The Cost of Living

by Rachel Ward

  ‘Gone,’ she said and turned to her next customer, one of her regulars, Charles, a rather timid pensioner who always tied up his very good-natured golden retriever outside the shop. His eyes were nearly popping out behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

  Bea patted her chest. ‘Safe and sound,’ she said and gave him a wink. Speechless, he made a show of putting his canvas shopping bag onto the packing area. Bea took pity on him and started bleeping his shopping through.

  Later, when she was in the staff toilets, she retrieved the paper and studied it thoughtfully. Dot was right, Lee seemed like a nice bloke, but someone big and fit like him could easily attack and overpower someone. He was around on Thursday nights, too. Worth checking out the other male staff at Leisure Centre too, as Emma would have walked past there.

  Repulsed as she was by the thought of exercise, she felt a shiver of excitement at the prospect of some real undercover detective work. What was it Lee said he taught? Spinning?

  The penny dropped. She knew she’d heard it before: Gavin had talked about a having a fundraising spinathon in the store in November, to raise money for the store’s charity, Kayleigh’s Wish. Kayleigh was one of the ‘Checkout Six Babies’, who had been diagnosed with leukaemia when she was just past her first birthday. The store had already raised several thousand pounds and they were supporting her mum and dad, Keisha and Derrick, every way they could.

  Bea flushed, washed her hands and checked herself in the mirror. Then she walked down the corridor and knocked on Gavin’s open door.

  ‘Come in,’ he called. He looked up from his sheaf of papers as she walked in.

  ‘Just a thought,’ she said. ‘You know the spinathon you were going to have for Kayleigh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be November, does it? Why not move it forward? We’ll get loads of publicity. I bet the Bugle will cover it, maybe even the Evening Post.’

  Gavin’s eyes lit up. ‘That is a top idea. That is a top idea. Brilliant, Bea!’ His eyes were shining now. ‘I’d already talked to the Leisure Centre about it – they’ll provide the kit, so if you get in touch and sort out a date with them. Start of the week’s better for the local press, but that’s too short notice. Maybe Wednesday would be okay. It’ll be a rush to get everything organised, but I’ll talk to Anna about the shift pattern, give you a few hours away from the tills.’

  ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘So you can get on top of things – the rota of staff volunteers to pedal, the collecting buckets, the sponsorship form. Anna can do the press release, so don’t worry about that—’

  ‘Wait a minute. I never said I was organising it!’

  ‘You’ll be brilliant—’

  Brilliant? Me? thought Bea.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘And it’s a great opportunity for you. You’re good on the checkouts – I’ve got no complaints – but there’s more to you than that. Show me what you can do. This is your chance to shine.’

  ‘But I, I mean . . . ’

  ‘You know Keisha, don’t you? If you asked, maybe she’d bring young Kayleigh down for a photo-op. Come in to the office at lunchtime, Bea, and I’ll get the file out for you. You can make a start!’

  Bea tottered out of Gavin’s office and into the staffroom, where she made a cup of tea, swirling the bag round with a spoon and leaving it in until the contents looked like treacle.

  ‘All right, babe? You look a bit . . . shell-shocked. Loos in a state again?’ said Dot.

  Bea sank into the sofa between her and Ginny.

  ‘No. No, I’ve just been – I don’t know how to say it. Gavined.’

  Ginny let out a squawk. Dot leaned in close. ‘Gavined? Did he touch you?’ she said in a hushed voice, almost a whisper.

  Bea snorted so hard tea came down her nose. Heads turned as she wiped her face with a tissue. By the time she’d stopped laughing, pretty much everyone was looking at her.

  ‘No, no,’ she said, ‘No. Not that. You might as well all know, Big Gav’s asked me to organise the spinathon, and we’re having it next week. So I’m going to be asking you to sign up for a stint on the bike – however long you can manage. We’ve got to cover the whole day, eight in the morning until ten at night.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Ginny. ‘It’s a great idea.’ She was the athletic type, who was often seen jogging through the town in sporty gear on her way to or from netball or hockey practice.

