by Annie Weir
Judith Wants To Be Your Friend
Annie Weir
Copyright © 2016 Annie Weir
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
For my husband, John.
Prologue
Hexham, Thursday 12th November
Chloe looked over her shoulder a couple of times. Normally she would have headed straight for the waiting room, the one with the big, black marble fireplace. Even when it wasn’t lit, it seemed warmer than the other one. She didn’t want to be trapped in there today. Seeing Judith at the door, she hastened on. She glanced back over her shoulder again, then stumbled and tripped over her own feet and fell from the platform onto the tracks. A horn sounded as the goods train from Newcastle to Carlisle trundled through, sending a blast of cold air around the building. Then there was a screech of brakes and an alarm sounded. Station staff rushed to the line and waiting passengers stood and stared at the spot where Chloe had been moments before.
Judith stood and watched the scene. It appeared to her that the world had suddenly become silent, a sort of calm before a storm or a picture frozen in time. She turned and walked back to her car where she sat for a few moments struggling to comprehend what she had just witnessed, then she switched on the engine. As she approached the exit from the station car park, she had to wait to allow the ambulance and two police cars through.
Chapter 1
Carlisle, September 2009
Monday 14th September 2009
While I wait, I note the changes they’ve made here. Now it’s all tile flooring, rustic plaster and orange lampshades; last time I was here it was plastic tables and cardboard cups. The blackboard is still by the door but it looks more in keeping. This is getting boring. I study the back of the waitress’s head instead. Head-instead. Redhead-instead. Hurry up and get off the phone, Redhead.
She dials another number.
‘Emma, it’s me. Can you work this evening? Oh please. You-know-who has let me down again and I’m stuck here and I should be…,’ Silence while she is interrupted. ‘OK, never mind. See you tomorrow.’
I wonder where she wants to be so desperately this evening. If I were her, I’d shut up shop and go. It can’t be worth staying open just for me, and I’m not even going to pay. Suddenly she’s facing me and I hear an echo of my mother’s voice. Don’t stare, Judith! People won’t like you if you stare.
‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’ A forced smile. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Latte please.’ I offer the voucher torn from the local paper.
‘I’ll bring it over.’
She brings the coffee to the round, scrubbed pine table right opposite the counter, a smile firmly fixed on that freckled face that so typically goes with red hair. I feel a bit sorry for her actually and smile back. Heaven knows I don’t need to make enemies here as well. The coffee’s as good as the rich smell that draws people in; it should be after the noise and effort that goes into making it. A recording of a Spanish guitar plays quietly in the background. I think I might come back to this café-bar tomorrow. We’ll see.
I don’t go straight home. Home, that’s a joke. I haven’t got my beautiful flat in Hexham any more. Even in a town of that size I couldn’t hide after all that business; well, after the misunderstanding. I suppose home is my rented one-bedroomed flat, which used to be half of a decent-sized house, two doors down from the Crown Inn. There’s nothing to go back there for anyway so I walk around the city for a while, window-shopping by street light, then have a BigBurger Meal and read my book until ten o’clock when I know the café bar will be shutting. I walk back along English Street. Sure enough, Redhead’s preparing to lock up. I hold back. It’s not dark enough so I look in the window of House of Fraser and watch her reflection turning the key and pulling down the shutter. She strides on down English Street on her way – where? A car park? The bus stop? The station? All in good time. God knows I have enough of that. I turn back the way I’d come, back past BigBurger.com, down Scotch Street, through the rancid underpass that smells of old cabbage and which is decorated with not very witty graffiti, and I walk up the half a mile of hill to Stanwix.
Tuesday 15th September 2009
It’s quiet in the cash office once the change has been run through the counter. Maureen starts the shift by allocating the jobs then we just get on with it. It suits me quite well actually. I like things to be right. Checks and balances. I don’t like Maureen watching everything I do, though. Oh God, she’s speaking to me.
‘How are you enjoying working here, Judith?’
‘OK thanks,’ I say, lying.
‘Yes it’s a good laugh, isn’t it?’ she says.
Laugh? I can’t remember the last time I laughed but it certainly wasn’t in the cash office at Cost-Save. It’s easy enough work though. Count the money from the tills, balance the cash with the readout from the computer, sort the cash and prepare it for banking. It pays the rent and the discounted grocery bills. It’ll do for now. I’ll go back to that cafe bar later. Cafe Bar Sierra. I wonder what the redhead’s called – Lucinda? Eleanor? Bridget? No, I bet it ends in ‘a’. I like names that end in ‘a’. Pay attention, Judith! People won’t like you if you don’t listen to them. Her voice again, I’m trying hard, I really am. I turn back to my supervisor.
‘Do you balance?’ Maureen reverts to type, discarding the friendly chat in favour of jobs-worth. ‘Securicor will be here soon and the cash needs to be checked and bagged-up.’
‘Yes, I balance.’ Balanced ten minutes ago, actually. Better not let on. ‘I think I’ve got it right.’
