Blame the Raspberry Pavlova

It was hot. The sun sat resolutely in the sky like a giant, yellow, cat. One scorching eye trained on the human rats that huddled on the platform trying to escape.

She stood directly under its gaze. Tired, sleepy and hot. And a little drunk. She tugged at her dress, wishing she hadn’t eaten so much at lunch. Hadn’t reached for that second slice of quiche. Or that third helping of raspberry pavlova. Or worn this dress from 3 summers ago. Or these blasted underpants from Marks & Sparks that promised to help her drop a dress size. They were so bloody tight. And a pain to take off when she needed to wee.

She looked to her left and right. Everyone looked busy. Wrapped up in their Hellos and Heat. Who would notice? She was sure the pants were cutting off the blood circulation to her stomach. She was feeling faint and light headed. Or was that the Chablis?

She slowly shimmied her magic underpants down a notch. And sighed deeply and gratefully as her belly expanded over the tight elastic edge. Just a little more. Bliss. She looked down. Her paunch looked so pleased. Pleased as paunch. Ha ha.She hoisted her bag up over it.

*

He looked out the window. Bloody trains. Slow. No air conditioning. Fuck. He opened his paper for the tenth time, looking for some news snippet that had miraculously slipped past him. As he shook the paper straight, the day’s supplement slid out on to the floor. He looked at the cover. Bloody women’s nonsense. He scanned the compartment. No one from work – why not – there was nothing else to read. And didn’t the ladies like men who knew all this nonsense about pms and moisturisers?

*

She almost wept with joy as the train pulled up. But the happiness ebbed as quickly as it had flowed. It was packed. There wouldn’t be anywhere to sit. Fuck.

*

He barely looked up when the doors beeped open. This woman’s stuff wasn’t that bad after all.

*

“Four in five pregnant women are forced to stand on public transport – Chivalry is dead!”

You can say that again she thought shifting from one foot to another. Oh that one’s wearing a nice jacket. Wonder where it’s from?

*
He felt a pair of eyes boring down on him. He hated it when people read over his shoulder. He looked up in irritation.

*

Idiot she thought. Move your head I’m trying to get a better look at her shoes.

*

He looked her up and down – not bad he thought. He was about to go back to the article when he noticed her bump. Was she? No - see no ring on her finger. So? It didn’t look like a baby bump. You’re just making excuses. You know it is. Go on do the right thing. Get up.

*

What’s he getting up for then? What a nice bloke. Sap.

She sat down and began rummaging in her bag. She was sure there were some biscuits left over from last week.