  ‘Really?’ said Bea. ‘That’s brilliant.’

  ‘Are you going to be doing it?’ Dean from Stores had wandered in.

  ‘God, no!’ Bea shrieked, then looked around the room again. Half a dozen faces looked back at her, all oozing disapproval.

  ‘I don’t see why we should if you won’t,’ said Kirsty.

  ‘It’s for your own good,’ said Bea. ‘No one wants to see me on a bike, do they? I’ll frighten the customers away.’

  ‘Well, I’d pay good money for it. I’ll put in a fiver if I can see you on that bike, sweating away in Lycra,’ Dean said with an unpleasantly wolfish grin.

  Bea pulled a face. ‘I think a little bit of sick just came in my mouth,’ she said, ‘and I’m putting you down for a half-hour pedal.’ The others weren’t so easy to deal with and, to be fair, they had a point. By the end of tea break, Bea plodded back to her checkout with a feeling that she had been royally stitched up.

  I’ve got four days, she thought, to organise this lot and get fit enough to cycle for ten minutes without making a complete show of myself. She groaned. It wasn’t going to happen, was it?

  At lunchtime, she sat at the spare desk in Hermione’s office. The file on fundraising was fairly thick, but there were only a couple of notes about the spinathon including a copy of an email between Gavin and the Leisure Centre manager, which nominated Lee Jepson as the staff member to take the lead on it. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

  By the end of her hour, she had confirmed the date with Lee, sent an email to Keisha, and printed out a large sign-up sheet. She was pinning it up on the staff noticeboard when Gavin found her.

  He looked at the notice and nodded approvingly. ‘Smashing,’ he said. ‘I knew you could do this.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Bea.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sign up. I will if you will.’

  He took a pen from the top pocket of his jacket and wrote his name into one of the empty slots, then handed the pen to her. She signed too.

  ‘I don’t really know how this happened. I thought it was an ordinary Saturday today.’

  Gavin put an approving hand on her shoulder. ‘You made it happen. Your idea. Your work. That’s what’s good about my job. Bringing the best out in people.’

  Bea was a bit taken aback, not used to such sincerity. Life at Costsave was normally fuelled by a diet of banter, cynicism and teasing.

  ‘That’s why I took on Anthony,’ he continued. ‘I know it won’t be a smooth ride for him or us, oh, pardon the pun,’ he said, looking back at the spinathon sheet, ‘but if we can start him on the right track, he’ll be set up for life.’

  Bea wondered whether to tell Gavin about her suspicions about Ant and his problems with reading, but that would be overstepping the mark. Besides, she didn’t even know if she was right, did she?

  ‘I think he needs all the encouragement he can get,’ she said. ‘He was quite upset yesterday, got in a muddle, shelving.’

  She silently cursed herself. Perhaps Neville hadn’t told him about it.

  ‘Well, get him involved with this, then. It’ll be a confidence booster. Give him a job to do, or at least sign him up for a session or two. He’s not due in until Monday, is he, so give him a ring or text him and tell him about it. His number will be in the personnel file – you’ve got my permission to access it.’

  ‘Okay, thanks, Gav— Mr Howell.’

  Bea put Ant’s number into her phone but didn’t ring him until she was walking home.

  ‘Hey, what’s up?�
��

  ‘I need your help. Big Gav’s got me organising a charity thing, a spinathon, next week.’

  Silence. Then, ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘He . . . I . . . thought you could help me.’

  ‘I dunno, Bea, I don’t know if I’ll even be there next week.’

  Bea’s brain was whirring like a fruit machine, grasping for ways to make this whole thing less awkward. Why hadn’t she thought it through before ringing?

  ‘Look, at least come in until Wednesday. It’ll be a laugh.’

  ‘Nah, I’ve had it.’

  ‘It’s for Kayleigh, she’s our charity this year.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Sensing a chink in his armour, Bea pressed on. ‘You must know them. They live near you, don’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, our Stevo used to go out with Keisha’s sister.’

  ‘So you’ll help?’ She could hear him sigh.

