‘Keys!’ I screech as my fingers close around cold metal, yank them out in victory, get my glove caught on the bag zipper, and promptly drop said keys onto a frozen puddle, where they slip and slide away from me and straight into the shiny toe of the nameless man’s smart shoes.
He lifts his toe and stops them, pressing them down into the frozen pavement until I’ve managed to free my glove from the bag and skid across to retrieve them. He gives me a look that says he’s seen a more competent shop manager showing its bum to visitors in the baboon enclosure of the local zoo.
My hands are shaking as I try to fit the key into the frozen lock and end up having to crouch down and blow on it in an attempt to defrost it. A customer walking past stops to look in the window, but takes one look at us gathered around the door and walks away.
The man clicks his tongue. ‘Lost trade. Do you realize it’s gone nine?’
‘No, the church bell chiming nine times didn’t give it away,’ I mutter, momentarily forgetting who I’m talking to.
I wish I could momentarily forget the appalled look on his face too.
The key finally crunches through the last of the ice in the lock and turns. ‘Ah, here we are. Just let me go and rescue Mary from the car park and I’ll be with you. Cup of tea?’
Both give me two orders for varying amounts of milk and sugar, which I immediately forget.
Thankfully, Mary has got a bit more experience of managing directors and shakes hands with the man – who loudly laments about how cold she is – and embraces the woman like an old friend. Still no names though.
She saves my life by offering to make the teas and takes their orders again without showing me up for the nervous idiot I am. With Mary upstairs, I can’t leave the shop floor in case a customer comes in, so I stand there like a plum, still in my coat, bag over my arm, coffee cup in hand.
The managers take the opportunity to wander around inspecting everything. I watch the lady pull out a blouse that wasn’t hung properly, tut, undo the buttons and redo them so it sits nicely on the hanger. I want to tell her that I didn’t put it out like that, someone’s obviously tried it on and put it back wonky, and we closed up in a hurry on Saturday for the tree lighting and we clearly didn’t catch it. I keep my mouth shut. The man swipes his fingertip across the top of the rails, inspects it, and clicks his tongue.
The usual Christmas radio station I have playing quietly in one corner is replaced by a cacophony of tuts and tongue clicks.
I sip my coffee and tell myself to calm down. I have nothing to worry about. Sales are stronger this month than they’ve been for years, even a stray dust bunny lurking under the men’s trousers that I must’ve missed when hoovering isn’t enough cause for them to complain. Our double window display is striking, with all the mannequins standing around a Christmas tree, surrounded by balled-up wrapping paper to make it look like they’ve just unwrapped the gifts on show, the selection of clothing is good because our donations have increased as more people have come back to the high street, and the bric-a-brac shelves are miraculously tidy. There’s nothing for them to find fault with.
The man strides past me and stops to give my latte a death glare. ‘Coffee cup on the shop floor. Unhygienic and unprofessional.’
‘There’s no one here!’
His frown doesn’t let up. I’m tempted to mention something about the consequences of the wind changing but I sigh instead. ‘I’ll stash it under the counter if anyone comes in.’
‘You know the rules. You’re meant to be the one enforcing them. If you have drinks on the shop floor then the volunteers have probably got cups of tea and biscuits and God knows what else out here. I fired a volunteer at another branch for eating a pasty on the shop floor last week. A pasty!’
‘Crime of the century,’ I mutter, thinking I just fancy a pasty. I wonder if there’s any hope of the bakery coming back to Oakbarrow, they used to do a gorgeous pasty.
The woman comes to join the man near the counter. ‘We were admiring the artwork on that coffee shop up the street. Looks a bit like the sort of thing you usually do on these windows. Your handiwork?’
‘Me?’ I squeak. ‘What shop was this again?’
She nods to the latte cup in my hand. ‘That shop.’
‘Oh!’ I give the cup an offended look, like it has somehow placed itself in my hand without express permission. ‘No, I don’t know anything about that.’
