Hurry Up and Wait

by Isabel Ashdown

  The two women scuttle around the back and in through the fire door.

  John hunches down and helps Sarah to her feet, taking her weight as she limps into the stock room at the back of the shop. ‘Did they just step over you?’ asks John, helping Sarah on to a chair. He’s shaking his head. ‘You wait till I tell my mum. Nasty, petty…’

  Barbara comes out of the kitchen. She doesn’t look in their direction, but stomps towards the front of the shop with her face turned absurdly high.

  ‘Right, that’s it,’ says John, and he marches out to the pharmacy and returns with his mother, Mrs Gilroy.

  Mrs Gilroy sends John out of the room and asks Sarah to roll down her tights so she can take a look at her injury. Already there’s a dark bruise forming, the size of a saucer. Mrs Gilroy rubs arnica cream into it vigorously. She checks Sarah’s arm, to make sure there’s no break. Sarah can’t remember such pain since she took a rounders ball in the shoulder in the fourth year. Mrs McCabe let her sit in her office for an hour with an ice pack pressed against the swelling, and they chatted together as the nurse pottered around sorting out her paperwork. Mrs McCabe had only just started at Selton High and she told Sarah about her last post at a small private girls’ school where they taught lacrosse and polo. ‘I’m used to these sorts of injuries,’ she said, lifting up the ice pack to check on the bruising. Her neat blonde hair curled on to her face as she inspected the bruise and Sarah wondered how old she was. Her face looked so smooth and clear in the dusty light of the room. Sarah hadn’t wanted to return to class for the afternoon, but Mrs McCabe smiled and said she’d be expected back. ‘Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to keep you here chatting,’ she’d said as Sarah stood up to go, and she gave her good shoulder a little pat as she left the room.

  It’s a shame Mrs McCabe’s just a nurse at the school; she’d make a far better teacher than most of the ones they have to put up with.

  ‘I think you should go home and put your leg up for the day,’ Mrs Gilroy says, with her hand resting on Sarah’s arm.

  ‘No! Really, I’m fine. Really.’ Sarah moves her arm around in circles to demonstrate.

  ‘Mmm.’ Mrs Gilroy puckers up her raspberry-lipsticked lips, before calling John back into the stock room. ‘We’ve got the big Christmas order in today, haven’t we, John?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Need a helper?’

  He breaks into a smile. ‘Yeah – I really do, actually. I’ll never get it all unpacked myself.’

  ‘Fine. So, Sarah, you can work out here with John today. If you feel even slightly unwell, you’re to go home. Understood?’

  ‘Yep. I’m fine!’ Sarah tries not to look too pleased, but it’s hard.

  ‘I’ll let you get on with it, then.’ Mrs Gilroy returns to the pharmacy, leaving the ghost of L’Air du Temps in her wake.

  ‘What’ll she do? About Barbara and Kerry?’ Sarah asks John.

  ‘Oh, nothing much. But they’ll know she knows.’

  When the delivery arrives, Sarah climbs into the racking as John passes boxes up to store away. She can feel her thigh bruise throbbing beneath her tights as she settles on to the top platform, and she gives it a sturdy rub as she adjusts her position to get comfortable. They make a good team: as soon as he climbs the steps with another package, Sarah appears at the edge ready to take it from him. The conversation is easy as they work, and John tells her all about his year at university, and his six months travelling after he dropped out.

  ‘You’d love New Zealand,’ he says. ‘Everything’s so simple there. We worked all day on the farm, and it’s bloody hard work, then in the evening everyone came together in a big team to make the food. Then you’ve got the rest of the night to chill out, smoke, listen to music, write letters home. I want to go back next year, when I’ve saved up.’ John passes Sarah a carton of disposable razors. ‘They go at the back, top left.’

  ‘What made you leave university?’ she asks, pushing the box into place.

  ‘My dad died.’

  There’s a pause between them. ‘Oh. What of?’

  ‘You know, cancer. It was pretty crappy really. He was ill for ages, it just went on and on. Then when he died, it was my first year exams and I screwed them all up, because my mind wasn’t on it. So I thought, what am I even doing here? What am I wasting my life here for, when I could die tomorrow? We all could. You know what I mean? So I jacked it in, worked for a few months till I had my air fare, then off I went.’

