In her lunchbreak, Gina went to the food court. There was an Italian takeaway, but she had seen enough pasta for one day so she bought a sandwich instead. She asked for a salad sandwich without cheese, but they gave her cheese anyway.
Gina found a table to sit at. Over by the flexitellers, there was a statue of an old man in a purple cloak and a tall pointy hat. Ask the Wise Wizard said the sign above his head. When Gina had finished her sandwich, she went over and put a coin into the Wise Wizard’s slot. The Wise Wizard made a whizzing noise, followed by an electronic beep. Then a slip of paper popped out of his hand.
It said:Today is the tomorrow you thought about yesterday.
Gina wasn’t certain. Was the Wise Wizard only fooling or was it a riddle she had to solve? If today was the tomorrow she had thought about yesterday, then tomorrow, today would be yesterday. But if today was tomorrow yesterday and would be yesterday tomorrow, if yesterday had once been tomorrow and tomorrow would soon be yesterday, then yesterday could become tomorrow without ever being today, as far as Gina could see. And if Today had disappeared, then so had Yesterday and Tomorrow.
Which left what?
As Gina looked up from her slip of paper, the automatic doors opened. But there was no one there. They had opened by themselves. At that moment it seemed to Gina that a strange light entered the food court. The noise intensified and the air felt electric. It was something undefinable. A kind of energy, she decided. A presence.
Something happened to Gina. For a moment everything seemed new and unfamiliar—not only the place she was standing in, but also the things she was thinking, even the feeling of who she was. High in the roof of the food court she saw a sparrow perched on one of the rafters. A bird inside the house is considered bad luck by some people, but for Gina it was sign of something else. The bird was a symbol for freedom. There was no today, no yesterday and no tomorrow. There was only Now, and she was there to see it. After her lunchbreak, Gina returned to her table at the end of Aisle Thirteen. She plugged in the microwave oven and set up the trays of pasta from fettucine to tortellini. She laid out the plastic cups with their little plastic spoons lined up like soldiers. They looked like a little army, standing to attention, keeping their eyes straight ahead and their faces blank, without expression.
‘Roma’s Pasta. Would you like to try some, madam? It’s 97 per cent fat-free.’
But the first customer shook her head.
‘How can something be 97 per cent fat-free?’ she asked.
Gina smiled and tried to explain, but the woman didn’t believe her. When she was gone, Gina shifted the plastic cups slightly to make them more evenly spaced. She noticed the cups and spoons were made by different companies. The cups were more transparent than the spoons. But the spoons had to be stronger, so they wouldn’t bend. Plastic was an amazing invention. You could make just about anything out of it.
‘Good afternoon, sir. Would like some ravioli?’
The customer frowned at the label on the packet.
‘All natural ingredients?’ he scoffed. ‘That’s false advertising, isn’t it?’
Gina smiled and reassured him, but the man had made up his mind. When he had moved on, she stepped out from behind her table to greet the next customer.
‘Excuse me, madam. Would you be interested in . . .’
‘No, thank you,’ the woman kept on walking.
‘Roma’s Pasta, sir?’
‘Who the hell is Roma?’
Gina glanced at her watch and straightened her skirt. If the next customer was a man, Gina decided, she would ask about his busy lifestyle. If it was a woman, she would ask about her children.
‘Good afternoon . . .’
‘What’s so good about it?’
Gina reheated the pasta and tried rearranging the plastic cups in other ways. Instead of laying them out in a straight line, she experimented with triangles and circles. She put the spoons inside the cups, to make it easier for customers to take them. It made no difference. None of the supermarket shoppers was interested in Gina. They hurried past her table, barely giving her a sideways glance. When she greeted them, they mumbled something and kept on walking. When she asked them questions, they shook their heads and looked away. People made a detour just to avoid her. Others made up lame excuses. They had already eaten. They were vegetarian or they were trying to lose weight. Gina didn’t believe them. She knew they were lying. It was almost as if everyone in the store was deliberately avoiding her. It felt like a conspiracy, as though someone somewhere must be telling them to stay away from her. Gina watched each customer as they approached. Her smile felt painful, as if it were stuck to her face. She had stopped speaking to them now. What was the point of speaking to them, when they were all so rude to her? What was the point of her even being there?
