery had better be worth it. His heart pounded as he took out the first cellophane packaged item. They were even better than he had hoped. A dozen full-length plastic raincoats in transparent red, blue, pink, clear and green, and a dozen 3/4 length ones with zips instead of press-studs, in the same lovely slippery soft vinyl with a good strong, but not overpowering, smell. At the bottom of the box were a pair of solid black plastic jelly jackets. He held them carefully so as to not disturb the crease lines that indicated that they were brand new. He planned to put one of each on a rail for trying on and the others in their packets for sale. He was going to put the black jelly jackets out, but hoped they would not sell as he had chosen the sizes to be just right for himself and Emma.

“Do you think there is any chance of selling any raincoats today? The weather looks like it’s going to be nice and warm”, Emma said.
Steve thought she looked lovely in her tight denim jeans and white tee-shirt, but wished she was wearing something shiny.
The stall was set up and things got off to a slow start, with plenty of potential punters, but nobody biting. Banter was difficult when people wouldn’t even stop to look.
“I got to be honest, we may not make any sales today because of the stupid weather”, I’m going to go and see if I can rustle us up some breakfast. Fancy a bacon roll?”, Steve said, with a slight air of disillusionment in his voice.
Emma settled back in the chair with her headphones to listen to her Spotify playlist and opened h the book that she had started the day before, keeping one eye out for the elusive customers.

The woman was striking with long black hair. She was wearing a similar outfit to Emma’s except she also had a linen jacket on. She just seemed bubbly and the first person to actually be interested in the rainwear on offer, so Emma was keen to capitalise on the situation. She removed her headphones and replaced the bookmark carefully.
It was lovely to chat and have fun trying on raincoats, Emma even forgot that she was supposed to be selling them. When the woman decided to buy one of the red 3/4 length plastic raincoats it gave Emma a bit of a thrill to make the sale. She felt that Steve was charging a bit much, but the woman didn’t question it and didn’t try to get the price down.
Dark clouds had gathered as the couple tried on the macs but neither noticed, even when drops of rain started to fall.
Carla paid but instead of leaving she hung around, looking at more raincoats. Emma got the impression that the woman was a bit sad to leave; she couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was if she didn’t want to stop trying on rainwear. In truth the raincoats were secondary, it was Emma that Carla didn’t want to leave. Just then Steve came by, he saw Emma in the blue plastic mac that she had last tried in, he couldn’t help himself, he kissed her. After a fleeting moment of resistance Emma gave in and kissed back, it felt wrong so soon after Jason but she was happier now than she had felt in a long time.
Emma couldn’t help feeling a bit sad for the woman as she walked away.

“Where’s my bacon bap?”, she scolded Steve, trying to keep a straight face.
“I’m sorry, the queue was long, and, um, I um”.
Emma kissed him again, “shut up, your better than any breakfast roll, just a bit”, she jibed.

Soon a few other people stopped by the stall and two more of the new stock vinyl macs found new homes. Then a man came by and asked after Steve, he was a regular and needed a new set of waders for fishing. All in all, with Emma’s help, Steve had the most profitable day since taking on his father’s old stall.
“I wonder why things have suddenly picked up, could be the rain?”, thought Steve out loud.
“Or it could be my superb sales ability, or maybe people like the mac I am wearing and want one for themselves. Maybe I’ll have to wear a raincoat each time I help out?”
Steve really hoped she would.

The End

[mason]

Excellent story, nicely told and an enjoyable read.

I thought the ending was a little abrupt, it seemed somewhat incomplete. Otherwise, great work!

[Cherie]

Thanks Mason. I agree, it needs me to add something to bring it to a better conclusion. I’ll see what the writing elves can concoct!

Cherie x