by Rachel Ward
The colour drained out of Ant’s face. ‘No, it’s all right. I think I’ve just lost the urge.’ He scuttled off towards the main door.
‘Charming,’ said Dot.
‘Ne’mind, doll. Lucky escape, if you ask me. Would you really have liked it if he was interested?’
‘I’m not past it, you know.’
‘I know. But he’s half your age, more than. That’s a bit yucky, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe I fancy a toy boy. Besides, it’s slim pickings these days.’
‘You should put Bob-on-Meat out of his misery. He’s been mooning after you for as long as I’ve been here.’
‘I know, I know, but he’s not, you know, very exciting, is he? Not my type.’
‘He’s got a pulse, hasn’t he?’
‘Cheeky cow.’ No customers in sight, Dot swivelled her chair round so she could chat properly. ‘Look at that sky. It’s going to piss down in a minute. That’ll dampen young Anthony down.’
‘Lol. Something needs to.’ Bea looked out of the window. It had certainly clouded over, and the sky was ominously dark to the west, over the High Street rooftops and the church tower.
‘Missed you this morning, Bea,’ said Dot. ‘You on lates again today?’
‘Yeah, here till ten. Queenie will have to get her own dinner tonight. I’ll be keeping an eye on the lonely hearts club in aisle ten. Make sure there’s no hanky-panky.’
Dot laughed and pursed her lips. ‘Ooh, passion among the pot noodles.’
‘Snogging by the stir in sauces.’ Bea put her hands on her hips and wiggled a little bit in her seat.
‘Sauciness by the steak bakes.’
‘Mmm, I love Thursdays.’
Dot shuffled her chair a little closer, leaned towards Bea and lowered her voice.
‘Do you ever, you know, hang about the ready meals when you’re here on date night?’
‘No!’ She could see in Dot’s eyes she didn’t believe her. Perhaps she’d overplayed the outrage.
‘Why not, babe?’ said Dot. ‘You might meet someone.’
Bea picked at a rogue spot of nail varnish near her thumbnail. ‘I don’t want to,’ she said. ‘Not the sort of creep who hangs out by the freezers in Costsave anyway.’
‘Hmm. Maybe you’re too picky. Maybe that’s why . . . ’
‘Why what?’ She looked up now, with a ferocity that told Dot she’d just crossed a line.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘Why what? Spit it out, Dot.’
‘Why you’re single. I mean, you’re a lovely girl.’
‘Yeah, damn right, I am. I don’t need anyone. And I don’t need you poking your nose into my business.’
‘Okay. Okay, I’m sorry, Bea.’
Her apology was too late. It couldn’t cut through the atmosphere between them, an invisible wall between checkouts five and six. Dot slid her chair back and turned to face the next customer.
Bea busied herself with her customers too, but she was low on banter this afternoon and painfully aware of Dot’s silent presence nearby. She had trouble making herself heard – the rain was lashing horizontally against the big windows a few metres away. She thought she sensed Dot glancing at her, but when she turned to look, her back was turned.
After ten minutes or so, Bea noticed Ant trailing through the main doorway to the store, dragging his litter picker behind him and leaving a small lake in his wake. Before he’d got more than a few metres, Neville pounced, sprinting from his customer service station and blocking his way.
‘Not through the store like that, boy! Round the back. Round the back!’ He was windmilling his arm dramatically, describing big circles in the air. Ant looked at him with an undisguised loathing. His hair was plastered to his scalp. Water dripped off his chin.
‘You’re kidding. I can’t go out there again,’ he said.
‘You’re not coming through the store. Out you go.’
Bea realised she was holding her breath. Was Ant simply going to punch Neville in his smug, overbearing face? But no, the lad’s shoulders sagged, he put his head down and he turned around and trudged out of the shop.
‘Thought Nev was going to cop it then,’ said Dot.
‘Yeah, me too. Some people’d pay good money to see that.’
They caught each other’s eye. Bea wanted to hug Dot when she sent her a cheeky wink, but instead she just smiled and carried on working, happy that normal service had been resumed. It was coming up to her break. Kirsty was hovering behind her till, ready to take over. She was Bea’s mum’s age, dependable, cheerful, and quick – one of the shoppers’ favourites.