  ‘Yeah, okay. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Well, agree to pedal for a while for starters. I can sign you up on the sheet. Half an hour? More?’

  ‘Whatever, Bea. I’ve been cycling all my life. I’m pretty fit.’

  ‘You’ve got a bike then?’

  ‘Course. Bit difficult cycling without one.’

  Once again, Bea pictured herself pedalling at the front of the store while people pointed and laughed at her.

  ‘Could you, I mean, could I have a go? I haven’t been on a bike since I got too big for the little pink one with the streamers on the handles and jewels in the wheels I had when I was six.’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve got a load here. Come round. I’m busy tonight but tomorrow’s okay.’

  ‘Okay, thanks. Two-ish?’

  ‘Yeah. Number twenty-three. I’ll look out for you.’

  Bea ended the call, just as a text from Queenie came through.

  Where are you? Are you nearly home?

  Yeah. Five minutes.

  Not the alley.

  I know. See ya soon.

  When she got home, the back door was locked again. She knocked and Queenie opened it.

  ‘You’re late,’ she said. ‘Should have been home four minutes ago, if your shift finished at six.’

  Bea looked at her. The skin around Queenie’s wrists was pink and raw looking. She’d been scratching again, her fingers worrying in tune with her mind.

  ‘I was fine,’ she soothed. ‘Just walked slower than usual or something. You can’t get het up like this, Queenie. It’s not good for you.’

  ‘I worry about you. Out there,’ her mum said, locking the door again.

  ‘I know you do, but you don’t need to. I’m sensible. Listen, put the kettle on, I’ve got stuff to tell you. You’ll never guess what happened today . . . ’

  ‘Did you pick up the sausages?’

  ‘Yes, course I did. And I got something else too.’ Bea pulled out two minneolas from her bag.

  ‘Oranges?’

  ‘Minneolas. It’s a cross between a grapefruit and a tan-gerine.’

  Queenie wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘I sit there day in day out surrounded by food, and we only ever eat the same stuff. I’m going to start trying something new.’

  ‘Not every day?’

  ‘No, probably not. And you don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but it might be fun. Anyway, let’s get these sausages under the grill and I can tell you all about the spinathon.’

  ‘The whatathon?’

  ‘Spinathon. You got the kettle on yet?’

  While Queenie made a pot of tea, Bea told her about being ambushed by Gavin.

  ‘He’s all right, isn’t he? As bosses go,’ said Queenie.

  ‘Yeah, people laugh at him, but I reckon he’s pretty sound underneath the management speak.’

  ‘What about that other business? You know, Emma.’

  Bea suddenly remembered the scrap of paper in her pocket, but she didn’t need to get it out. She remembered the name. She’d add it to her Word file later.

  ‘Everyone’s still talking about it,’ Bea said. ‘Horrible business.’

  They both fell silent, while the sausages hissed and spat under the grill.

  ‘Brown or red sauce?’ Queenie said.

  Bea sighed. Why did she even ask? When had Bea ever not wanted brown sauce with her Saturday sausage sandwich?

  Still, it would be ready soon, and then she’d open up the laptop. She could hardly wait.

  ‘God, that’s a lot of bikes! What did you do, rob a bike shop?’

  As soon as she said it, she could have kicked herself. Ant’s family, the Thompsons, had a bit of reputation in the town. Ant looked at her sharply and for a second, she wondered what he might do, then he smiled and said, ‘No need to break into a shop, Bea. People leave bikes all over the place.’

  He looked at her evenly and she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. She decided that for the purposes of this afternoon, he was.

  ‘Here,’ he said, extracting a bike from the sizeable heap piled into the lock-up garage. It was a purple-framed shopper bike, with a basket on the front. ‘This should be about right. Our Danielle uses it, but she won’t mind.’

  He wheeled it out and propped it up against the fence, then fetched another bike for himself.

  ‘Go on, then,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s no good just looking at it. Get on.’

  ‘Here?’

  Bea looked around the tarmacked yard, with blocks of garages on three sides, and a narrow driveway leading out onto the estate roads.

