Dead Stock

by Rachel Ward

  When he saw George approaching he dropped the cigarette and ground it under his foot, but it was too late. He’d been caught red-handed. Bea retreated to her checkout.

  ‘That boy,’ said Dot. ‘He’ll never learn, will he?’

  ‘Doubt it. He’s a good ’un really,’ said Bea. ‘The stuff with his dad is hitting him hard.’

  ‘Poor lad. Getting fired from here won’t help, though.’

  ‘She won’t sack him, will she?’

  ‘I don’t know. Looks like it might just be a standard bollocking.’

  Someone cleared their throat nearby. Bea’s nose wrinkled and she fought the urge to sneeze. She didn’t need to turn round to know who it was.

  ‘Morning, Reg,’ she said, not expecting a reply.

  ‘Filthy,’ he said.

  Bea wondered if she’d misheard and carried on bleeping his shopping.

  ‘Filthy weather,’ Reg said, handing over the cash.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Bea. ‘I quite like the snow, but keep safe, walking home.’

  He gathered up his things and shuffled out.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Dot. ‘Things have changed around here. Reg has started making small talk!’

  12

  George was right – Costsave had been much busier than usual. The bread aisle was picked clean, and there were only a few litres of full-fat milk left. Just before twelve, Dot checked her watch and then put the ‘checkout closing’ sign onto her conveyor belt.

  ‘That’s me done,’ she said. ‘I’m absolutely knackered. Glad I’m only doing a couple of stints this week. I don’t think I could cope with any more. People have gone mad, haven’t they? Talk about Snowmageddon. Ooh.’ She winced as she held the side of her desk and got to her feet. ‘I’ve stiffened up. Ooh, that hurts.’

  ‘Do you need a hand, babe?’ said Bea.

  ‘No, I’ll be all right when I get going.’

  ‘I should be due a break any time now. Shall we grab some lunch?’

  Dot’s face was creased with pain. ‘I think I’ll have to go straight home. I’ll get a taxi. Next time, lovely, okay? I’m in again on Thursday.’

  She hobbled slowly towards the back of the store. Bea watched her go, then realised her customer was drumming her fingers on the side of the counter. She’d stopped halfway through processing the woman’s shopping.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s her first day back at work.’

  The woman, in her thirties, with a smart black coat on and sleek shiny hair in a pixie cut, looked at her blankly.

  ‘Sorry,’ Bea said again and quickly beeped the rest of her shopping, which was a joyless collection of quinoa, vegetable juice, rice cakes and healthy snacks. When she’d done, she hit the call button to summon Neville and ask if she could go for her break.

  ‘Another half an hour, Beatrice,’ Neville said, with a sniff. ‘You can see it’s building up for another rush now.’

  With a sigh, Bea started on the next load of shopping – four two-litre bottles of Coke, four of lemonade, several multipacks of crisps and snacks, little fairy cakes, frozen sausage rolls.

  ‘Going to be quite the party,’ Bea said, as she heaved the lemonade into the packing area.

  ‘No,’ said her customer, a younger woman with a thick Puffa jacket slung over a tracksuit, ‘it’s just for me.’ There was a hint of ice in her voice.

  Bea looked at her. For a moment, they held each other’s gaze, then the woman smiled and shook her head. ‘Only kidding, I’ve got twelve nine-year-olds coming after school. It’s going to be the longest two hours of my life, if they all come. Otherwise, I won’t have to cook for a week.’

  ‘Ha! Got me going there,’ said Bea. ‘Serve me right for commenting on your shopping. I should know better. You won’t need party games anyway, they can just have a snowball fight.’

  ‘Mm, after about twenty minutes I’ll have twelve cold, tired, wet kids, with at least three of them in tears. Oh joy.’

  ‘Do you remember being that age and going to parties, though? Wondering if you’ll win any games and what’ll be in the party bag.’ Bea carried on processing the shopping, but she was thinking about her nine-year-old self, happy in the years before her dad died.