  When Barbara and Kerry come out for their tea break, Sarah and John remain up in the racking out of sight, laughing and whispering. Barbara and Kerry must know they’re up there, because the conversation below is stifled and low. John opens and closes his mouth like a ventriloquist’s dummy, in time with their talking, pulling gossipy faces and gesticulating with his hands. Sarah sticks her tongue under her bottom lip and crosses her eyes, flapping her hands limply as if she’s lost all muscle control. Barbara and Kerry discuss the contents of their lunchboxes and Coronation Street and the weather, and when they run out of things to say they cut their tea break short to get back to the shop floor.

  ‘Yay! Good riddance,’ says Sarah, cheering with her fists.

  ‘What about you?’ asks John as he climbs down again. ‘What’s the deal with your folks?’

  ‘My dad’s retired. He’s quite old, compared to all my friends’ parents. He used to work at the university over in Tighborn. Teaching history.’

  ‘And your mum?’

  ‘She’s dead. I never really knew her; I was just a baby.’

  ‘Wow, that’s heavy. You got a stepmum?’

  ‘No. Although my dad’s mentioned this woman a couple of times lately. Deborah. In fact, I think he’s meeting her today, because he was all secretive about what he was doing. That’s how I can tell. He goes all vague. If I ask him what he’s doing, he goes, “Um, well, oh, yes, I’m meeting a friend for supper,” and I can just tell it’s not any old friend. He said he’ll be back late tonight, and not to wait up. And he never stays out late. It’s pathetic really. He’s in his sixties!’

  ‘Ahh, I think it’s quite nice. To have a girlfriend at his age.’

  ‘Urghh. I think it’s disgusting!’

  John laughs, and they climb down for their lunch break. As usual John’s bought himself a tuna sandwich from Valerie’s on the Parade, and he only eats one half before having his crisps and Club biscuit.

  ‘Right, then,’ he says, quietly rummaging through the coat rack. ‘Which one of these is Barbara’s?’

  ‘The lilac one,’ Sarah replies, frowning.

  John sits at the bench with Barbara’s coat on his lap, carefully unpicking a small section at the bottom of the lining. ‘You keep watch,’ he says.

  Sarah watches as he breaks up the rest of his sandwich and pops the pieces in through the lining. He takes the stapler from the desk and closes up the hem with three sharp snaps, before turning the coat round the right side and holding it up to Sarah. ‘No one would ever know the difference,’ he says, and he gently hangs it back on the coat rack, exactly where it had been before.

  ‘Brilliant!’ whispers Sarah. She jumps up and down on the spot, clapping her hands and wincing at the throb in her thigh.

  John stares at her intently. ‘I wish you could work in here all the time,’ he says.

  ‘Me too,’ says Sarah. ‘So, what’s next?’

  The shop closes at 5.30, and, when Sarah and John leave together, Dante’s waiting at the entrance to the alleyway.

  ‘Alright, mate.’ He nods to John.

  ‘Alright,’ John returns a curt smile.

  ‘See you tomorrow, then?’ Sarah says.

  John gives Dante a last quick glance. ‘Cheers, Sarah.’ He sticks his hands deep into his pockets and breaks into a jog to cross the road, his ponytail bouncing against his back with every step. Sarah watches him as he skips up on to the pavement on the other side of the road and strolls along the Parade into the darkness.

  �
��Who’s that?’ asks Dante.

  ‘Oh, that’s just John. Mrs Gilroy’s son. He works in the stock room.’

  ‘So,’ says Dante.

  ‘So.’

  ‘So, I thought I’d come and meet you from work.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  Dante scowls. ‘Haven’t seen you for ages.’

  ‘Weeks,’ she says. She looks at her shoes and kicks a piece of gravel off and over the steps.

  ‘Sorry. I’m an idiot. So you haven’t got yourself a new boyfriend, then?’ He nods in the direction that John just went.

  Sarah tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and laughs. ‘I thought you might have gone away for Christmas. Or left the country.’

  ‘Nah, we’re here for the holidays. Anyway, the old folks are out tonight and I thought I’d see if you wanted to come and watch a film at mine? I’ll do us a pizza.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I like pizza.’

  ‘Alright, then, I’ll get fish and chips.’

  ‘You’ve never invited me to your place before.’

  ‘Well, now I am. I’ve got to get some stuff from the Co-op. I’ll see you round mine at seven?’