She glanced at her watch again. It had hardly moved since the last time she looked. What would she say to her boss? Would she lie or tell the truth? She felt a hollow feeling deep inside. It started in her stomach and expanded into her chest. It spread across her shoulders and up her neck. There was nothing she could do to control it. Her jaw muscles locked as she opened her mouth wide to let the feeling out. It rose like a shadow from the depths of her soul, and once it had started it felt as though it would never stop. Gina covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned an almighty yawn.
Finally, the time came. Gina took off her visitor’s badge and began to pack up her display. One by one, she scooped out the serves of pasta from the little plastic cups and tipped them into the rubbish bin. She had already reheated them several times over. She was half packed up when she heard the sound of wheels approaching. A trolley appeared, with two boys riding on top. They rounded the corner at full speed, almost colliding with her.
‘Any food left?’ asked one.
‘We’re starving,’ said the other.
There were two serves of tortellini remaining, so Gina popped them into the microwave for thirty seconds. She looked at their name tags.
‘It’s simple to prepare,’ she said wearily. ‘Just heat and serve.’
‘Sounds good in theory,’ said the one called Dylan.
‘Trouble is,’ said the one called Jared, ‘the only instruction we understand is eat.’
Gina watched them as they wolfed down the tortellini.
‘What you think?’
‘Excellent taste!’ mumbled Dylan.
His friend agreed.
‘If I was on death row, dude. I might just choose the tortellini for my last meal.’
‘It might not be on the menu.’
‘If you specifically asked for tortellini, dude, I’m sure they could phone out and get some delivered.’
The one called Dylan considered it. ‘I’d have a burger, I reckon.’
The one called Jared grinned. ‘You want to be fried with that?’
Gina tried to smile.
‘It’s all natural ingredients,’ she murmured. ‘And 97 per cent fat-free.’
It was all she could think of to say.
Gina walked out of the supermarket with her bags in her hands and her table under one arm. The Wise Wizard seemed to smile at her as she crossed the food court. It was not a nasty smile, exactly, but not a nice one, either.
Today is the tomorrow you thought about yesterday.
And tomorrow, Gina knew, she would be doing the same job in another supermarket.
The automatic doors were still open, and two men in orange reflector jackets were busy trying to fix them. Gina thought they looked suspiciously like X-File types, involved in some kind of cover-up. Instead of there being a presence in the room, she felt an emptiness—like a swimming pool without water—as if something had drained away. What did it matter about yesterday, today and tomorrow? Everything looked as if it was made of cardboard. She felt as though she could reach out and poke her hand through it. She looked up at the ceiling, searching for the little bird, but it had flown away, of course.
Gina walked to the door. Then, a
t the last minute, she turned and walked back to the Wise Wizard. She found another coin and put it in the slot. But before she let it go, she took it out again. No. Instead of asking the Wise Wizard she would toss the coin and decide for herself. Heads, she would quit her stupid job. Tails, she wouldn’t.
With a flick of her thumb, Gina tossed the coin high into the air. But when she went to catch it, she missed and it slipped through her fingers. The coin fell to the floor and began to roll slowly away.
Gina let it go. She had already made up her mind.
STOREROOM
Adam had done his utmost. He had tried being cheerful, resourceful, helpful, enthusiastic, diligent, attentive, considerate, conscientious, assiduous, courteous, meticulous, flexible, receptive, dependable, industrious and responsible, but as far as he knew, Louisa hadn’t noticed any of it. Being the perfect worker made the time pass more quickly, but it wasn’t going to get him the girl. After several days of effort, Adam was exhausted. He practised saying ‘Not a problem, not a problem,’ over and over when no one else was around, but the more he said it, the less convincing he sounded. His face hurt from smiling too much. Now he knew what the checkout chicks complained of. He was fed up with being Mr Nice Guy.
