1 Chapter 1

The large man emerged from his car and immediately regretted it.

He’d sneaked his gleaming black Lincoln Navigator between two occupied disabled spaces, covering the white lines which filled the gap. Lines designed as moral prevention for those tempted to pilfer the room needed for invalids’ wheelchairs to maneuver.

As he attempted to exit the left side of the vehicle, the bulky driver’s complexion became florid. Not from exertion but embarrassment. There was simply too much of him to fit through the door opening without scraping the wide Buick next to him—in front of witnesses.

And by now there were plenty of those. Already, as he swung in, the car park was almost full. It was Monday, the day when fridges raided over the weekend needed restocking.

The group of onlookers began with a well-dressed young mom in her mid-twenties. She was walking past the wedged vehicle, a toddler holding her hand. I’d pressed the remote to lock my car a short distance from them when I saw her do a double take and shake her head. In a loud voice she told the boy, “When you grow up I hope you have much better manners than that rude man who’s parked so the poor disabled drivers on either side of him have no room to get into their cars.”

I’d caught up with her and the three of us stood gawping at him, soon attracting others. A forty-something lady in a pink jogging suit interrupted her walk to the store to see what the fuss was about. A retired couple had just left the supermarket, pushing a cart full of fresh and frozen produce. Their eyes followed ours to the antics of the hapless Navigator owner. They looked at each other, with expressions plainly saying, ‘Let’s see how he gets out of this!’ as they jostled between myself and the pink outfit.

Looking on, I recalled being eight months pregnant and too voluminous to squeeze out of my SUV in a car park. That had been

humiliating enough, but at least I’d not been an able-bodied person stealing a disadvantaged person’s space, nor did my car bear the conspicuous license plate GO DAD GO.

Someone behind me laughed. I turned to see a lanky teenager with long split-ended hair, who’d read the ridiculous logo. “I’d like to see him go now!” the boy whooped.

Given a different scenario, the public would have looked the other way. But he’d brought the attention on himself. He deserved the comments from the ever-growing peanut gallery.

“Did a man that fat really think he’d get away with this stunt?” a richly bejeweled lady in a red cashmere sweater asked. “If he’d parked back where there are proper spaces, he’d have been able to get out of his car andgotten some much needed exercise!”

“Take a lot of exercise to get that weight off him!” the teenager retorted.

“Well, what do we have here?” A disgusted snort emitted from the back of the group, numbering some fifteen people by now. We parted to allow passage for a frail old lady in a wheelchair. White wisps played round her swept-up hair, and she sat erect in disabled splendor while whirling her conveyance round to face the rear of the offensive SUV. Across her lap lay a gnarled walking cane, tipped with the silver effigy of a greyhound’s head.

This she grasped in her arthritic hands and brandished in the air with a dramatic flourish before pointing it menacingly at the trapped driver. He was straining more than ever to exit the vehicle, as if to prove that he could do it despite our belief to the contrary.

“It’s people like you who make our lives miserable!” the wizened woman shouted, taking up the Cause for All Invalids Everywhere. Her aggression fed the indignation of the other shoppers.

For answer the struggling man retreated into his car and we assumed our aged heroine had shamed the blackguard into vacating the site.

“Yes!” shouted the young mom, and clapped her hands together. Her son copied her.

But no, he didn’t drive off. What was going on? Inside the car, the objectionable man was removing the jacket of his three piece suit! Presumably he thought this slimming process would allow him to slip out and defy expectations.

Unfortunately for him, when he confidently opened the door and tried again to ease through, his vest button caught on the corner, popping off and pinging loudly against the metallic blue Buick next to him. It bounced on the black-top and came to rest under the old lady’s wheelchair. She let out a peal of laughter. Ignoring her, the button’s owner wrestled to get back to the safety of his seat. He was severely hampered by the dual problems of preserving the rest of his waistcoat andkeeping that vital air buffer between his Navigator and the Buick.