by Annie Weir
‘Hello Chloe. Judith here. I believe I owe you lunch.’
‘Oh, that’s OK, Judith. No problem.’
‘I’ll pick up some sandwiches and bring them round, shall I? Then I can have a look at any new pictures you’ve got in.
‘Fine. I’ll see you soon.’
Chapter 5
Carlisle, November 2009
Monday 2nd November 2009
Last week was a long week. Half-term is tedious on so many levels. There was no Spanish class, for a start, and I must say that I missed it; not only Joanna but generally having some structure to what can nowhere near be described as a social life. I did miss Joanna as well. Ricky had half-term from his part-days at school so she had time off work and went away to Scotland for a few days with her mother. That meant that Cafe Bar Sierra was dull as well. The cash office was a madhouse as parents with kids in the store all week means loads of change to count. I haven’t even had Ken for entertainment as he has been away. I wonder where he went in Spain that wasn’t full of English kids on holiday from school. Surely lots of families go away then for a last blast of sunshine before winter sets in. Actually, considering the state of this store and of the town, most of them seem to be here.
The unlovely Maureen breaks into my thoughts as she leans over, probably to repeat what she has just said. Her bleach-blonde hair doesn’t move with her head; it must be plastered with hairspray.
‘Do you want to go for your lunch early or late today, Judith?’
‘I don’t mind. Whatever suits you,’ I reply mildly. This gives the impression that I’m being helpful but actually I know it winds her up if people can’t make simple decisions. She is a control freak but when she gives someone a choice, she expects them to decide. She frowns and turns towards me sharply then appears to change her mind. Maybe she is thinking about my fictitious dead husband.
‘I’ll go first then. You go at one o’clock.’
‘Fine.’ I don’t look up but continue to concentrate on counting money and bagging and bundling it as appropriate. Since the incident with the twenty pound note she is doubly careful with her work and spends less time watching me.
The buzzer goes indicating that someone from the checkout area wants attention. Maureen gets up to answer it. It is Ken.
‘Hi Maureen. Good holiday?’
‘Yes thanks. Got a bit of a tan.’ She flashes a brown arm at him. ‘You?’
‘Yes, really good. Is Judith there?’ I could see him moving to one side to try to see past Maureen’s head and shoulders. ‘Oh, yeah, there she is,’ and he stood and waited so that Maureen was forced to turn and tell me that Ken wanted a word.
‘What time are you going for lunch?’ he asked.
‘One. You?’
‘Yeah, I am now. See you in the canteen.’ With that he disappeared and I quietly closed the shutter to once again shut Maureen and me off from the rest of the store.
‘Are you and Ken seeing each other?’ she asked.
‘How do you mean?’
‘You know, going out together?’
‘No.’ She doesn’t get much out of me.
Sal buzzes to be let in to start her shift at midday and Maureen goes to do her shopping in her lunch hour.
Spanish class tonight is as good as ever. Joanna looks relaxed after her little holiday in the fresh Scottish air and comes and seeks me out to sit next to. Senor Rossi insists that all our casual conversations are in Spanish which means that they are limited but at least we are familiar with holiday stuff. Joanna asks when I am coming into the cafe again and I say tomorrow. That much we can manage in Spanish as well. The other people are nice too, but not interesting.
Wednesday 4th November 2009
I haven’t been able to put Ken off any longer and have agreed to go with him to the pictures. I’m not a great fan of the cinema but at least I won’t have to make conversation for two hours while we watch, and then we can talk about the film afterwards. I remember now why people go on first dates to the pictures. We spend a pleasant half-hour deciding what to see. I think he would have preferred The Damned United. My choice would have been Amelia. In the end we go for Michael Jackson’s This Is It; it’s topical and it will give me conversation in the cash office. I won’t discuss it with Maureen, of course, but the others will have the benefit of the hot news that Ken and I have been to the pictures together. The film is alright actually. It gets on my nerves when people say about Michael Jackson, ‘You either love him or hate him.’ I don’t; I can take him or leave him. We go to Cafe Bar Sierra afterwards for a nightcap just before it closes for the evening. Joanna is not on duty but the spotty youth with long hair tied back is there and sort of greets me like a regular customer. It feels good to be recognised; and to be going in there with a man. Hopefully that will give them something to talk about as well. I wouldn’t want them to think I am some kind of weird loner. God no! Perish the thought.
Thursday 5th November 2009
I make myself a sandwich and walk down to Bitts Park. I wander around for a while then make my way to the picnic tables, surreptitiously looking around for Joanna and her mini-me. There is no sign. Eventually I eat my sandwiches and read my book and start to feel a bit chilly. At least the sandwiches are better than the crap I bought from the kiosk last time. I walk towards the shopping centre, past men making preparations for fireworks tomorrow night. It’s starting to get wintery and I decide to invest in a pair of boots. I haven’t bought anything for myself since being here.