  ‘Don’t get me started on party bags. It’s like a crazy competition with the parents. Kids expect an Oscars-style goodie bag these days. Not at my house. It’s a slice of cake, a balloon, a Kit-Kat and a fancy pen.’

  ‘Just as it should be. Shame we all have to grow up, isn’t it?’

  The woman stopped and looked at her. ‘That’s a bit deep for a Monday, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sorry. I was just thinking about—’

  ‘About that chap that jumped off the bridge?’ Bea hadn’t been, but she supposed it was on everyone’s mind. ‘Mm, that was a shocker, wasn’t it? Odd that they haven’t named him yet.’

  ‘Yeah, isn’t it?’ She handed the woman her change. ‘Oh well. Good luck with the party anyway!’

  ‘Cheers. I’ll need it.’

  A little while later Ant slouched along the exit side of the checkouts. He stopped next to Bea. ‘I’ve just seen Dot getting in a cab. Do you fancy some chips?’

  Bea thought for about a millisecond before logging off her till. ‘Yeah, go on. You can tell me all about the pub. I’ll just fetch my purse and phone.’

  Neville appeared out of nowhere, blocking her way. ‘I said another half an hour, Beatrice,’ he said, knuckles white where he was gripping his clipboard.

  ‘It’s been twenty-three minutes, Neville, and I’m dying for the loo. Not much point coming back after that, is there, so I’ll take my break now, if that’s all right.’

  He sniffed loudly but gave way.

  In the Costsave café, the hot, floury chips just out of the fryer were going down a treat, with lashings of salt and vinegar and a good dollop of ketchup. Ant got stuck in, drawing air into a full, open mouth to cope with their heat, in a rather unedifying spectacle.

  ‘How are you getting on with the doggo?’ he asked. ‘No more accidents?’

  ‘No, we’re getting used to each other.’ Bea was taking things more sedately, cutting the bigger chips in half to let them cool down. ‘I had a nice walk with her this morning. Up before everyone else, beautiful fresh snow. We saw a fox too. Lovely things, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, but vicious.’ Ant wiped a blob of ketchup away from the side of his mouth.

  ‘We walked down to the square, you know where the bungalows are and Anna’s flat. All the missing cats are from round there.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. I had a look round but didn’t see anything. There was hardly anyone about, but I was thinking there are a few people up that early. What if our cat killer is someone no one would take any notice of? Like the milkman or a shift worker.’

  ‘Or a street cleaner or something.’

  ‘Exactly. Someone like that.’ Bea whipped out her phone and opened up the Notes section.

  ‘So even if people saw them they wouldn’t think anything of it,’ said Ant. ‘Yeah, you might be onto something. You’re bloody clever, you are, Bea. Too clever for this place.’

  ‘Shut up. I just like thinking about stuff. Anyway, it’s just a theory. Might be way off the mark. The other thing is to think about the Costsave connection. Why did he, or possibly she, dump the body here?’

  ‘Hmm, that’s another good point. Then there’s Deano and Tank.’

  ‘Yes. We need to find out if either of them actually has a cat. If not, it could be one of them, taking the cats, killing them. Or both of them. They looked incredibly shifty.’

  Ant shovelled some more chips in. ‘Well, that’s normal for Deano. I know he’s a nasty little fucker, but I doubt he’s sick enough to kill a cat.’

  ‘What about Tank?’

  ‘Don’t know so much about him, but I know someone who does. I’ll get my special agent onto it.’

  Bea looked up from her phone. ‘Who is your special agent, just out of int
erest?’

  He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Need-to-know basis, Bea.’ Ant had finished his chips and was smearing a piece of white bread around his plate, picking up any left-behind grease or sauce. ‘We’ll find out about Tank, Bea, and then maybe we should leave it. After all, Inspector Morse is on the case now. Maybe you should leave it to him.’

  ‘But I promised Anna.’

  ‘And she wouldn’t want you getting knifed by a crazy cat killer, would she? Neither would I. Don’t get mixed up in stuff if you don’t have to. Life’s complicated enough.’ He looked at the unfinished food on Bea’s plate. ‘Aren’t you going to eat that?’

  ‘No,’ she said, pushing the plate towards him. ‘You have it.’