I’ll be home soon; a brisk five minutes’ walk past the new car showrooms – did I really used to own a BMW? – and down Scotland Road, clogged with traffic as usual. I don’t know whether it’s a good thing, living quite so close to work. It might be better to be a bit further away. At least then I’d get some exercise walking to and from. Too much comfort food and not doing anything except sitting on my bum in the cash office is not good. I wonder what Redhead does to keep so trim. All that Mediterranean fare in the café-bar must be a temptation. I considered the Penne Carbonara yesterday evening but a BigBurger.com Meal suits my budget better these days. Maybe she goes for a run around the park every day, or to a fitness class twice a week. As I said, all in good time.
I’m back at my bijoux half-house and it’s just after five. I don’t mind it here really. The embossed wall paper, magnolia of course,
is clean and the white curtains actually look quite classy in pale contrast. I’m not supposed to put any pictures on the walls so I have rebelled and hung up an Indian-style rug instead. The lease didn’t say ‘no Indian-style rugs’. The bathroom is small and new, as is the kitchen with timeless white fittings. It’s warm enough and furnished minimally. It’s fine for one person.
I wonder what the best time will be to walk into town for my soon-to-be regular early evening latte. By the best time, I mean when Redhead won’t be too busy. I must engage her in some conversation today. I take a long shower to wash away the smell of musty old bank notes. As I lather myself with grapefruit-scented body wash and the hot water pours over my head I imagine our conversation; she remembers me from yesterday and I say the coffee was lovely and that I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for her having to work last night. Then she tells me where she should have been and I get the first piece of the jigsaw. I put on a clean pair of jeans, a white t-shirt and take a light jacket. These autumn evenings are lovely at the moment but get nippy when the watery-blue sky darkens and the sun goes down. Hopefully I won’t be home too soon. Walking down the hill over the bridge spanning the River Eden, I spot the old man walking his Jack Russell. I’m feeling rather good and smile at him. He nods and smiles back at me. You see, Judith, it’s not so difficult after all.
Approaching the café-bar I find I have slowed down. I’m not nervous, of course, just enjoying the anticipation. Come on, don’t hesitate now. I push the door open and stroll in, pretending to study the coffees listed on the blackboard on the wall just inside the door; Americano, Flat White, Cappuccino, Mocha, and on and on – how many choices of coffee do people need? – and hope Redhead spots me and makes conversation first. Nothing. I turn towards the counter. A tall, slim young man dressed in black, his long shiny hair tied back, patiently waits for my order.
‘Where’s the lady who was here last night?’ I blurt out.
‘Joanna? Day off. What can I get you?’
‘Latte please.’
The latte is as good as I remembered, and worth the money as well as the time and noise. It’s very quiet in the cafe again tonight. I take my coffee and go to sit in one of the deep leather armchairs near the window and read the local paper that someone has left behind. As I leave I ask whether Joanna – it does end in ‘a’ – will be in tomorrow.
Friday 18th September 2009
I’m back at BigBurger.com again, this time the one near Cost-Save and the new car garages. I could eat at Cost-Save if I wanted to, in what they laughingly call a restaurant but after being there all day I prefer to go somewhere else. The discount would be handy though. It’s a struggle living on my lousy wages. Five-thirty is a dreadful time to be here. There’s a party of screaming kids squabbling over balloons and crying for more of the clown; or is it because he’s terrified them? Two young Scottish couples on the next table are nearly as loud. The girls look like clones of each other with black boots and leggings and black and white dresses over the top and belted cardigans over the dresses. What happened to individuality? Actually I don’t think they are couples now; one of the boys is very effeminate, screeching and gesturing to be the centre of attention. Oh, just clear off! I used to like going to BigBurger.com in Hexham. It was a kind of inverted snobbery buying a BigBurger.com Meal wearing a business suit then working on my laptop while I ate in. I’ve noticed a lot of business people meet in BigBurger.com these days. I never noticed how loud and incessant the pop music is. They never play anything I recognise.
I really must do something to keep my mind sharp. If I could find out what Joanna does when she’s off-duty I might do it too. It would show we had something in common. My next mission, should I choose to bother, is to find out where she goes on the evenings when she isn’t working. Concurrent mission, which may be easier, is to take Maureen-chief-cashier-witch-woman down a peg or two. I hate being told what to do all day. It won’t be too difficult. She’s not that bright. She’s not that much of a witch either, just really irritating and enjoys being in charge and being perfect. And anyway, she deserves it after today. The kids and the Scots have gone, thank God.
Oh yes, today was my three-month review with the ghastly Maureen. Who does she think she is? I’ve never been late or asked for time off. I learned the tedious job within a few days and there have never been any discrepancies. But is that the important thing?
‘Well yes,’ I said to her, ‘it is.’
‘But you’re not a team player, Judith.’ She stressed the word team. Obviously play doesn’t enter into it.
‘No. I’m not,’ I replied evenly. ‘I didn’t know that was part of my job description.’
