‘Well, I’m not too sure, Brian, it’s all a bit new to me you know. This is Hampshire after all.’
‘Oh, come on Jean, you only live once, and we are fifty-five now.’
‘But it’s a Sunday, Brian. In Basingstoke! And you know what Mother says about Sundays.’
‘Aye, a day of rest and all that. Bible study and trifle for afters. But I want something else, Jean. I want a bit of titillation!’
‘Brian, keep your voice down. She’s only in the next room. You can’t say that word on a Sunday!’
‘I can Jean, and I will. Titillation. It’s just a word, Jean. It means mildly excited.’
‘Brian, stop, I’m blushing. If she comes in and sees me blushing, she’ll know.’
‘Know what, Jean, that I’ve said titillation! Titillation!’
‘Brian, no. We’re living in Old Basing now.’
‘Jean, we’d hear her wheelchair squeaking in’t corridor.’
‘You said you’d mend that wheel, Brian, or at least put some oil on it.’
‘Oh, I got the oil, Jean. Right, let’s move this furniture, we need a bigger space than this.’
‘I’m not sure about this, Brian.’
‘Well, I am, Jean.’
‘Oil Brian, you said, ‘I got the oil,’ like that, with some kind of connotation in its meaning.’
‘Did I Jean, no connotation meant.’
‘Oh!’
‘Now we’ve got plenty of space to do it in. Put this on, Jean.’
‘I’m not sure about that Brian, what if Mother comes rolling in, how am I going to get it off in time.’
‘She’ll not come rolling in, Jean, for goodness’ sake just, do it!’
‘Where are you going Brian?’
‘I’m just popping in’t loo Jean; I’ve got something to put on.’
‘Oh Brian, it’s quite exciting, isn’t it? What did you say that thing you watched was called - Last Tango in Paris?’
‘Err, something like that, just give me a minute Jean.’
‘Brian, you look… handsome. Your hair, all slicked back like that. Have you oiled your chest?’
‘I have, Jean. Antonio Banderas?’
‘Was he the one in the A team?’
‘Not quite. I’ll just put the music on -El Choclo.’
‘Chocolate - Brian!’
‘No, El Choclo, Jean, it means, Ear of corn in Spanish. You look stunning, Jean. Those red feathers are…’
‘Oh, Brian!’
‘Oh Jean!’
----
‘Now see here, what’s all this then?’
‘Mother!’
‘What are you doing in my best parlour, you mucky pair?’
‘Dancing, mother.’
‘Dancing – on a Sunday – in Old Basing!’
‘Yes, you silly old bag, dancing. We’re going to learn t’ Tango.’
‘Not in my best parlour, you’re not Brian. I’ll not have any of that foreign muck in here.’
‘Well in that case, we’re leaving, Mother.’
‘Yes, we’re off, this will be our last Tango in Basingstoke and then we’re off back to Halifax. Hold me close, Jean and put your leg through there. That’s just right my love.’
‘What the… Jean, what are you doing? Jean - I am your mother and I demand you stop that at once!’
About the author
Lynn is a regular writer for Cafelit. Her first flash fiction collection, The City of Stories,' is published by Chapeltown Books. See 5-star reviews - #amazonthecityofstorieslynnclement
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