Debenhams is closest and on my way home so I look there first to get a benchmark of what there is, and then stop off at every shoe shop in The Lanes making comparisons as I go. I am admiring myself in a pair of black leather boots when I see a little redhead boy peering at me in the mirror. He is sprawled on the floor making a strange waving motion with both hands. God! Children are strange creatures.
‘Hello Ricky,’ I say to his reflection, ‘is that you in that mirror?’
He giggles and nods then comes over to inspect my boots properly.
‘Are you going to buy them?’ he asks.
I see Joanna and decide that the way to befriend a woman is through her darling child.
‘Not sure yet,’ I say, ‘what do you think? Do you like them?’
‘Yes,’ he says.
‘Well they would look funny on you,’ I say and he giggles again. He knows I’m teasing. ‘I wonder what your mum would think. Is she here? Or are you on your own?’
This amuses him even more, and she comes over.
‘What are you two giggling about?’
‘Judith thinks I want to buy her boots and she thinks I go shopping on my own without you.’
By now we are all laughing, them at the joke, and me at how easy it is to fool kids. I thought they were supposed to be able to see through any insincerity. Anyway, job done.
‘They look good, Judith. I think you should buy them for yourself. Ricky and I have already chosen his. Look.’ Along with sensible and sturdy winter school shoes there is a pair of Bob the Builder wellingtons. I look dutifully impressed. They wait while I pay for mine and we go for a coffee before making our respective ways home.
Friday 6th November 2009
It is Maureen’s day off, which means I get three consecutive days without her this week, and this puts me in a better mood than usual. I use the time to build up Strand 2 of my ‘Annoy-Maureen’ campaign. Strand 2 is my relationship with Ken.
‘Did you have a good couple of days off, Judith?’ asks Anita in the first lull of our work.
‘Oh yes, very good thanks,’ I reply. For once, this is a true answer to the question.
‘Did you go over to Newcastle again?’ she asks this a little tentatively, as though not wanting to pry but wanting to appear interested.
‘No, I stayed in Carlisle,’ I reply,
then continue, ‘I went to the pictures one day and shopping with a friend on the other day. It was really good.’
‘Lovely,’ she says then hesitates a long time before asking, ‘Did you go to the pictures with Ken? Someone said they saw you out with him on Wednesday night.’
That was brave of her, I think. In fact, that was brave enough to deserve a full answer even though it irritates me that even I can’t do anything in Carlisle without people knowing my business. I think I would rather know that people know than not know that they know, though.
‘Yes, we went to see the Michael Jackson film, This Is It?’
‘We were thinking of going tonight. Is it good?’
‘Oh yes!’ and I enthuse about it for a minute or two. This will really wind Maureen up when Anita tells her about it. I never speak to her in that way; that being Strand 1 of my ‘Annoy-Maureen’ campaign, telling the others things but not her, not ever.
‘We’ll definitely go then. I’ll tell Jack it’s on your recommendation.’
‘You’ll love it.’ I hear my mother’s voice again. See? You can do pleasant small talk if you try. But how do I know whether or not she’ll like it? I’ve never met her husband so can have no idea at all as to whether he will. But I am learning to say what is expected of me when it is expected. God! It’s hardly worth speaking at all sometimes, the rubbish people come out with.
Monday 9th November 2009
Today is dragging. I need to do something to liven it up a bit. I think I will move Strand 3 of my ‘Annoy-Maureen’ campaign on a bit if I get the opportunity. Strand 3 involves wiping the smug expression off her face regarding her work. The incident of the accidently-dropped twenty pound note has been forgotten so it is time that the powers that be are reminded that she is not quite as perfect as she seems. This needs to be a bit cleverer. We keep a roll of Sellotape in the cash office to stick together any notes that have been torn. They need to be identified in the bundles because they make them weigh too heavy on the scales. My plan is very simple but will need Maureen to be looking the other way. I have practiced slipping the paper bands on and off the bundles of notes. I can do it really quickly now so it should be OK. First I take one of the tattier ten pound notes that I am counting and tear it in half.
‘Maureen,’ I say, ‘I’ve got a torn note here. Can I have the Sellotape please?’ She is the keeper of the Sellotape. She throws it over to me.
‘Give it me back as soon as you’re done with it.’
‘Will do,’ I say pleasantly, and spend a long time perfectly mending the torn note. This meets with her approval as she likes things done properly. I also stick a piece onto a perfectly good note and include it in a bundle of notes which is one short of £500. The note with the unnecessary Sellotape will cause the bundle to weigh correctly when the duty manager comes in to check the banking. I sign the paper band to say that I have counted it and make another mark so that I can identify it later, and then hand the Sellotape back to be stored safely in her drawer.
‘Make sure that torn note is on top,’ she reminds me, ‘so that Mary Morris can see it when she checks the banking. She’s duty manager today.’
I look up slowly. ‘I’ve already done that.’
‘Yes of course. Sorry Judith. You’ve picked it up so quickly since you’ve been here. Are you sure you’ve never worked in a cash office before?’