‘Phew,’ she said. ‘Thought I’d get washed away getting here today. I just beat the rain. Did you see young Anthony out in the car park? Talk about drowned rat.’
Bea smiled. ‘Yeah. There’s always someone worse off, isn’t there?’
She eased out of her chair and headed for the staffroom. Ant had taken his fluorescent jacket off and thrown it over the back of a chair. His hair was still dripping, so were his jeans, which were saturated and shiny.
Bea reached into the cupboard under the sink and took out a tea towel.
‘Here,’ she said, holding it out towards Ant. ‘Dry yourself off on this and then go and stand by the hand dryer in the loos. You can tip the thing so it does your hair.’
‘Ah, cheers, Bea. I thought I was going to drown out there. Did you see what that tosser made me do? Walk all the way round?’
‘Yeah. That’s Neville for you. Rules is rules. Go on, go and get dry. I’ll make you a cuppa.’
A few minutes later he emerged from the men’s toilet looking a bit like a freshly laundered hedgehog.
‘That’s better,’ Bea said with a smile, handing him his mug of tea. He sank down into an armchair, with his back to the door.
‘Ta, mate. Aww, that’s hitting the spot.’ He held the mug with both hands and drank it quickly.
‘Can’t believe this place. I feel like a slave. How am I meant to say “yes, sir, no, sir” when my boss is such a dick?’
Bea’s eyes grew wide as she saw Big Gav appear in the doorway. She looked from him to Ant and back again.
‘Ant!’ she hissed. Too late.
‘Are my ears burning?’ Gavin said, walking fully into the room. Ant’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. His mouth fell open, just wide enough to put his other foot right in it.
‘No, not you, Mr Howells. Neville – he’s the—’
‘He’s your line manager. He’s the one who reports to me and tells me whether we should keep you on or not. That one?’
Ant was slumped even further down in his chair now, defeated. He couldn’t look at Gavin.
‘Yeah. That’s the one,’ he said.
‘I can’t have you talking like that about any member of staff, let alone your manager.’
Bea winced. Was he going to issue an official warning?
‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear it this time, but don’t let me catch you again.’ He strode over to the kettle and started to make himself a cup of coffee.
Ant was still looking at the floor. ‘Yes, Mr Howells. Thank you, Mr Howells.’
‘Those trousers are still wet, aren’t they?’ His voice was softer now. ‘Bea, have a rummage in the lost property cupboard. Get him some dry ones.’
When Gavin left the room, Bea told Ant where the cupboard was and to look for himself. ‘I’m not his slave, or yours.’
‘All right, but make me another cuppa, will you?’
She showed him her middle finger, but collected his mug and walked over to the sink.
Ant found some dry clothes. He held out the trousers and examined them. ‘Who the hell loses their keks in a supermarket? Oh well.’ He started peeling off his wet trousers.
‘Oi! Not here! Do it in the men’s toilets.’
He ignored her and although she looked away ostentatiously, she still caught a flash of his white shorts out of the corner of her eye.
‘No peeping!’ he said, in mock horror and, despite herself, she felt a hot blush spreading into her face. He put on the dry trousers. They were pull-on cotton khaki ones with an elastic waist, a bit too short in the leg for him. It wasn’t a good look. ‘There. All decent.’
He strutted around the room like a model on a catwalk, then threw himself back down on the sofa and started sipping his second cup of tea.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘Deano said that Thursday is date night here. Was he just winding me up?’
‘Nah,’ said Bea. ‘He’s not what I’d call a reliable source, but it’s true all right. It’s not official, like we don’t make announcements or anything or hand out roses at the door, but it’s definitely a thing.’
‘Seriously? So what happens? How does it work?’
‘People just turn up and do a bit of shopping, but if they put a bunch of bananas in their trolley or basket it means they’re single and shopping for something else too.’
Ant started laughing so violently he sprayed tea over a wide arc in front of him. ‘Bananas? Love it.’
Bea smiled. ‘I know. What are people like? It’s quite sweet sometimes. Actually nice to see people talking to each other, rather than walking about wrapped up in their own little worlds.’