‘Only it is Bedford Falls, isn’t it? And you are, of course, Georgia Bailey. I thought there might be a connection.’
‘Not at all.’ I give her a smile so falsely sweet that a child would only have to look at me for their teeth to fall out. ‘I only work on our windows. Gotta have something to make us stand out,’ I trill, wondering if the cereal I had for breakfast was actually budgie food by mistake.
Mary rescues me once more by choosing that moment to pop her head round from the back room. ‘Two cups of tea and a packet of choccie biccies we were saving for a special occasion,’ she says, thankfully having the sense not to bring their drinks onto the shop floor like I would have. ‘Shall I take over on the till and you can all go through?’
‘Thanks,’ I mouth to her as they file out the back, only to be met with half the room buried under unsorted black plastic bags full of donations.
‘Not many of the volunteers have been in this week because it’s nearly Christmas,’ I say by way of explanation.
‘Volunteers or not, this is a hazard.’ The man nudges one of the bags with the toe of his polished shoe. ‘I suppose you were just going to leave it all here over Christmas? There could be anything in those bags. If you don’t have volunteers, you do the sorting yourself. You are paid staff, are you not?’
‘I was going to do it today,’ I lie.
‘With only yourself and Mary to cover the shop floor? Who was going to do the take-offs? Who would steam the clothes? Perhaps you were planning to open the door and invite customers to help themselves and pop their own money in the till as a goodwill gesture?’
‘Look, there was this thing on Saturday night for the street, and we left early and –’
The man’s head whips round so fast I’m surprised he won’t need a chiropractor to sort his neck out. ‘Early?’
‘In a hurry!’ I should’ve just given him a shovel and saved myself the trouble of digging this hole. ‘Not early. In a hurry. To get to this Christmas street thing, for community spirit, you know? We were both there, um, promoting the shop.’
‘Did you hand out leaflets?’
‘Er, some,’ I lie again. I try for a swift subject change before they question me any further. ‘Would you like to go upstairs to the office?’
‘No, I think I’ll stay here by this nice warm radiator,’ the lady says, warming her hands above it.
I silently thank Mary for thinking to put the heating on. I had not.
‘Can you bring your paperwork downstairs and we’ll check it over?’ she says. ‘We need to confirm your figures against the ones being reported as there’s been such a spike in sales.’
‘Of course, won’t be a tick,’ I say as I go up the stairs to get it, trying not to watch the man pushing aside piles of unsorted bric-a-brac to make a space on the workbench.
When I get back downstairs with the file of this month’s sales figures and takings, amazingly without dropping the pages all over the place, the woman is still trying to warm her hands up on the radiator and the man is peering critically at the rail of clothes next in line to go out to the shop floor. They’ve both ignored their tea and they haven’t even touched the chocolate biscuits. What is wrong with these people?
‘Here we go,’ I say breezily, putting the file down and opening it out in the empty space that was once my organized chaos workbench. I see an opportunity to find out their names while they’re distracted. ‘I’ll just check Mary’s okay out there. Won’t be a tick.’
Except I don’t get a chance.
‘George!’ Casey bellows, letting her
self in the back door.
I flinch at the look the managers’ exchange. It’s easy to see what they’re thinking: security issue.
‘Another Leo situation has arisen in the bank!’ she yells, stopping in her tracks when she comes into the back room and sees the two official-looking people. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was anyone here. I mean, um …’
‘A Leo situation?’
Casey’s eyes meet mine over the rack of clothes, looking for help with an explanation. I wrack my brain trying to think of something. A star sign emergency? An escaped lion?
‘A bloke who brings us regular donations,’ I say in a flurry of inspiration. ‘He gets confused and takes them next door by mistake. Such a silly man!’ I titter. When have I ever tittered in my life?
‘I’ll just go and collect them. Won’t be a tick!’ I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told them I won’t be a tick now. They’re going to get a complex that I’m trying to get away from them. Would they notice if I left them with the paperwork and just disappeared into the bank until they leave?