‘Quite sure.’ Does she really think I wouldn’t have remembered? ‘I have worked with money though.’ I stop there. Never forget Strand 1: don’t tell her things. I might think of something to tell Anita next time we are together, like that I used to be treasurer of a society my dead husband belonged to. Yes, that sounds good. I’ll give it a bit more thought.
‘Any preference for which lunch break you want?’ she asks when she realises I am not going to say any more.
I gauge how far we have got with the work and decide that we are far enough ahead for me to prepare the banking early.
‘Late, if you don’t mind,’ I say.
She looks surprised that I have answered properly, but then she is so predictable.
‘OK. We’ve got on really well this morning. Will you start to prepare the banking while I’m out?’ See what I mean? The plan just simply falls into place.
‘Yes, of course. No problem.’
We work in silence until Sal comes in at midday as usual and Maureen leaves for lunch. Sal goes about her normal routine of preparing the cash trolley to do what we call a note-lift. That means that one of us will accompany the duty manager and checkout supervisor along the bank of checkouts taking the notes, gift vouchers, coupons and card receipts to do an interim count. The money that we count in the morning is the final take from the day before that we balance against till readings. I start to collate the notes for banking and the other forms of tender to do a check of the cash office float. While Sal has her head in the cash trolley, making sure the little boxes are in till order, I slip off the paper band on my bundle that is ten pounds short and swap it with one of Maureen’s. I continue to do the preparation necessary and start to count the change in the safe.
At precisely one o’clock Maureen returns and sends me for lunch. When I return at two o’clock there are three worried faces: Maureen, Sal and Mary Morris.
‘Is something wrong?’ I ask innocently.
‘The cash office float is ten pounds over,’ says Maureen. ‘I’ve counted it twice. Will you do it, Judith?’
‘What is the point of that, Maureen?’ snaps Mary Morris, the general store manager. That is a stroke of luck that she is duty manager today. ‘You’ve already counted it twice. We’ll need to check every bundle of notes, and quickly before Securicor gets here.’
‘I’ll do that,’ says Maureen, ‘but Judith can check the float again, just to be sure.’
‘I’ll help you count the notes,’ says Mary Morris, and as luck would have it, she picks Maureen’s tray to count. It is just a matter of time now. I painstakingly take out all the bags of coins and count them back in, just to string it all out until Mary Morris says, ‘Maureen, this bundle is ten pounds short. And one of the notes has Sellotape on it.’
‘Well, that explains the store float being over,’ she says with relief, ‘but who signed the band around that bundle?’
Mary Morris handed it to her. ‘You, if I am not very much mistaken.’
My day is made. Even if it wasn’t Spanish tonight, today would be the best day of the week.
Spanish class is quite hilarious. We learn to talk about hobbies so I mention my interest in art, just to continue a theme, and say I enjoy going to the cinema. Joanna says she enjoys keeping fit, cooking and going to the cinema. Something else in common; I’ll store that one away for another day. I say that I have been to see This Is It and someone else says they have been to see Men Who Stare at Goats. Nobody knows the words for ‘stare’ or ‘goats’ so it turns into a bit of a charades game. I think it is the first time I have genuinely laughed out loud for months. When Ken asks the inevitable question tomorrow I will tell him that’s what I want to go and see this week.
Thursday 12th November 2009
It really is getting a bit too cold to be hanging around in a park but I do it anyway just in case she is there with Ricky. I decide against taking a sandwich, and plan to suggest going to a cafe for lunch if I do see them. I wear my new boots so at least my feet will be warm. After a brisk walk around the bowling green and tennis court I spot two heads of red hair by the kiosk and turn to walk in that direction. Ricky sees me; really, children are so observant.
He shouts, ‘Granny, Granny, look.’
At first I think he’s calling me ‘Granny’. Bloody cheek, I’m only about ten years older than his mother, then I realise that he is talking to a woman who is quite obviously his granny. The family likeness is so striking down the generations. She looks worried as Ric
ky runs off towards me and she tries to catch him up but he is too quick. As he reaches me, he stops, suddenly shy. I realise I have to act quickly.
‘Hello Ricky,’ I say casually, ‘are you having a race with that girl?’
‘What girl?’ he asks.
‘The one with the same colour hair as you. Is she your sister or something?’
That does the trick. He bursts into fits of giggles and catches his granny’s hand as she draws level with us.
‘Granny, Judith thinks you’re my sister!’ and he can’t say anything else for laughing.
It breaks the ice with Joanna’s mum and me. She introduces herself as Gaynor, and says she is Joanna’s mum in case I didn’t realise. I say that I do realise and Ricky takes one hand of each of us and drags us down to the fairly insignificant duck pond.
‘We should go to the other park, Ricky,’ says Gaynor, ‘there are swans there and lots more ducks.’
‘I know, Granny, but everyone feeds them. Nobody likes these ducks so they’ll be hungry if we don’t come and feed them.’