Work Text:
Beryl knew that if she didn't take matters into her own hands, Stanley, her incredibly inept husband, would never lift a finger to fix the sink. Truly, he did nothing for the benefit of their family; all he had on his mind was his job at the Admiralty and photography.
For two days she had been asking him, Stanley she told him, we need to fix the kitchen tap; it's clogged and not working, but he still hadn't found the time to spare even a moment to see what had happened. He told her to call a plumber. A plumber, phi! There's money for a plumber, but not for a new scarf, raspberry shoes, and a matching handbag, nooo, Stanley doesn't have money for that. Really, her husband could sometimes be so ... impractical.
The sink was driving her crazy, and she couldn't wait a moment longer. She grabbed the receiver and dialed Cliff's number. She waited a moment before his seductive baritone greeted her from the other end of the line.
- Yes?
- Cliff? — she asked. — It's me, Beryl.
- Beryl, darling — Cliff said. — Is something wrong? You haven't called much lately...
- Oh, Cliff, nothing's wrong. It's just you know how busy Stan is, his job demands so much from him... And he doesn't have time, and the kitchen tap isn't working. Would you have a moment to come and take a look? — she asked. — I don't know, really don't know, the water won't drain, maybe it needs to be cleaned...
For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the line. Beryl grabbed a strand of hair with her free hand and began twirling it around her finger. Since her last visit to Mr. Downling, her hair had grown a full ten centimeters. She was aware that this was an unforgivable neglect, but she didn't have time to visit the aging hairdresser. And then there was Stanley, who might start complaining again about spending money on unnecessary things.
- Of course, darling, I'll come over and help you with that sink. I think we'll need to thoroughly check if everything is alright. It's possible we might have to completely disrob... dismantle that sink... — he said, suggestively emphasizing tasks not necessarily related to plumbing.
- Oh Cliff, I'm so glad I have you — the woman replied. — So, what time should I expect you? ... At six, right? ... No, no, Stanley will still be at work, and little Marleen insists on sleeping over at her friend's. So, see you at six.
Beryl hung up the receiver and glanced at the clock hanging above the fireplace. It was twenty-six past one. If she quickly called Mr. Downling and scheduled an appointment for half past one, her new hairstyle would probably be ready by quarter to three. She would still have plenty of time to drop by the nearby shop, buy a bottle of champagne, ready-made cheese skewers, and a few other necessary provisions.
- But what am I going to wear? — she sighed.