In his tea break Adam borrowed Jared’s mobile to phone the TV repairman and see if his set was fixed yet.
‘What do you mean, you haven’t even looked at it?’
‘I didn’t know it was important,’ the TV repairman told him.
‘NOT IMPORTANT?’ he exploded. ‘IT’S MY TELEVISION!’ Adam gave the guy an earful and rang off. In a fury, he filled Goliath the box-crusher single-handedly, then wrestled so violently with the block of crushed cardboard that Jared and Dylan heard and came running to applaud him. They had never seen anyone so fired up. Adam was mad as hell and he wasn’t going to take it any more.
CUSTOMER SERVICE
The man at the Customer Service counter was shouting into his mobile phone as he handed Louisa a crumpled-up note. He was in his thirties, had broad shoulders, and was wearing a waterproof jacket with sponsors’ names written across it.
‘Give us a hand, will ya? I can’t read a word of this.’
Louisa uncrumpled the shopping list. The illegible squiggles could have said anything from Apples to Zebras.
‘She’s gone out with her friends,’ said the man, resuming his phone conversation. ‘I have to cook for myself again, the second time this month!’
Louisa tried to hand back the note but he ignored her.
‘That’s it, mate. They don’t appreciate us . . . Hang on, buddy.’
‘It’s impossible,’ Louisa told him. ‘I can’t make out a single word.’
The man gave Louisa a dirty look. He screwed up the shopping list and threw it away. ‘I give up, mate. Useless bloody checkout chick. She probably can’t read anyway.’
‘Pick that up, please,’ Louisa asked, but the man ignored her.
Unaccountably, her eyes filled with tears. She was exhausted. She had failed her Anatomy exam and now she had this pig to deal with. It was too much.
When Louisa lifted her head, she saw Adam coming towards her on a trolley pushed by Jared and Dylan. He was holding a mop in his hand like a knight in shining armour, riding to her rescue.
Adam jumped off the trolley to confront the man in the racing jacket. His face was red and he looked furious.
‘You heard her,’ he pointed at the crumpled paper on the floor. ‘She asked you to pick that up.’
The man in the racing jacket glanced at Jared and Dylan who were standing on either side of Adam. He put his phone away, picked up his shopping list and walked out of the store.
When he was gone, Louisa looked at Adam.
‘My hero!’ she laughed. Then she broke off a daisy and gave it to him.
AISLE
fourteen
FRUIT & VEGETABLES
Cameron the produce manager opened his Lonely Planet travel guide and ran his finger down the list of countries. Indonesia was out of the question— too many terrorists. Thailand was cool, but all his friends had been to Thailand. Cambodia was risky; the Khmer Rouge were still out there in the jungle somewhere. Malaysia was out—more terrorists. Vietnam? Too many unexploded landmines. The Philippines? Too sleazy. Laos? What the hell was there to do in Laos?
Myanmar?
Cameron turned to the page and started to read. Myanmar was the new name for Burma. It was a Buddhist country run by a military dictatorship. There were no terrorists but the visas were tight and there were areas where tourists were prohibited. Cameron was planning his honeymoon. He wanted it to be special. (Adventurous, to impress the girl, but not dangerous.) Myanmar, the book said, was a beautiful country. It was cheap. The fruit was good and there were some great beaches. Going there and spending money would be good for the economy, but would also be interpreted as support for the military dictatorship. It was a decision each individual tourist had to make for themselves.
Myanmar sounded cool, Cameron had to admit.
Nicola the dairy manager walked into the room and Cameron immediately covered his travel book with a sheet of paper. ‘Dill . . . parsley . . . basil . . . coriander,’ he murmured to himself, ticking a few boxes. ‘Morning, Nicola!’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Local orders.’
‘You know what I mean.’
There was a game Cameron liked to play in his head. All the girls he’d ever been out with were like pieces of fruit. Some were peaches, some were mangoes, some were figs and some were lemons. Nicola, he decided, was a pineapple.