  She folds her arms across her chest, and looks as if she’s thinking about it. ‘OK,’ she finally says, and she kisses him quickly on the mouth.

  He smiles broadly and saunters off along the Parade. Sarah rushes home to shower and get herself ready for the evening, relieved to know that they’re alright after all.

  The entrance hall of Dante’s house is enormous, with a polished oak staircase sweeping through the middle. A beautiful floor-to-ceiling tree twinkles in the corner, surrounded with an array of brightly coloured packages, stacked up beneath its branches.

  ‘Wow. How old is your house?’ Sarah asks as he shows her through.

  ‘Dunno. 1800s, I think. Come and get a drink.’

  In the big country kitchen, Dante opens the fridge and offers Sarah wine, beer or cider.

  ‘Um, cider, I guess,’ she says, accepting a can of Merrydown. She watches Dante pour himself a glass of white wine. ‘So what film did you get?

  ‘Bachelor Party.’ He returns the white wine bottle to the fridge and leads them back down the hall.

  ‘Bachelor Party? You’re joking?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. Ed chose it.’

  ‘Ed?’

  In the living room another lad sits on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, a can of lager in one hand, the remote control in the other.

  Dante gestures towards him. ‘Ed, Sarah. Sarah, Ed.’

  ‘Nice one,’ says Ed, looking up briefly. He’s busy fast-forwarding through the adverts.

  Sarah smiles politely, as disappointment floods in. Dante spreads out on the sofa next to Ed, leaving her the armchair.

  ‘Grab a pew,’ he tells her. ‘I’ve stuck the pizzas in the oven. I didn’t get fish and chips in the end. Thought you should try a pizza, Sar. There’s oven chips too.’

  She frowns at him.

  Dante looks away. ‘Yeah, I bumped into Ed in the video shop. You don’t mind, do you, Sar?’ He doesn’t look at her, but bends down to unlace his Converse boots.

  She’s not sure why she even bothered coming. ‘So what’s the film about?’ she asks.

  Ed sniggers.

  Dante gives him a shove. ‘It’s about this bloke, Tom Hanks, and he’s about to get married, and he decides to have a stag party.’

  Great. Sarah takes a swig from her cider. She feels the fizz rising up the back of her nose.

  ‘Yup,’ says Ed, raising his can and clinking it against Dante’s wine glass. ‘Yes, sireee!’

  They start the film and Sarah tries to get into the spirit of things, knocking back her cider and almost starting to enjoy herself. Tom Hanks is even quite funny. The timer on the oven buzzes and Dante sprints out of the room to sort out the pizzas. There’s an awkward space while Ed and Sarah don’t speak a word, both of them fixing their eyes on the paused image on the television screen. Tom Hanks is in a mechanic’s workshop, standing beneath an elevated car, working on it with a spanner. The picture is all fuzzy.

  ‘How do you know Dante?’ Sarah asks finally, leaning forward to put her empty can on the coffee table. It makes a hollow clink.

  ‘Oh. Sixth form,’ Ed says, still looking at the TV. He bites the corner of his thumbnail.

  Dante carries in a tray of food and drinks, and slides it on to the middle of the table. ‘Get stuck in, mate,’ he says to Ed.

  Ed presses play on the remote control and they fill up their plates and open more drinks. Ed takes a long slurp from his can and belches loudly; Dante lifts up one buttock and farts. They shake hands and laugh. She glares at them with disgust.

  ‘Sorry, Sar,’ Dante smirks. ‘It’s Ed. He brings out the worst in me.’

  Ed guffaws and slaps his own legs.

  ‘But feel free to join in if you like.’

  Sarah continues to frown at Dante.

  ‘Joke,’ he mouths at her.

  ‘Oh, man!’ Ed abruptly sits up, so that he’s on the edge of the sofa, straining his neck towards the TV. He’s got a cluster of small red spots on either corner of his chin. ‘Look at those women. Oh, my God. Look at her tits. They are phenomenal, man!’

  ‘It’s breast heaven, my friend,’ says Dante, stretching across to pour himself another glass of wine. ‘Titty utopia.’

  Sarah stares at the side of Dante’s face, silently urging him to look at her. She’s never seen him like this before.

  ‘Mammary Madness,’ says Ed.

  ‘Puppy Pandemonium.’

  ‘Booby Bonanza.’