‘You’re very squeaky this morning,’ Casey says as I bundle her out the door and shut it behind us. ‘Who are they? Why are there birds outside tweeting in lower pitches than you?’
‘Managing directors,’ I say, trying to regain my normal voice. ‘Unannounced spot check. Did Leo say what he wants?’
‘No, but speaking of managers, Jerry’s off sick and –’
I barely hear her over the rushing in my head. Leo’s come looking for me. Is it to confront me? To say good morning because he didn’t have time earlier? That’s the sort of thing Leo would do – wander down when the shop’s emptier because he was busy before? Maybe all my worrying has been for nothing. Maybe Bernard’s comment on Saturday wasn’t as obvious as I thought.
I yank the back door of the bank open and run headfirst into a man. A very large man. In a very posh suit. Who is glaring at Casey. ‘I was just coming to find out where you’d disappeared to,’ he barks. ‘What is going on in this place? Why am I like a bloody sheepdog having to round up my staff?’
He turns his beady eyes to me. ‘And who the hell are you? You don’t work here.’
‘Who the hell are you? You don’t work here!’ I snap at him, regretting it instantly. What was Casey just saying about managers? His dark blue suit over the familiar light blue shirt of the bank’s uniform says he clearly does work here. Me, on the other hand …
His eyes narrow even further and I do the only thing I can think of. I reach up and pat his shoulder. ‘It’s fine, I have security clearance, I work next door. Won’t be a tick!’
Apparently when in a pickle, telling people you ‘won’t be a tick’ is guaranteed to work.
‘It is not fine!’ the man shouts as I hurry away from him. ‘Call the police! We’ve got a security breach!’
‘It’s honestly fine.’ I hear Casey trying to reason with him. ‘She’s my friend, everyone knows her …’
All I can think about is Leo. Or, more specifically, grabbing Leo by the arm and dragging him halfway up the street before that man shouts any louder.
‘Leo!’ I sound more than a bit hysterical as I barrel headfirst out of the staff door and into the surprisingly crowded bank.
Leo smiles when he sees me and holds a cup of hot chocolate out. ‘My favourite Georgia’ is scrawled on the cup in his looping handwriting. ‘Thought it might be too soon for another coffee, but I wanted to see you. I should’ve said hello to you this morning. Properly.’ He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and no matter what else is going on, my knees still feel a bit jelly-like at the thought of kissing Leo.
‘Who the hell are you?’ the man bellows, the security door slamming as he storms out behind me. ‘What the hell is this about non-staff members having security codes? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!’
‘Everything all right?’ Leo asks me.
‘Oh, fine!’ I say, even though I can basically hear the boom of my lies imploding. ‘Utterly fine! Why don’t we go outside for a minute?’
‘Excuse me, Georgia?’ The lady boss from One Light pops her head round the front door of the bank before I have a chance to push Leo through it. ‘If someone’s bringing donations here by mistake, you really must direct them to the correct place. Donations here would be a serious security issue.’
‘She’s a serious security issue,’ the new man yells at her before turning back to me. ‘Who the bloody hell are you and what are you doing in the staff-only area of my bank?’
My eyes flick to Leo as I turn to face the new man. ‘I work here,’ I try, my voice shaking as much as my confidence in this ridiculous plan is.
‘You’ve just told me you work next door. If you work here, why aren’t you on any of the staff rosters? Where’s your staff ID? Why weren’t you here at nine o’clock this morning?’
‘Who are you?’ I counter. ‘You’re the intruder. Why have I never seen you before? Where’s your staff ID?’
He swiftly produces it from his pocket. Hmpf.
All the customers in the bank have turned to look at the source of the yelling, and joy of joys, my managing director didn’t stop at putting her head round the door of the bank but has now come to stand inside, closely followed by the nameless man. They look at each other like they should’ve brought a bucket of popcorn and a large Coke.
‘I was trying to tell you that Jerry’s been signed off for two weeks with tonsillitis,’ Casey says. ‘This is his temporary replacement from another branch, Mr Atherley.’