‘Do I?’ he grinned.
‘That’s Amanda’s desk,’ said Nicola.
‘Was Amanda’s desk.’
‘And will be again, when Graham comes back.’
‘If Graham comes back.’
Nicola shook her head. ‘Did Amanda say you could use her desk while she’s the acting manager?’
‘I thought it was cool. You know, first come, first served.’
‘It doesn’t work that way, Cameron.’
‘Which way does it work, Nicola?’
‘You’ve already moved your stuff! What time did you get here this morning?’
‘I had a delivery.’
‘And how long have you been sitting there, guarding that stupid desk?’
‘I have been working, Nicola. Doing produce isn’t like doing dairy. There actually is some work involved.’
‘You’re pathetic.’
‘Do you want this desk?’
‘Not if I have to fight you for it.’
‘Well, that’s settled, then.’
Scott the trainee manager walked into the room. ‘Morning, team!’
‘Cameron has taken Amanda’s desk,’ said Nicola. ‘He says she may not be coming back.’
Scott looked at Cameron. ‘What’s the story, mate?’
Cameron shrugged. If women were like fruit, then men must be vegetables. Scott, he decided, was a cabbage.
‘I needed more space,’ he said. ‘That’s cool, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not cool,’ said Nicola. ‘Not with me, anyway.’
‘Did Amanda say you could have it?’ asked Scott.
‘She cleaned it out, didn’t she?’
Nicola shook her head. ‘I’ve been in this office longer than you have, Cameron.’
‘I’m doing Amanda’s job, while she’s doing Graham’s,’ said Scott.
‘And I’m doing Scott’s job while he’s doing Amanda’s,’ said Nicola.
‘And I’m getting married next month,’ said Cameron.
‘But you don’t hear me complaining.’
‘That’s pathetic!’ said Nicola.
‘Come on, mate,’ said Scott. ‘Be reasonable.’
Cameron turned his back on them. ‘Some of us have work to do,’ he said.
‘You won’t get away with this,’ said Nicola.
‘Damage, freshness, quantity, size . . .’ Cameron pretended he wasn’t listeni
ng any more.
Nicola put her hands on her hips. ‘You can’t guard it all day. The minute you leave this room, that’s it, buddy. No more desk!’
Cameron swivelled around to face her.
‘I have to go down to the coolroom now,’ he said. ‘I assume I will get back to find everything just as I’ve left it.’
‘You can assume whatever you want,’ said Nicola.
‘I have some very important documents here. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch anything.’
Cameron stood up. Nicola stepped to one side to let him leave, but then he saw the look on her face.
‘You wouldn’t dare, Nicola!’
‘Oh, wouldn’t I, Cameron?’
‘Come on, guys,’ said Scott. ‘This is getting stupid.’
Cameron moved towards the doorway. Nicola moved towards the desk. It was a stand-off.
‘I’m warning you, Nicola!’
‘Are you threatening me, Cameron?’
Cameron turned abruptly and walked out the door. As soon as he was gone, Nicola went to the desk and swept all his papers onto the floor. Within seconds, Cameron had returned. As he came back into the room—face red and fists clenched—Nicola spotted the guidebook.
‘What’s this?’
‘None of your business,’ Cameron fumed.
He tried to grab it, but she wouldn’t let go. There was a brief scuffle and the sound of ripping paper as a picture of a golden Buddha floated gently to the floor.
Then, from inside the store, there was a sudden loud explosion.
A middle-aged customer placed her shopping basket on Chloe’s counter.
‘I won’t be a moment,’ she said. ‘I’ve forgotten grapes.’
The customer behind her looked at Chloe. ‘Is she allowed to do that?’
Chloe shrugged.
The second woman looked around, but there was no sign of the first.
‘I’m in a bit of a hurry,’ she told Chloe. ‘I’m sure she won’t mind.’
The second woman put her basket to the front, but before Chloe could begin scanning, the first woman returned.
Shelf Life Page 11