by Rachel Ward
‘It’s going really well,’ she said. ‘Proud of you, babe.’
As she was walking away, her phone bleeped illicitly in her pocket. Thought I’d put that on silent, thought Bea, hoping that no one else had heard. Sounded like a text coming through.
She settled into her station, punched in her password, applied her hand cream and took a sneaky look at her phone. A text from Queenie.
Can u ring me?
Come on, Queenie, you know it’s a big day for me. Not now. She’d definitely get in trouble if she was caught using it on duty. She’d do it later. She put the phone onto ‘vibrate’, slid it back into her pocket and looked back along the row of checkouts towards the front door. There were pink balloons tied to each one, collecting buckets in the packing area on every checkout, and a cluster of balloons and banners around the static bike. It felt like the store was wearing party clothes. Today was a good day.
‘Morning!’ she chirped to her first customer. ‘Would you like any help packing?’
‘Yes. Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.’ The voice was familiar, but subdued. Julie. Although it was overcast outside and threatening to rain, she was wearing sunglasses, and was holding one of her arms awkwardly, like it was in an imaginary sling. She noticed Bea looking. ‘I’ve put my shoulder out,’ she said. ‘Can’t really carry anything on that side.’
‘Ooh, nasty, how did you do that?’ said Bea. Then she caught sight of the black eye lurking beneath the side arm of the dark glasses and wished she’d kept quiet.
‘I fell over. Silly, really.’
She had both the children with her, but there was no squealing from Tiffany today, who was sucking on a little plastic duck, and Mason was keeping his grabby hands to himself. Bea packed the shopping into bags and then got up to lift the bags into the shallow trolley. Then she sat down and took Julie’s money. As she gave her the change, she lingered a little before handing it over, noticing that the plaster was still on her ring finger, a bit grubby and frayed now.
‘You take care, now,’ she said. ‘If that arm carries on hurting, I’d take it to A & E, if I were you. Tell someone what happened.’
‘Oh, it’s fine. But thank you.’ She examined the contents of her purse and dropped some coins in the collecting bucket.
‘Thank you,’ said Bea, ‘that’s very kind.’
‘Poor little Kayleigh. There but for the grace of God.’ She ruffled Tiffany’s hair, then put her purse away and left, Mason trailing silently by her side.
Bea wanted to go after her, buy her a coffee, maybe give her a hug, but there was someone’s weekly shop waiting to be processed, threatening to cause an avalanche.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Would you like any help with your packing?’
At a quarter past ten, Gavin walked past her checkout.
‘Close up after this customer,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly time.’
His hair was full of static electricity, dancing away from his head like it was underwater. He’d obviously spent some time in front of the mirror with a plastic comb.
A woman was heading towards them, her eye focused on the nice free stretch of conveyor belt behind Bea’s current customer’s shopping. Gavin stepped in.
‘I’m sorry, Madam, this checkout’s closing. Would you like to use another? Number four looks free.’
He placed a ‘closed’ sign on the end of her station, then adjusted his perfectly knotted tie and pulled the cuffs of his shirt a little further out from his jacket sleeves, before stretching his arms in front of him so the cuffs disappeared again.
‘I’ll see you there in a minute,’ he said.
As Bea was dealing with her customer she sensed someone approaching her from behind. She glanced round. It was Ant, holding the box of shirts. He was breathing hard and sweating profusely.
‘It’s all right, Bea,’ he said.
‘I’ll look in a minute,’ Bea said. She finished up and logged off from her till. They stood to one side, near the window as Ant shook out a shirt and held it up. It was the same shirt, but the Costsave logo was just as it should be.
‘It was Saggy’s idea of a joke. He just did the top one. The rest were fine.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘No. Nearly pissed himself laughing when I caught up with him.’
‘Some mate.’
‘Ah, he’s all right really. Shame I’ll have to kill him after this, but there you go.’
‘Okay, let’s go with these. At least we’ve got them in time for the photographer. Thanks, Ant. You’ve saved the day.’
