Love...Under Different Skies Read Free Page B

know that Maisie was her name initially, but I do know it’s one I will never forget for as long as I live.
    At approximately 5:20 p.m. in she shuffles wearing a crumpled red plastic raincoat three sizes too big for her and a black porkpie hat stuffed over the worst blue rinse this side of an episode of Coronation Street . She looks no more harmless than a baby deer covered in bubble wrap.
    “Good afternoon,” I tell her, hoping she won’t launch into a story about how she managed to get tights during the war.
    “Hello my dear,” she replies and shuffles over to look at the fudges.
    I breathe a sigh of relief. No war stories today it seems. I go back to staring out of the window. Larry is across the way outside Boots, and I’m taking mental bets with myself as to how long it’ll be before he tries to piss up against the window.
    This occupies me for a good five minutes, until Jonathan stumbles over.
    “Er, Laura?” he says in a low voice.
    “Yep?”
    “I think that old lady is shoplifting.”
    “What?”
    “She’s stealing stuff.”
    I look over at her. She’s shuffled over to the novelty stand and is examining the six-inch Barney Bear in dark chocolate with some intensity.
    Is there a slight bulge in her oversized raincoat where there was none before?
    I continue to study her for some time, but she doesn’t appear to be making any moves to steal our stock, so I look back at Jonathan. “I think you’re mistaken, Jon. She’s not doing anything suspicious.”
    “But I swear I saw her lift a box of the Belgian specials just a second ago!”
    “Maybe you just thought you saw her do it, but—”
    Barney the frigging Bear has disappeared. Where once his big, stupid chocolatey smile was on display for all to see, what remains is an empty shelf that could probably do with a good dusting.
    The elderly woman is now edging her way back towards the entrance, feigning interest in the minihampers. For all the world it looks like she’s completely innocent.
    Thanks to Jonathan’s timely warning though, I know better. The bulge of Barney Bear is quite obvious. In fact, looking closer at her coat I can see there must be several lifted items under there given how much larger she looks than when she came in.
    “Stay here,” I tell him in a gruff voice. I must confront this miscreant and bring swift justice down on her before she is allowed to get away.
    I wish I had a badge and a gun at this point—or a cape of some description. I stride over to where the old crone is now nearly out of the shop.
    “Excuse me?” I say in a strident tone.
    She looks back at me with the kind of wisened expression that grandchildren love the world over. “Yes, my dear?”
    “Could you open your coat for me please?” I demand.
    The look of cheery good nature disappears faster than a Greek savings account. “Why do you want me to do that?” she snaps.
    “Could you just do it for me please, madam?” I repeat in my best police voice. All those episodes of Motorway Cops I’ve been watching are now paying dividends.
    Given how commanding and authoritarian I sound, I fully expect her to capitulate and give up the pretence. I’m already considering letting her off with a warning. Colour me completely surprised, then, when she says “Screw you, love!” and runs away. Actually runs away .
    I would have pegged this old lass as the type who could barely get above a zombielike shuffle, but here she is speeding past BHS towards the shopping centre exit as fast as her crabby old legs will carry her.
    The shock is so extreme I descend into cliché. “Stop thief!” I wail and point one finger skywards. This has no appreciable effect as we live in the twenty-first century and not in 1955. Nobody comes to my aid so I shout, “Mind the store!” at Jonathan and take off in hot pursuit.
    I sprint towards my elderly nemesis, who turns to see me hunting her down and increases her pace even more. She’s like a fat little red pinball bouncing her