  ‘Good a place as any. Ride it round a couple of times before we go out.’

  ‘Yeah. Right. Okay.’

  She got hold of the handlebars and stood it upright.

  ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’

  ‘Course you can.’

  Ant closed the garage door and locked it. ‘Don’t want anyone getting their thieving mitts on that lot,’ he said without a hint of irony. Then he turned his attention back to Bea. ‘Do you want me to hold it while you get on?’

  ‘Yeah. No. No, I can do this.’

  Bea stepped through the middle and stood with one foot either side. Then she edged her bottom onto the saddle, relieved that she could still touch the ground.

  ‘Bring one of the pedals up, start pressing down and you’re away,’ said Ant.

  ‘Yeah. I remember. I’ve got this.’

  Bea used the toe of her left foot to bring the pedal up, then put her foot on top of it and lifted her right foot onto the other pedal. She tried to push the left pedal, but it wouldn’t move. She felt herself falling and heard Ant shouting at her, but she seemed frozen, unable to react. It was as if she was watching herself as she toppled sideways and crunched into the tarmac.

  ‘Oh Jesus!’

  She lay still trying to assess whether anything hurt, wondering whether somehow, if she tried really hard enough, she could make herself invisible, make this whole sorry episode go away. She shut her eyes. She felt Ant take the weight of the bike and lift it from on top of her. She heard him laughing. From the noise she could picture him doubled over, trying not to wet himself. She opened her eyes. She could see his feet in front of her. She let her eyes go upwards. He was doubled over, trying not to wet himself.

  ‘Oh my God, oh my God. Are you all right?’ The words made their way out of his mouth in bursts between bubbles of laughter. He held his hand out to her but she was too humiliated to take it.

  ‘I can do it. I’m all right,’ she said, huffily. She tried to sit up and realised that her left hip, knee and ankle hurt a lot. Her head did too. She put her hand up to her forehead and felt hard bits of grit sticking to her skin. She brushed them away crossly.

  ‘Am I bleeding?’ she said to Ant, who’d stopped laughing now.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not your head anyway, but you’ve scraped your ankle a bit.’

  Bea looked down and saw bright red stippling on the knobbly bit
of her ankle above the top of her sock.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. Hot tears pooled in her eyes. God, no, stop it, she thought. Don’t be such a girl. But she couldn’t stop them and they burst over the edge, spilling down her face.

  ‘Hey, Bea, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I laughed.’ Ant crouched down and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let me help you up. Let’s have a look at the damage.’

  This time she let him help her onto her feet. She dusted down her leggings, which were a bit torn on one side, then fished in her pocket for a tissue, but, finding none, wiped her eyes and snotty nose on her sleeve. She was beyond dignity now.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ant said again.

  She shook her head. ‘It’s not you,’ she said. ‘I don’t blame you for laughing. I’m just glad you didn’t get it on your phone.’ She looked at him. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

  ‘No, wasn’t quick enough.’

  ‘Anyway, it’s not that, it’s everything.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Shit.’

  They sat down, side by side, leaning against the garage door. Ant took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. He offered it to her, but she waved it away.

  ‘What sort of everything?’ he said.

  ‘Home, work, life, I dunno.’

  ‘Mm.’ He took a long drag from his cigarette, tipped his head back and exhaled.

  ‘I mean, I’m not normally like this. I just get on with things. I’m just being silly.’

  ‘Nah. It’s not silly.’ He stubbed out the cigarette.

  ‘I mean, everything’s okay really. I just fell off a bike, that’s all.’

  Ant started to smile.

  ‘Don’t!’ Bea snapped. ‘Don’t even—’ Then she started to smile too, and it turned into a giggle and then a wave of hysterical laughter that was only one notch away from tears again. When they’d both calmed down again, Ant lit another ciggie.

  ‘The thing is, you won’t have that problem on Wednesday, ’cos the bike will be fixed. You won’t have to balance.’

  ‘No, but I’ll still look like a peach on a cocktail stick. Bloody hell.’