Page 62 of Hit For Six
‘What if Joanna turns up?’
‘Never going to happen.’
An invisible ‘not on my watch’ hung in the air. And that was just it. Monty couldn’t watch his family’s every move, much less Jealous Joanna’s. Lola, by extension, had to trust that all would be well, which was asking a lot, going by the evil cow’s recent attempts to sabotage their relationship. But Monty had put himself out of his comfort zone in Plummerton. Now Lola needed to do her bit and return to the posh Cotswold village, acting as if she’d never set foot in Beauchamp-Carmichael Manor, whilst simultaneously charming everyone in her orbit and not displaying an ounce of paranoia.
As soon as they walked into the late Saturday afternoon frenzy of Waitrose, Lola knew that the day’s challenges had already begun. She had a window of opportunity with supermarkets. And that window shortened by the hour– quite literally– if she’d had a crappy night’s sleep. Since her own stress had contorted her into all manner of uncomfortable positions in bed last night, she wasn’t even sure that she’d nodded off. Which meant she was in dangerous territory. The place was heaving, the tannoys were bing-bonging and the artificial lights were making her feel majorly disoriented. The further she and Monty walked into the store to track down all of the icky cold dips on Helena’s list (the exact kind of food which made Lola gag– and now she sounded like the world’s mostungrateful party guest, but really, who needed smoky aubergine baba ganoush and herby yoghurt in their life?), the greater the panic as she turned around and could no longer see an exit.
She hadn’t even had the sense to insist they take a trolley. Trolleys were Lola’s crutch in harshly-lit, overcrowded spaces. She could grip them tightly, their sturdiness holding her upright if she felt too dizzy. But Monty had the only prop, a tiny, useless basket that couldn’t even be turned upside down and used as a cage to cover her body if she curled up in a ball. Okay, deep breaths. Maybe there was one of those ‘staff only’ doors somewhere nearby. Sure, Lola didn’t work here and she’d get into all sorts of trouble if she pushed one open and barrelled through it, but just knowing it was there, if the worst came to the worst and she thought she might die, helped in a weird kind of last resort way.
Monty kept talking to her but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Now the edges of him started to blur. Lola tried to engage her brain to communicate somethingcompos mentisbut her words came out all slurry. She was terrified she’d collapse and make a fool of herself. Her palms were sweaty, her breathing felt laboured and she was boiling hot. People were starting to notice. They were staring at her, panicked expressions on their faces like they didn’t know what she was about to do. Lola recalled watching a video on social media recently where some workers in one of the more mainstream supermarkets started following an innocent shopper because they ‘didn’t walk in the usual flow up and down the aisles.’ The security guard must be watching her every move on the hidden cameras right now. She wasn’t a fan of security guards.
‘Are you okay, Lola? You’ve gone a bit pale,’ suddenly Monty’s words got through to her, albeit in a warped slo-mo.
Worst thing he could have said.
‘I can’t do this. Got to get out. Come over all funny. I’ll be okay when I’m outside. Get the shopping, I insist,’ she gabbled, obliterating any shred of her remaining allure, along with the hope of Monty wanting to be with her forever.
This was fight or flight and Lola ran for her life, pushing past trolleys and ditherers. The people she buffeted would get over it but Lola would not if she didn’t get outside into the fresh air immediately.
Finally, she spied the exit. The artificial lighting was still doing its horrible thing; bending and stretching the proportions of the store so she wasn’t sure if her strides matched the length of its aisles, or if she had it in her to get out before she fainted. All Lola could do was keep the glass door in sight, the windows behind the tills further propelling her. She was going to make it. Hopefully.
Lola was a wreck when she fell outside the store. This wasn’t even a big supermarket. Just a city version. But she couldn’t care less about people’s concern. All she cared about was poor Monty. He’d had all that pressure from his mother and now here was his girlfriend making it impossible for him to live up to the B-C’s expectations. All over again.
Lola recalled the deep breathing exercises she’d been taught at the first counselling session she’d attended and put them into practise. Shortly after that meeting, the troubles had started with Gail’s hip. At least Lola had gotten her SPD diagnosis and could finally stop thinking she was losing the plot with all of her quirks piling up on her. But it was a shame that she hadn’t finished the therapy, which might have given her a bigger toolbox to deal with such crippling and embarrassing situations. Eventually her pulse slowed down but now she was petrified to go to the party.
Monty soon resurfaced laden with multiple bags on each arm. How he’d fit everything into that basket as he’d raced around the aisles, Lola had no idea.
‘Oh, my god. Are you okay?’
‘I’m a liability,’ said Lola as she tried to take some of the shopping off him.
‘I don’t think so,’ Monty replied, shaking his head at her offer. ‘You’re brave and wonderful and I wouldn’t have you any other way… although, that must have been hell for you just then. I’m an idiot to have lumbered you with chores at such a bloody busy time of day. As for my mother…’
‘It’s neither of your faults. It’s just a supermarket. Ninety-nine percent of the population can go in and out of them without having a meltdown.’
‘If that was the case then supermarkets wouldn’t have introduced quiet hours for people with autism or neurodiversity.’
‘They have? When did I miss this?’
But Lola knew the answer already. She’d been so busy fitting that metaphorical oxygen mask to her mum that she’d forgotten to look after herself.
‘Let’s head straight to the car,’ said Monty decisively. ‘Thank god we’re parked nearby. We can stop at yours en route, make a peppermint tea and have some restoring Squiffy cuddles.’
‘I’m fine now, really,’ said Lola. ‘It goes as quickly as it comes and I don’t want to confuse Squiffy. Next time I’ll be straight up with you if I can’t handle something.’
‘Always!’ Monty insisted, trying in vain to put his arm and the shopping bags around Lola to protect her from the onslaught of pedestrians. ‘I couldn’t give a shit about the food getting warm– much less about us turning up late.’
Once they’d got back to the car and Monty had made a pit stop at the garage with wilting flowers to get Lola waterand emergency chocolate, her batteries felt recharged enough to elaborate.
‘SPD feels like this random attack. It bombards your senses and leaves you powerless and terrified. I know I said that I only have a mild case. And that’s true… but I can’t always tell when I’m going to get overwhelmed by it. That’s the rub.’
‘You need to list all the triggers. We can work through everything together. I never want to put you through an ordeal like that again. I’m not saying the answer is to flat out avoid situations but we can make them more manageable and come up with strategies for quicker and easier exits.’
‘Okay. That sounds like a plan!’ Lola even allowed herself a smile. ‘Can I be honest with you about one aspect right now, though?’
‘Go for it.’
She took a deep breath.