  Bea was logging off for the evening as Jay arrived at checkout number five. Her stomach gave a little flip when she saw him.

  ‘Hi, you,’ she said, and then winced inside thinking it was a little too familiar, too fond. Had she given away how she felt?

  Happily, he seemed oblivious. ‘Hi Bea. All right?’

  The facial hair, the man bun, it was all wrong and yet somehow so, so right. Bea tried to act normally, but found herself staring at his face. She didn’t even notice Ant come shambling along.

  ‘Hey, bro,’ Jay said. He stood up and extended his balled-up hand to Ant. Ant, somewhat surprised, touched knuckles and grinned. Jay grinned back and Bea noticed how the skin at the side of his mouth creased, emphasising the smile. ‘Heard all about you saving that guy’s life. You’re the man, Ant.’

  ‘Yeah, well . . .I dunno about that.’

  ‘You guys just clocking off?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Bea was making sure her station was neat and tidy and giving her conveyor belt a final wipe down.

  Jay sat down, then yawned and stretched his arms above his head. ‘Wish I was. Only got up an hour ago. I’m knackered.’

  ‘Busy weekend?’ said Bea.

  ‘Yeah, you could say that.’

  ‘What did you get up to?’

  Jay leaned back in his chair. ‘This and that. Out with my mates.’

  ‘Where did you go? Somewhere nice?’

  ‘What is this? Twenty questions?’

  Ant laughed. ‘You’ll have to get used to that if you sit there, mate. She won’t stop digging until she knows your favourite colour M&M, your credit card number and your inside leg measurement.’

  ‘Oi? Shut up!’ Bea leaned forward to take a swipe at Ant. ‘I’m not that bad. I’m just curious. I like finding stuff out.’

  Neville came bustling along, clipboard at the ready. ‘There’s a youth club on Thursday evenings at my church, if you want to have a chat. Not at Costsave. Not on my shop floor.’

  ‘Ouch, stinger,’ said Ant, flapping his hand in appreciation.

  Neville looked puzzled, while Bea and Jay tried to stifle their smirks.

  ‘Time we weren’t here anyway,’ said Bea, pushing her seat into place. ‘Bye, Jay.’

  ‘See ya.’

  Ant and Bea walked to the staff door together.

  ‘That new guy, reckon he might be all right. For a student,’ said Ant.

  ‘He didn’t say what he was up to at the weekend, though, did he?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. Man of mystery.’

  They parted company to take off their uniforms and met up again at the top of the stairs. Bea had her duvet coat on, her mittens and a pink woolly hat with a pompom on the top and ear flaps.

  ‘That hat,’ said Ant, smiling and shaking his head. He didn’t have a coat, just a thick hoodie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Eileen followed them down the stairs. ‘Dark already,’ she said as they walked round the side of the building.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Bea, pleased Eileen had actually said something, rather than freezing her out. ‘Not quite as cold, though.’

  ‘When I win the lottery,’ Eileen said, ‘I’m going to spend the winter on a cruise ship in the Caribbean.’

  ‘You and me both,’ said Bea, who was in the same staff lottery syndicate. ‘Wish we’d hurry up and win.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Who’d feed the cat, though, while you were away?’

  Eileen looked sideways at her. ‘What are you talking about? My Dean’s got the dog, dotes on it, but we haven’t got a cat.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I was mixing you up with someone else.’

  Eileen gave her a quizzical look, then hitched her shoulder bag closer to her body and peeled away from them, heading for the opposite corner of the car park.

  ‘About as subtle as a ten-pound sledgehammer,’ said Ant.

  ‘But we know now, don’t we? No cat. So now we need to know about Tank.’

  ‘Yeah, all right. I’m on it.’

  On the High Street gritting and the general warmth from the buildings had melted the snow. There was just a bit of grubby slush in the gutters and at the side of the pavement.

  ‘Do you know how Charles is doing?’ Ant said.

  ‘Someone said he’s out of intensive care. He’s been moved to one of the wards.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep last night. Kept seeing him on the floor.’