‘Do you think I don’t know a bank robber when I see one?’ Mr Atherley demands.
‘A bank robber?’ I splutter. ‘Oh, come on. Seriously?’
He crosses his arms and glares at me a bit harder. ‘Behind the counter is strictly off limits to the general public and you’re running around in there willy nilly! What exactly are you doing if not trying to rob the joint? There’s no point playing innocent now you’ve been caught!’
Leo looks like he walked into a bank and ended up in a fridge-freezer.
I give him a smile through gritted teeth. ‘The world has gone nuts. How strong was the mulled wine from The Bum on Saturday? I think people are still drunk!’
‘I’ve clearly come at a bad time,’ he says, gesturing towards the door. ‘I’d best leave you to it.’
Even in the midst of all this, it strikes me how sweet he is. He must have realized what’s going on by now. The replacement manager has just yelled that I’m not staff about twenty times and he’s mentioned me working next door. He knows what’s going on – he’s just making things less awkward for me by disappearing.
Again, I realize how much better he deserves than this.
‘Leo, wait!’ I lean forward to grab his arm just as Mr Atherley grabs mine and curls his fingers around my wrist.
‘Oh no, you’re not going anywhere, Little Miss Thief.’
Leo stops and turns back, half-looking like he wants to run away and half-looking like he wants to lamp Mr Atherley for hurting me.
Which is quite sweet, given the circumstances.
It’s a perfect storm of everything you don’t want to happen happening all at once. All the people you hoped would never be in the same place at the same time are all right there. I can almost hear the Jaws music.
Oh, wait. No, that’s just the police sirens.
‘Yes, you can look worried, girl. “I work next door and someone gave me security codes,”’ Mr Atherley says, putting on a high voice to imitate me. ‘What a lot of nonsense. Casing the joint, more like. The police are on their way. I’m sure they’ll be happy I caught you so early – attempted robbery, trespassing, fraud, and there are many other charges relating to being in the staff-only area of a bank without permission.’
‘This is really just a big misunderstanding. I have permission. This was fine with –’ I cut myself off before I drop Jerry in it. He shouldn’t have ever let me in here, I know that, and I can’t throw h
im under a bus to save my own skin.
‘I don’t want to hear your excuses. You can explain to the police. Honestly, I don’t know how you ever thought you were going to get away with it.’
‘Me neither,’ I mutter, although I’m not talking about robbing a bank.
‘George …’ Leo starts, but he’s cut off by the flash of blue lights and the slamming of car doors outside.
* * *
Handcuffs are tight, aren’t they?
I’ve been dragged outside into the street to save making a scene in the bank, as if the angry man pacing up and down outside shouting about robberies while a policeman tries to calm him down is making any less of a scene. Except now we’ve got an even bigger audience.
Casey has thrown herself against the door of the police car to stop them taking me away.
‘Oh, come on,’ I say for the millionth time. ‘I’m not a bank robber.’
‘If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard a bank robber say that,’ Mr Atherley scoffs.
‘This is ridiculous.’ I turn to the other policeman who is standing close to me in case I make a run for it despite the handcuffs. ‘Everyone there will vouch for me. I’ve worked next door for years. I know all your staff.’
‘So you’ve used your connections to gain access,’ Mr Atherley sneers.
‘I wasn’t doing any harm. I popped in to see my friend.’ I nod towards Casey who nods emphatically in agreement.
Everyone is looking. The two managing directors are watching with extreme interest, and from the corner by the bank I can see Maggie standing in the doorway of It’s A Wonderful Latte. Mary is in the doorway of One Light, along with every other shop owner standing in their own doorways, and there’s a crowd of people gathered around. But mainly there’s Leo.
He stands out because he’s the only part of this I truly care about.
‘She’s not doing anything wrong,’ Casey says.
‘There’s an innocent, completely reasonable explanation for this,’ I say, hoping no one will actually ask me for it.
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