TIT FOR TAT

Maggie Redding's story - published for the first time today - is just a little dark. It reminds us of Roald Dahl's Tales of the Unexpected - 'sinister, wryly comedic with an unexpected twist at the end'. We do like that sort of thing.

“Why not?”  Colin’s tone was puzzled and demanding.

“I just don’t feel the need,”  Tilly said.

Colin shrugged.  “I just thought it would make the most superb Christmas present.  I thought I was being original, considering your needs and all that.”

Tilly felt she had offended him.  Indeed, the word rejection hovered in the air like a threat.  Colin must not be allowed to utter it.

“Yes, I know.  It’s certainly original.  But it’s not a need I have.  It’s not even a want.  I’m quite happy really -.”

“Are you sure?”

“Colin, of course I’m sure.  I know I’ve said a couple of times I wish I could add a few inches, but -.”

“Okay, okay.  I get the message.  I’ll have to think of something else.  I thought I’d come up with something most women would jump at.”  He pointed at her, his finger and eyes at the level of her chest.  “but that must be the flattest bosom in Wales.”

With that he made a huffy exit from the room not quite slamming the door after him.

A couple of times before Christmas, Colin mentioned boob jobs but it was in a light-hearted way and Tilly felt he must have understood her point of view.

On Christmas Day she was relieved to see a beautifully wrapped package with her name on it and a loving message from Colin.  Several times she picked up this package and turned it over.  It was not large, about the size and shape of a large box of chocolates.  Chocolates, however, it was not.  Colin could be relied upon to be original.  Always.

Colin opened her present to him.  She wished she could think of something for him that he would acknowledge as original.  But she lacked the imagination he had.  So some video games and a ticket (or two tickets) for a show in London were certainly acceptable.

But when she tore off the wrapping paper her heart and her hopes descended to rock-bottom.  Surely he was not giving her chocolates?

But the box was not sealed.  She lifted the lid.  Inside was paper money, £50 notes.  Lots of them.  And a little card was with it.  “Oaklands Clinic” she read.  “Mrs Tilly Carter.  Your initial appointment is on 8th January at 3pm.”

Tilly stared at the card, comprehension dawning slowly.  She felt her cheeks growing hot.  She was angry.  But it was Christmas Day and she mustn’t be angry.  And this was a Christmas present.

She looked up.  Colin’s face was a picture of expectancy and self-satisfaction.

Tilly fingered the currency notes.  “There’s an awful lot of money here,” she whispered.

“I know.”  He really had no idea.  He sat there, elbows on knees, hands clasped, waiting to be thanked, praised, admired.

Tilly met his gaze.  “You are incredible,” she said.

He took it as a compliment.  “You deserve it,” he said.  “I want you to have everything.”

“With knobs on,” she thought and stifled a giggle.  He thought she was laughing in delight.

“A boob job,” she said, “for Christmas.  Who would have thought.”

“Are you pleased?”

What could she say?  “Of course I’m pleased.  Thank you, darling.  What on earth will my friends say?”

“They’ll say they wished they were married to me!  How many husbands buy their wives a boob job for Christmas?”

The conversation continued in this vein for some time, each line slightly missing the aim, his because he did not understand her, hers because she did understand him, only too well.  She needed time to think and while she played the grateful wife out loud, her brain was working out how to deal with what, to her, was a problem.

Could she hide her true feelings from Colin?  That would mean undergoing an operation.  Tilly had a fear of operations and hospitals.  Perhaps she could keep the appointment and pay the clinic to say she was not a suitable case.  Or, and this was absolutely the worst, perhaps she should go ahead and have it done?

It was so unfair, she told herself.  Could she just take the money and run – literally, run away from the marriage?  Tonight?  If only!  If only she dared.  It was so unfair.  Why didn’t men feel the same pressure to enhance their bodies?  Perhaps she could demand the same kind of sacrifice from him, all over tattoos, for example?

Tilly managed to smile through Christmas, through her teeth and through her resentment.  She smiled so much she gave herself a headache – several, in fact.

January 8th, the day of the initial consultation arrived.  Tilly allowed Colin to accompany her to the Clinic, but he waited in the waiting room for the consultation itself.

As a preliminary to that, she had an interview with a nurse.

“I’ve got to tell you,” Tilly said, “I’m not comfortable with this idea.  I’ve had a small bust all my life and I’m not too bothered about it.”

The nurse was silent for a moment.  “Hubby’s idea?” she said at last.

Tilly nodded, staring at her feet.  “Christmas present,” she mumbled.

The nurse nodded.  “Divorce him,” she said.

“That’s a bit drastic.”

“So’s an unwanted boob job.”

“I just wish,”  Tilly burst out, “I just wish there was something that he could have done that’s equivalent.”

“Men are such cowards,” the nurse said.

There was silence.

“There is a way,” she added quietly.  “We do have this special arrangement.  And I mean special.”

“What special arrangement?”

The nurse paused again.  “If you come into the other consultation room, we’ll explain.  Then we’ll need to see your husband ...”

Christmas a year later was so different.  The flattest bosom in Wales was now a respectable “C” cup and its owner looked genuinely happy.  Colin also looked relaxed and happy.

“It was a good thing we did, wasn’t it?” said Tilly.

“Indeed!”  Colin beamed.  “I never thought life could be so good.”  He passed the gravy to her without being asked.  “More bread sauce?  Do you have enough turkey?”

“I’m fine, thanks.  And I’m fine because you are fine.  Colin, you are so much more caring.  All that macho stuff, worrying what your mates thought, being tough and competitive – it’s all gone. It was a good decision,” Tilly said

Colin chuckled.  “And we’re the richer for it!  The only sacrifice was a few hormone injections and some hypnotherapy.  Much as I hate injections your surgery was by far the greater sacrifice – all to please me.”

“We’re pioneers, aren’t we?  The social implications of these experiments are so far-reaching.  A reduction in crime, in male aggression, a more caring society.  You really are a hero.  It was very, very brave of you.  And, as you say, we’re richer, and in so many ways.”

“As I thought,” said Colin, “when I was having the first injection – all this for a little prick!”