Ant wasn’t listening. ‘Bananas. Brilliant. What if you’re a lesbo? Do you bung a couple of melons in there?’
Bea looked at him witheringly. ‘Don’t know. Shall I try it?’
Ant’s jaw dropped open. ‘What? Are you—?’
Bea raised her beautifully arched eyebrows and tapped her nose. Then without saying a word, she headed back to the shop floor.
The evening seemed to be dragging. Bea got on with all the girls on the checkouts but it was never as much fun without Dot there. She’d gone home at five, as had Ant, who had been back on general cleaning for the second half of the afternoon. He hadn’t spoken to her, just given her searching, silent looks every time he passed with his cleaning cart.
This had pleased Bea greatly. She liked knowing how to press people’s buttons and she had definitely got him rattled. One-nil to her.
By half past eight the store was well past the ‘What’s for tea?’ evening rush. There were a few stragglers late home from work and a couple of frazzled parents pushing their sleepless baby around in a car seat perched on a trolley. It was a younger crowd than during the day.
Bea didn’t know if her mind was playing tricks on her tonight but everyone seemed to be buying bananas. Not one basket or trolley was bananaless. She so wished that Dot was there to share the joke instead of being tucked up at home watching the telly.
But she wasn’t at home. Because surely that was her, glimpsed nipping into the store grabbing a basket on the move and disappearing into the fresh fruit and veg. Can’t have been, thought Bea. Dot never shopped in the evening. Like her, she just picked up what she needed at the end of a shift. No need to come back for anything. The shelves were blocking her view. It can’t be, she thought. Then, Sod it, I’m going to look.
She signed off from her screen. ‘I just need a wee. Can’t wait,’ she said to Kirsty.
‘All right, love. You okay?’
‘Yeah, just bursting.’
Keeping one eye on Neville at his service desk, Bea hurried along the end of the aisles and round the furthest set of shelves. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of someone disappearing around the opposite end; a well-turned-out woman, hair beautifully coiffed, belted mac, immaculate.
Bea scurried along the aisle. On her way past the bananas she noticed a man carefully selecting a bunch of large, organic fruit. He looked familiar but she couldn’t place him. Just another customer, she thought. After all, she saw hundreds of people every day.
She didn’t want to run and draw attention to herself so she walked as fast as she could. She grabbed the edge of the shelf to steady herself on the corner and peered round. The woman had gone. Damn! Cautiously, Bea walked past the aisles, checking each one. She ducked from shelf to shelf, stopping to look along each aisle like a cartoon spy. And then she saw her. It was quite clearly Dot, lingering by the freezers, pretending to read the description on one of the ‘Best of’ meals for one. She was carrying a wire basket which contained only one item – a bunch of bright yellow bananas.
‘Oh, Dot, you’re a sly one,’ Bea muttered under her breath.
‘Talking to yourself? First sign of madness.’
She wheeled round to find Ant standing behind her, uncomfortably close. She straightened up and took a step away from him, trying to reclaim her personal space. He, too, was carrying a basket with one banana in it.
‘Oh God,’ Bea groaned, ‘not you too.’
‘Why? Who else is here?’
Involuntarily, Bea looked down the aisle. It was empty. Dot had moved on.
‘No one. No one you know anyway,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you had girls queuing up for you?’
He pulled a face. ‘I do. No harm in looking for fresh meat if it’s there on a plate, is there?’
‘Fresh meat? That’s charming. Anyway, you’re in the wrong place, mate.’ Bea looked pointedly at the shelf next to them. ‘You’ve got yoghurt and rice pudding here.’
He looked her up and down and seemed disappointed to see her empty-handed. ‘Where’s your basket?’
Bea sniffed hard. ‘I’m not here for that. I’m working, remember? Just on my way to the staffroom actually.’
She started walking away from him. He walked alongside her.
‘I don’t need a minder,’ she said. ‘I know where it is.’
‘I know. Just going to try my luck in the chocolate and snacks aisle. Perhaps I’ll do a bit better with a box of Thorntons in my basket.’