‘Well, I ruined it first. Or at least Saggy did.’
‘Nah,’ said Bea, ‘just a hiccup. Come on, I think Ginny’s on at ten thirty, let’s get her into one of these. And the two collectors at the door.’
They just had time to get everyone kitted up when Keisha arrived with little Kayleigh. She was in her pushchair, bundled up against the cold in a thick, padded coat with a rug round her legs. Her face, peering out of her hood, was pale and doll-like.
The female members of staff clustered around them. Those on nearby kiosks and counters left their posts to have a little fuss.
‘Thanks so much for bringing her,’ Bea said when she managed to negotiate her way through the throng. ‘She’s looking—’ she couldn’t bring herself to say well ‘as cute as a button. Would she like a balloon?’
‘Yeah, I’ll tie one to her pushchair. She’ll like that. Are the press coming?’
‘They’re here already,’ Gavin said. ‘From the Evening Post, no less.’
Lee blew the whistle to mark changeover time again and Ginny climbed on. She had her long, brown hair tied back in a ponytail and was wearing shorts. Her legs were fake-tanned to perfection.
‘That T-shirt looks great on you,’ Bea heard Ant telling her. ‘I reckon you’d look good in anything.’
Ginny smiled with knowing modesty. She flicked her ponytail behind her shoulder and started to pedal.
The photographer, a short man with a receding hairline and an unfortunate comb-over started to arrange the others around her.
‘That’s it. Can we get little Courtney as near to the bike as possible?’
‘Kayleigh.’
‘Sorry, isn’t that what I said? Will she come out of the chair? Can you lift her up?’
Keisha started to look a bit flustered, but Gavin stepped forward.
‘Let’s leave her in the chair. Can we put her in the foreground? Will that work?’
The photographer didn’t like his input, but gave in.
‘All right, mate. Are you in this picture? Can you get to the back then? Tall ones at the back, shorter ones to the front.’
Bea hung back, watching the chaos, but Ant grabbed her elbow.
‘Come on, Bea. You’ve done all this. You gotta be in it.’
He steered her into the group, next to Gavin, who beamed at her. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the photographer stood back and started snapping just as Kayleigh started to cry, prompting a chorus of clucking and cooing from all the Costsave ladies. But despite their and Keisha’s best efforts, Kayleigh sobbed her way through the photo session – luckily for Bea as it turned out, as her phone kept vibrating in her pocket, right next to Gavin. Oh, Mum, she thought, if only you could have come down here and seen this, shared it with me. If only . . .
The photographer made everyone stay in their places while he wrote down their names, checking the spelling as he went. When he asked Bea’s name, she had a flicker of recognition.
‘I’ve seen you in here before, haven’t I? Are you local?’
‘Not any more, but I visit. My mum’s in the bungalows by the Green.’
He moved on to the others, finishing with Ginny, who was still pedalling and starting to glow a little.
‘Splendid,’ he said, glowing a little himself. ‘Have you ever thought of being a model? I could do some test shots for your portfolio. Here, let me give you a card.’ He dug in his pocket and handed a b
usiness card to Ginny.
‘I’ve got nowhere to put it,’ she giggled, before propping it unsteadily onto the front of the machine.
Gavin was trying to talk to Keisha, but Kayleigh was crying too much for their conversation to go anywhere.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Howells, I’m going to have to take her home. She’s tired.’
‘That’s fine. I’m just so glad you could come. We’re all behind you here at Costsave, you know.’
Her eyes filled with tears.
‘I know,’ she said, ‘I can’t thank you enough.’ She looked around the store. ‘I loved working here.’
‘There’s a job here for you, whenever you want it. You know that, don’t you?’
She sniffed, hard. ‘It won’t be any time soon. She’s in and out of hospital and she needs so much care. I could never put her in a nursery or with a childminder.’
‘The offer’s there, Keisha. Things change, you never know.’
She gave him a wan little smile. ‘I appreciate that, Mr Howells. It’s like a family here, isn’t it? My Costsave family.’
Bea could see Gavin’s chest puffing out with pride.