  He ran his hand over the top of his head, and Bea remembered him sitting at the bus stop, head on knees, lost in his own dark thoughts.

  ‘You should go and see him. It might help, plus I’m sure he’d be pleased to see you.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. Would you come with me?’

  ‘’Course. Not today, though, I need to walk his dog.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Straight from work at five? I’ll try and get one of the neighbours to walk Goldie.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.’

  They parted at the end of the High Street. Bea walked by the old people’s bungalows again. There was an elderly woman walking towards her. She had a tweed coat, but it was flapping open, and she had neither hat nor gloves. Her white hair looked unbrushed and a little wild. She wasn’t walking purposefully, but slowly. She seemed to be looking for something.

  Bea walked past, but after a few yards, she doubled back. ‘Are you all right? Can I help?’

  Startled, the woman turned round, and her face was familiar. She didn’t seem to have heard Bea’s questions, so she repeated them.

  ‘I’ve lost my friend,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Bea, looking right and left, and then behind. There was no one else around. The distress was so obvious on the woman’s face, she wondered whether by ‘lost’ she actually meant bereavement. ‘Do you live near here?’

  ‘Yes. I’m number four.’ She was actually standing right outside her bungalow.

  ‘Perhaps you should wait inside for your friend. It’s a bit cold out here.’

  The woman looked down at her hands, which, even in the streetlight had a bluish tinge to them. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait inside. He’ll be back soon. It’s dinner time. He likes his dinner.’

  Bea watched her walk up to her front door, which she now saw was ajar. As she closed it behind her, Bea remembered who she was – the mother of Kevin, the Bugle photographer. He didn’t live there, but he ran a photography studio in the shed in his mother’s back yard, where he liked to photograph his favourite subject – girls, the younger the better. Bea shivered, and pressed on across the rec. It was dark, but the ground was still pale here, a mixture of snow and ice after two days of being compressed by people’s feet, and the reflected light gave Bea some comfort as she crossed the space towards home. The sky had clouded over and it wasn’t so bitingly cold. She wondered if it would snow again or maybe it would all melt overnight. When she got to the local shops on the other side there was a police car parked in the road. What now?

  Tom came out of the corner shop as she started to cross the road. Bea was trying to decide whether to keep her head down and give him a wide berth or tough it out when the decision was taken for her.

  ‘Hey! Bea!’ He started walking towards her and they
met on the pavement, next to his car.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just doing the rounds of the local shops. I’ve got some fliers about the missing cats. Not the most exciting job I’ve ever worked on.’

  There was a twinkle in his eye. He was inviting her to agree with him about the banality of being a community bobby. Bea wasn’t playing. She consciously set her expression to ‘bitch face’ and took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s important, though. Anna’s really upset. People’s pets are like family, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose. One good thing is it’s brought us back in contact.’ He leaned over so his mouth was near to her ear. ‘I’ve missed you. I’m single now. Nothing to hold me back.’

  Bea tried not to look up, but couldn’t help herself. He really was very close. She could see his pale eyelashes, the texture of the skin on his face, smell his aftershave, lingering even at the end of the day. She held her expression, giving no sign that there were pesky butterflies beating their traitorous little wings against the inside of her stomach. And she held his gaze. ‘What, not even your son?’

  A tiny movement in the muscles beneath his left eye told her that she’d hit her target. Bullseye.

  Tom straightened up and tugged at the hem of his jacket. ‘Don’t be like that. Let’s talk about it. About us.’ He put his hand on her shoulder.

  Although she knew she should shrug him off, another force stirred within her – a biological urge to feel his hands under her clothes, feel his mouth on hers. Damn it, he was a tosser. He would always be a tosser. And yet . . .and yet . . .

  ‘I can’t now,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to get home. You could walk with me, round the corner?’

  He smiled. ‘Okay.’

  Tom checked that the car was locked and they started walking. He held the crook of his arm up a little, clearly wanting her to put her arm through his, but she ignored it.

  ‘Bea,’ he said, ‘I know it went wrong before, but I reckon it was right people, wrong time. We were good together.’