‘And a bag over your head.’ Bea thought she’d said it under her breath but apparently it had been loud enough to hear.
‘Wow. That’s harsh. Are you always such a bitch?’
She looked at his face. He was angry and hurt. She hadn’t meant to sting him that hard. ‘No. I’m sorry, Ant. It was just banter, I didn’t mean . . . ’
‘Fuck off, Bea.’
He peeled away from her down the nearest aisle, ‘Toilet Tissue and Cleaning Products’. I’d be a bit worried about anyone I picked up there, thought Bea, but Ant wasn’t looking. He dumped his basket on the floor, and, head down, walked straight towards the door.
I’ve really hurt him, Bea thought. Damn. Typical Ant though, he could at least have put his basket back on the way out.
She walked along to the basket and picked it up. On her way to the fruit and veg section to put the banana back a man caught her eye. It was the guy with the organic fruit she’d seen earlier, the one she couldn’t quite place. He smiled and looked from basket to basket.
‘Snap,’ he said and Bea felt her stomach lurch a little, but not in a bad way – a flutter, a tiny thrill. Blimey.
He was in his late twenties, well dressed in a nice suit, white shirt and tie. His dark hair was short at the sides, with a bit of a quiff at the front, held there by some sort of product. He was someone who looked after himself and Bea couldn’t help noticing that he smelt delicious.
‘Perhaps we’re looking for the same thing,’ he said. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a softness around his mouth that said a smile wasn’t far away. Bea found herself wondering what it would feel like if that face, that mouth, was closer to her. Closer. Touching . . .
‘This is a staff announcement. All available staff to checkouts please. Staff to checkouts.’
The spell was broken.
‘Ah, that’s me,’ she said. ‘And I was just putting this back. For a friend.’
Now he did smile. ‘Shame,’ he said. ‘Maybe another time.’
‘Well,’ said Bea, unable to stop herself, ‘you know where to find me.’
She hurried away before he could see the full-on beetroot blush in her face. What the hell was going on? She flirted with the pensioners for a laugh, both men and women, bu
t this was different.
She put Ant’s banana back and walked quickly back to her checkout, putting the basket in the heap by the end of the conveyor belt. As she scuttled round to her seat she saw Neville approaching.
‘Come and see me at the end of the shift, please, Bea. You’ve crossed the line this time.’
‘I wasn’t . . . I was just . . . ’
‘Not now,’ he said testily, noting something down on his clipboard. ‘At the end of the shift.’
He strode away.
‘I didn’t say anything,’ said Kirsty. ‘He spotted you himself. I’m sorry.’
Bea sighed. ‘It looks bad, but it’s not what he thinks. The thing is, I thought I saw – oh.’
The man in the suit was heading towards her checkout. They made eye contact and a little charge of electricity crackled up and down Bea’s spine. He was only a few metres away when a woman in gym clothes nipped in front of him, plonked her basket onto the end and started unloading her stir-fry kit and packet of tofu.
‘I’m free over here,’ Kirsty called to him.
He smiled at Bea, shrugged regretfully and went over to Kirsty’s checkout.
Bea turned her attention to her customer, who was radiating a heady mixture of sweat and perfume.
‘Good workout?’ she asked.
The woman smiled and nodded.
‘Thursday night Zumba. It’s the best.’
‘Zumba? Is that the dance-y one? With music and the fancy footwork?’
‘Yeah, that’s it. It’s fantastic. You should give it a try.’
As the words left her mouth, a look of mortification flashed across the woman’s face. ‘I didn’t mean, you know, that you need to . . . I just . . . ’ she spluttered, trying to look anywhere but at Bea’s size sixteen self.
Bea blushed for her and for herself, painfully aware that Suit Guy was still within earshot at the neighbouring checkout. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘I can take it – I’m a big girl.’
The woman bit her lip.
‘Honestly, don’t worry’ Bea said. ‘I have tried it, actually. It’s bloody fast, though, isn’t it? Found myself half a beat behind everyone else.’
‘Oh, that’s normal,’ the woman said. ‘Until you learn the routines. Everyone starts off like that. You mustn’t let it put you off.’