  Sarah wants to say something clever to put the two of them down, but she’s speechless. The TV screen is bursting with half-naked women with oily pneumatic breasts and Bonnie Tyler hairdos. The men in the film are making comedy lust faces and blinking hard.

  Ed sits back in his seat. ‘Pass me a pillow, mate.’

  Dante hands Ed a cushion, which he places across his lap.

  Ed glances up at Dante. ‘Boner.’

  Dante sniggers and shakes his head. ‘Control yourself, man.’ Then he looks over at Sarah, who’s knocking back her second cider, and adds, ‘Mind you, I’ve got a bit of a semi myself.’

  ‘Sure Sarah’ll help you out with that,’ says Ed, still focusing intently on the shiny onscreen breasts. He moves his mouth mechanically, as if he’s silently whistling.

  Dante gulps back his wine in one mouthful. ‘Doubt it, mate. Doubt it very much.’

  Sarah puts down her can, and leaves.

  Tuesday is Christmas Eve, and Mrs Gilroy asks Sarah to arrive half an hour earlier as it could be the busiest day of the year. There’s still ice outside, and she takes extra care as she comes in through the alleyway.

  ‘Before we open, I’d like you to do a nice display of all the fragrance sets down at the front counter – we’re always run off our feet with panic-shoppers on Christmas Eve. And when you’ve finished there, perhaps you can do something with the window too? Freshen it up with some different gifts and perfumes.’

  Sarah gets to work on the display, first moving the existing nail care unit to polish down the surfaces. She loves this kind of work, and never gets much of a chance to do it when Barbara’s around. When she finishes at the front counter, she steps into the window and starts to remove the current display, brushing up the dust and fluff from around the little tree that she and John put up a couple of weeks back. She rearranges the shelf units, before fetching fresh tissue paper from the stock room.

  ‘Morning!’ John calls down from the racking.

  ‘Hi, John,’ Sarah replies, carefully easing half a dozen pieces of red tissue paper from the flat pack on the desk.

  ‘What’re you up to?’

  ‘Window display. I’d better hurry up, we open in ten minutes.’

  ‘So you won’t be helping me out in here today, then?’

  ‘Doubt it. Mrs Gilroy reckons we’re going to be busy. See ya!�
�� She rushes back to the shop front and starts to arrange the tissue.

  From the window, she sees Barbara and Kerry crossing the road on their way in. Barbara looks furious when she sees her doing the display. She accelerates to a fast waddle, and marches up the steps into the alleyway beside the window. Sarah hears a loud wallop on the pavement beyond the glass, and can just see the edge of Barbara’s head on the floor, sticking out from the alleyway. Kerry is flapping around like a spooked goose.

  Sarah quickly steps out from the window display. ‘Mrs Gilroy!’ she shouts as she tugs at the locked front door to go to Barbara’s aid.

  Mrs Gilroy rushes through the shop and unlocks the door. Round the corner in the alleyway, Barbara is lying on the icy pavement, groaning. Mrs Gilroy asks her where it hurts. ‘Best not to move her,’ she says. ‘Sarah, you get John to fetch out a blanket, and I’ll phone an ambulance. Kerry, you’ll have to stay with her until the ambulance comes.’

  Barbara carries on groaning and Kerry looks on, helpless and pale. Inside the shop, Sarah overhears Mrs Gilroy on the phone. ‘Yes, well, she’s quite a large woman, so I don’t think we should move her. You’ll need a stretcher and two strong men.’

  John returns from delivering the blanket, adopting a saintly expression as he passes Sarah. ‘Karma,’ he whispers.

  Sarah goes back to dressing the window as Mrs Gilroy opens up the front door. Kerry’s still outside, shivering and moving from foot to foot. Every now and then she meets Sarah’s eye and Sarah smiles, but Kerry looks away quickly, as if she’s being disloyal to Barbara. Twenty minutes later, the emergency men come to scoop Barbara off the pavement, staggering slightly as they try to ease her into the back of the ambulance. They almost tip Barbara straight off the stretcher and into the road. Kerry gasps, clutching her handbag to her chest. Karma.

  By mid-morning, Mrs Gilroy has made John change into a white shirt so that he can serve out front as they’re short-handed. He looks really annoyed at first, but working behind the counter with Sarah quickly lifts his mood. Kerry has been asked to stay on the front till all morning, so Sarah hardly has to speak to her at all. Kate’s dad comes in, looking for a present.