Keisha turned to her and gave her a hug. ‘Thanks so much for all this, Bea. You’re a star, you really are.’
Bea found herself too choked up to speak.
‘Be careful,’ said Keisha, and shook her head in a mock warning. ‘Checkout six. You could be next. Get on the pill or keep your legs crossed.’
Bea opened her mouth to speak when Ant cut in, putting his arms round both their shoulders.
‘It’s all right. She’s saving herself for me.’
‘Oh, I’ve heard about you. Cocky, isn’t he?’ she said to Bea.
‘Yeah. But he’s not all bad,’ said Bea. ‘He did the T-shirts, you know.’
‘Oh, wow, great job. Thanks.’
Keisha turned to tuck the blanket more snugly round Kayleigh’s legs. Bea watched, then her eyes went idly beyond and rested on Ginny, still cycling in a fast and smooth rhythm. Damn, thought Bea, looks like a model, and fit too. Fit squared. The T-shirt was way too big for her, but she could make a black bin bag look glamorous. There was someone standing next to her, ogling. A skinny youth, with his trousers trailing halfway down to his knees. What would, no doubt, be an indecent amount of his boxers was hidden by the large bright pink T-shirt he was wearing, and Bea wondered for a moment if he was a new member of staff. Then her eyes focused on the logo on his chest and she realised who he was.
She dug Ant in the ribs.
‘Ant,’ she whispered furiously. ‘Get him out of here.’ She nodded towards Saggy. ‘Quickly, before anyone notices.’ Ant sidled though the crowd and Bea saw him catch Saggy’s arm and start to lead him away.
Ginny pedalled strongly to the end of her session. As soon as she was off the bike, Bea tried to usher her away but her adoring fans (well, Dean from Stores) wanted a few more snaps of her posing by it. Bea noticed that she had left the photographer’s card on the front of the bike. She picked it up and was about to give it to her when she thought better of it. She’d keep it until she’d written the details down, give it to Ginny later. Because she’d remembered where she’d seen Kevin McKey before. She hadn’t served him at her checkout, but she had seen him near the fruit and veg the night Emma was attacked.
Dot came over and took her aside.
‘Bea, I think you ought to see this,’ she said. She had her phone in her hand.
‘I took a few snaps, you know, for the staff noticeboard. I’m not sure Big Gav’s going to like this.’
The photo on her phone was of the group gathered around Ginny and Kayleigh. Dot must have been standing next to Kevin McKey to take it – it was a perfectly composed shot. It would look great in the Evening Post. Except for the lad at the side, leaning in with a massive grin on his face and giving the camera a cheeky two thumbs up. His hands framed the text on his T-shirt.
‘Ant can wait his turn,’ said Bea. ‘I’m going to kill Saggy.’
6
Although her shift ended at four, Bea was intending to stay until the close of play just in case anything cropped up. She’d have something to eat in the café, then do some bucket-rattling. She stood in line at the counter, looking at the selection of cold food, then up at the board of ‘hot specials’. Perhaps this was her chance to try something adventurous.
‘Flo, what’s that veggie thing like?’ she called over to one of the servers, who was wrestling expertly with the coffee machine.
‘Butternut squash lasagne? Very nice, Bea.’
‘What’s butternut squash taste like?’
‘Haven’t you ever had it?’
‘Nope. First time for everything.’
‘It’s kind of smooth and sweet. In a good way.’
‘Sweet? In a savoury dish? Oh. Can I have a bacon sandwich?’
Her phone pinged again. Queenie. ‘RING ME.’
Bea sighed and dialled home.
‘Where are you? Where have you been all day? Didn’t you get my messages?’
‘At work, Mum. I’ve been busy with the spinathon, remember?’
‘Are you coming home now?’
‘No, I told you this morning. I’m going to stay on until it’s finished.’
‘Bea, please. Come home.’ There was a tremor in her voice. ‘I’ve been holding on until now. Please, love.’
