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she
looked ten years younger than her real age. She wasn’t wearing a
wedding ring either. This one would be a shame, he thought.
    “Unfortunately neither,” Norman replied, “I’m
a widower. My son asked me to buy some underwear for his
girlfriend. He’s too embarrassed to do it himself.”
    “My God. That’s a bit of an old fashioned
attitude if you don’t mind me saying so. Fifty percent of our
customers are men,” she replied.
    “We’re a bit of an old fashioned family.”
    Norman would have blushed if his face hadn’t
been made from latex.
    “Why don’t you come inside Sir?” Renee
asked.
    I had designed Norman to look like your
average bloke on the Tube. There was nothing memorable about his
features, yet the finished article had turned out to be quite
handsome, in a boring sort of way. The make up supplied with the
masks was used to blend the wearer’s lips and eyes seamlessly into
the disguise.
    Norman reluctantly followed Renee inside the
shop.
    “Now tell me Mr…?”
    “Erm. Norman, you can call me Norman.” Norman
had been given his own passport but he couldn’t remember his
surname. Yet another teething problem.
    “Well, Norman, I’m Renee. I’m the manageress
here. In fact I’m the only person that’s employed in this branch so
I suppose I’m the tea girl as well,” she laughed that innocent
laugh again, “so tell me did your son give you her sizes?”
    Shit! He was caught off guard. He hadn’t been
prepared for talking to the apple, nevermind discussing women’s
lingerie with it. He looked Renee up and down.
    “She’s probably exactly the same size as
you,” he spluttered.
    “In the chest department as well?”
    “Yes,” he replied, looking at the floor
now.
    “Colour preference?”
    “Erm, black,” he said.
    Norman watched her buzz around the shop
checking sizes and collecting an armful of underwear for him to
choose from. He had never felt more uncomfortable in his life. Yet
still he couldn’t work out the relationship between this one and
Hamid, a murderer and rapist. He decided that he would have to take
a small risk.
    Norman waited at the sales counter, praying
to God that no one else came into the shop. Renee eventually
returned with an assortment of bras, basques and undies. There was
no way on this earth was Norman going to start looking through
them.
    “I’ll take them all,” he snapped.
    “But Norman, you haven’t seen the choice
yet.”
    “It doesn’t matter. Just wrap them up
please,” he said gratefully.
    “But there are about six different sets
here.”
    “It doesn’t matter, she’ll have plenty more
birthdays,” he replied.
    It hit him like a shovel to the back of head
when he realised what he had just said. No, she won’t have any more
birthdays. That was her last. Her eighteenth and that was why
Norman and I were here. The rage started to surface again at the
thought of it. Norman’s cheek began to throb.
    “Well if you insist,” she said, “that’s going
to be one hundred and eighty five pounds and ninety seven
pence.”
    He started to count out the cash.
    “Oh dear, what did you do to your hand?” she
asked, wincing.
    He had forgotten to wear his gloves. The
horrendous burn scars on his left hand weren’t supposed to be seen
by anyone. This was a big mistake and one that might have to change
the gameplay.
    “A car accident a few years back, that’s how
I ended up a widower,” he replied.
    “Oh poor you,” she replied with genuine
sympathy, “I lost my husband twelve years ago. He was in the army
when his helicopter crashed during a training exercise in
Norfolk.”
    That’s when he made his move.
    “Renee, would you like to go out for a drink
with me?” he asked, “Just a quiet drink somewhere, maybe after you
finish work. I don’t get out too much and it would be nice to have
some company for a couple of hours. We can discuss lingerie if it
would make you feel better.”
    That laugh again. So innocent, so naive, so
not