That threw her, mentioning the job description. I pulled out my copy and suggested we went through each part in turn. Her counter-move was to pull out the person spec. There was plenty about being flexible, willing to work extra hours, being reliable and accurate, but nowhere did it say I had to be jolly and join in with her bloody childish conversation and buy raffle tickets for her village’s latest good cause. It’s a job, for God’s sake. I’ll come in, I’ll do the job, I’ll stay late, I’ll cover if someone’s off sick or skiving. But I will not creep around you, Witch-woman, and you will regret trying to make me conform and become one of your coven. I can cast a few spells of my own.
She recommended that my position become permanent and we signed the appropriate documentation for Personnel.
Saturday 19th September 2009
Well, well, well! A piece of the jigsaw walks past my line of vision. I have answered the buzzer and opened the hatch between the cash office and the checkouts. One of the supervisors needs change. We only did a change-run twenty minutes ago. They should make sure checkout operators understand the concept of getting what they need when it’s offered. As I hand over a bag of pound coins in exchange for a twenty pound note, Joanna walks past. In the snapshot of five seconds I see her catch the hands of a small boy and swing him up into her trolley. Keeping hold of his hands and nudging the trolley along with her stomach, she bends forward to rub noses with him. It is so obviously a familiar and intimate mother and son gesture that the matching red hair and freckled faces are incidental. How lovely to be so at ease with someone, so sure of reciprocation and so unforced. If only I had been able to keep… oh never mind all that again. She seems so nice; capable but vulnerable, responsible but needing support. Another thought strikes me; what if she has a husband and other children? How else could she work in the evenings? Maybe on Monday night she just wanted to get home to watch TV.
I am still standing there by the little window when Maureen’s voice breaks through the density of my inner conversation.
‘Judith. Judith?’
I stand there a little longer, deliberately of course.
‘Judith, what are you waiting for?’
‘Nothing. I’m done.’ I close the wooden shutter to isolate us from the outside world.
‘What did they want?’
‘Pound coins.’
‘Why did that take so long?’
I look the unlovely Maureen right in the eyes. ‘It didn’t take that long.’
She doesn’t know what to say to that so she reverts to what she always says.
‘Have you balanced your cash?’
The buzzer goes again. This time it’s the duty manager wanting to be let in to sign the banking. I release the outer door so that he can come into the lobby, and when it locks again I let him into the inner sanctum that is the cash office. It reminds me of visiting my mother at Mill View Care Home in Hexham. That was all buzzers and lobbies and having to be let in and out. Maybe that’s why I don’t like Maureen; she’s too much like the manager at the care home telling me what I can and can’t do. The oblong room here, fortified on all sides with only three small windows, seems to fill up. God knows it’s claustrophobic enough with four of us working
in here. He (Mr. Wilson, but call me Ken) sits down in front of ten wire trays each containing bundles of bank notes amounting to £15000. Maureen brings over the scales. He does a test-weigh then proceeds to quickly weigh and initial each bundle. I wonder, not for the first time, at the accuracy of the scales; that they show up a missing note or a piece of Sellotape sticking a torn note together. No hitches. The banking is signed off ready for Securicor. Maureen presents the breakdown of the cash office float; the total being the money held in the safe and excluding what is in the tills at that moment, and of course the banking ready to be sealed and collected. That is the moment I start to hatch my plan to trap her.
Chapter 2
Hexham, September 2008
Monday 15th September 2008
Judith looked at the embossed invitation and thought it was about time that the shop re-opened. It had been closed for nearly six months and there were rumours that when it opened, it would be ‘really nice’, whatever that meant. Hexham could do with a ‘really nice’ antique shop, she thought, as opposed to the endless row of cluttered junk shops that merely pretended. She looked around the minimalistic décor in her flat deciding what she might like to go where. She RSVP-ed after office hours on their answer-phone.
Friday 26th September 2008
‘That damned clock! I wish it would tick more quietly!’ Chloe spoke aloud even though she was by herself for a few minutes. The caterers had been in and arranged the canapés on a trolley in her office adjoining the sales area, and the champagne flutes were on another one ready to bring through when people started to arrive. The bottles, already chilled, were in buckets of ice by the back door. Chloe stood up and peered out of the huge square window; from her vantage point she could see up to the market place to her right and down the hill a little way before the road curved around to her left. There were plenty of people hurrying through the rain but none appeared to be waiting for the grand opening of Phoenix Antiques. It was only just after five and Louise, her long-time friend and member of staff, wasn’t back yet. There was still nearly half an hour to go. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked on, counting down to five-thirty. Chloe stood up and moved from one carefully placed antique to another. She minutely adjusted the position of the ceramic statue on a stand in the centre of the room. There were no prices visible on anything. She studied a picture on the wall, went to straighten it, thought better of it, and then looked out of the window again. Not much change. Still raining. Phoenix Antiques read backwards from where she stood; she had already grown used to that. She heard the back door open and Louise called out as she shook out her umbrella and hung up her dripping coat.