‘Queenie, for God’s sake. It’s just today. It’s only a few hours . . . ’
‘Please, love.’ She was starting to cry and Bea felt like her insides were being scooped out.
‘Has something happened? Mum—’ she tried to make herself heard through the weeping at the other end ‘what is it?’
‘I’ve had a letter.’
‘What sort of letter?’
‘I’ll show you when you get home.’
‘All right. I’ll come now, but I’ll have to come back in later.’
She rang off and turned to Flo.
‘Can I cancel that? I’ve got to go.’
‘It’s on the griddle now, love. Sit down and I’ll bring it over in a minute. You look done in.’
‘Nah. It’s my mum – she’s in one of her states. Tell you what, could you make another and wrap them up in some foil? We could have them at home.’
‘All right, love. But sit down anyway. Sauce with them?’
‘Brown, please.’
Bea sank down onto one of the hard wooden chairs at the nearest table. Flo wasn’t wrong – she felt absolutely knackered.
It was already dark as she walked home. She’d tucked the aluminium foil bundles into her handbag and held it close to her body. Although the High Street was busy, Bea felt strangely vulnerable as she walked past the shops and pubs. She wondered if she saw people watching her out of the corner of her eye. She walked on the road side of the pavement, keeping away from dark doorways.
I’m tired, she thought. That’s all it is.
She turned out of the High Street and into the Green. Old people’s bungalows were clustered on one side. As she walked past one row, she was sure she saw a curtain fall into place. Someone had been watching and didn’t want to be seen.
She kept to the edge of the Green, near the houses and then took the long way around, along the path to the shops, rather than down the alleyway which had spooked her before. She couldn’t help looking over her shoulder from time to time. There were a couple of dog walkers, and a gaggle of kids coming home late from school. Everything was normal. Everything was fine, even if it didn’t feel like it.
She knocked on the back door and heard the key in the lock and two bolts sliding back. Queenie was waiting for her, her face blotchy, her eyes red and sore. She shut the door after her and stood there holding the key, turning it over and over in her hands. Bea was shocked by her appearance. Things hadn’t been this bad for months.
‘What on earth’s wrong?’ she said.
‘Over there. On the table.’
There was a letter. It was still c
oncertinaed from being folded into its envelope. Bea picked it up and tried to smooth out the creases. Her heart sank when she read the header. ‘Department for Work and Pensions.’
She read on. The department were reviewing eligibility for those receiving benefits and would like to interview Mrs Jordan about her fitness for work. She was to ring the number given to arrange a mutually convenient time and date for the interview which would take place at the assessment centre in Bristol.
‘What am I going to do, Bea? I can’t go there, can I? They can’t make me do that? What am I going to do?’
‘All right, all right. Calm down. Let me put the kettle on and I’ll read the letter again. Come on, Mum, sit down.’
The letter didn’t improve on second reading.
‘You’ll have to ring them and explain about your . . . condition. They can come here if they want to interview you.’
‘I can’t ring them.’
‘Of course you can.’
‘But what if they won’t—?’
‘Then we’ll get someone to talk to them for us. Your GP or Citizen’s Advice or someone.’
‘You’ll ring for me, won’t you? Tell them that I can’t get there.’
‘Yes. All right. I’ll ring.’ She checked her watch. Just after five. ‘They won’t be there now. I’ll do it tomorrow.’
But Queenie wouldn’t calm down. They talked round and round until their tea had grown cold. Then Bea remembered the bacon sandwiches. She opened her bag and produced the foil parcels. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘we can’t do anything about it this evening. Let’s make a fresh pot of tea, watch the news and have these.’
‘What are they?’
Bea unwrapped the foil and put the sandwiches onto plates. Despite the insulation, they were cold.
‘Bacon sarnies,’ she said, and then, to convince herself as much as Queenie, ‘Yum.’
‘What have you brought them for? It’s chicken and vegetable rice on Wednesdays, you know that.’
‘I just thought—’
‘Why are you doing this to me, Bea?’
‘I’m not doing anything. I brought you a bacon sandwich. You could just say thank you!’