by Rachel Ward
‘And she’s about a hundred! If she was a man, I’d have the police out.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. I’m nineteen! I can do what I want.’
‘Not when you’re living under my roof, you can’t.’
‘That’s easily fixed.’
‘What? Don’t you dare.’
By now there was quite a crowd gathering. Other customers had stopped to look, but were keeping their distance. Neville came scurrying over.
‘What’s going on?’ he said, looking around.
‘It’s nothing, Neville,’ said Ant. ‘My mum’s just going.’
‘Your mum.’ He looked at her with renewed distaste. ‘Madam, is there a problem I can help you with?’
She turned her attention to him, and, instinctively, he moved his clipboard from under his arm to across his chest, like a shield.
‘Yes, you can tell this slag to leave my son alone.’
Little spots of colour appeared in Neville’s cheeks. ‘If it’s not a customer service issue, then I will have to ask you to leave the store.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. Not till this pervert apologises to me and promises to get on her broomstick and stay away from my son.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Mum—’
The spots of colour had joined up now – Neville was red-faced with rage.
‘That’ll do,’ he barked. ‘I want you all off the shop floor!’
‘I’m not budging.’ Her mouth was set into a thin straight line. Her earrings were quivering with indignation.
‘In that case, I’m calling the police.’ He took out his phone and started dialling.
Ant clapped his hands to his forehead. ‘Come on, Mum, let’s get out of here.’ He took hold of her elbow to guide her away, but she jabbed it upwards sharply almost catching his face.
‘Jesus! Behave yourself, Mum!’
‘I’m not going!’
‘You fucking are. Do you want me to call Dad?’
‘He thinks the same as me. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
She raised her hand now, ready to slap him, but in a flash Dot leaned across the desk and grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping it in mid-air. ‘That’s enough,’ she said.
The women’s faces were close now. They stared at each other, like two boxers in the ring, just before the first punch is thrown. Each was focusing on the other so intently that they didn’t notice the crowd parting and the two police officers walking through.
‘Mrs Thompson,’ Tom said. ‘Bit early for this sort of thing, isn’t it?’
Dot and Ant’s mum both turned their heads. Dot let go of Mrs Thompson’s wrist. Her pointy hat had taken on a rakish angle in the melee.
‘Let’s take this outside, shall we?’ said Tom. ‘I’ll walk with you.’
He breezed through between the checkouts and swept Ant’s mum out of the packing area and towards the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ant said to Dot. ‘I can’t even—’
‘It’s all right. It’s not your fault,’ she said, but Bea could see one of her Rice Krispie warts dancing as a little muscle twitched in her cheek. She was close to tears. ‘Neville, do you mind if I take a few minutes?’ she said.
‘No. No, of course not.’
Dot left her station and started to walk towards the back of the store, her cloak billowing out behind her. Ant trotted beside her, apologising over and over again. At the far end of the aisles, Bea saw Bob-on-Meat step out from behind his counter. He said something to Dot, but she didn’t stop walking and Bea guessed that the tears were flowing now.
At lunchtime Anna told Bea that Dot had gone home. Gavin had agreed to call it ‘sick leave’. Ant was missing too, but he was AWOL. He’d have some music to face in the morning. Bea wondered whether he was with Dot or his mum. She made a mug of tea then sat down and texted Dot.
You ok?
Yeah. Thx, doll.
Do you want me to come round after work?
No. I’m fine. Licking my wounds. See you tomoz.
Dean slunk in, his wolfish grin almost lost within the wide-mouthed Joker make-up plastered onto his face.
‘I hear I missed all the fun,’ he said.
‘It wasn’t fun for Dot, though, Dean,’ said Eileen. ‘That woman was tearing into her.’
‘Well, she had it coming, if you ask me. I mean, her and him. It’s disgusting.’
‘We don’t even know if it was true, do we?’
‘No, but—’
‘I knew he was trouble.’ Bob was joining in now. His ‘costume’ seemed to be little more than his normal white coat with some extra streaks of blood added. ‘I could’ve told her. I did tell her. Lovely woman like that getting mixed up with a little runt like him.’
Eileen turned to Bea. ‘You know, don’t you? You’re pals with both of them. What’s going on?’
‘It’s none of our business, that’s what.’
‘But him and her!’
It was too much for Bea. ‘So what if she’s seeing him? Good luck to her.’ She left her tea on the table and stalked out.
She met Gavin in the corridor. The bolt in one side of his neck had fallen off. She wondered if anyone had told him, but decided not to.
‘Bea,’ he said, ‘how are you getting home tonight?’
‘I was walking with Dot and Ant, but they’ve both gone missing.’
‘Okay, so is there someone else you can walk with?’
‘I dunno.’
‘No one?’
‘I’ll be fine. It’ll be busy out there with all the kids out and about.’
‘You mustn’t walk on your own. Look, I’ll drop you off there, shall I?’
Bea looked at his round, open face. He was a nice guy, Gavin. Then she remembered what Dot had said that morning. What if he was using his show of concern to find out who was walking home alone?
‘There’s no need to go out of your way,’ she said. ‘I could book a taxi, like you said at the meeting.’
‘It’s not really out of my way. A couple of minutes, that’s all.’
Her phone pinged – a text coming in. She quickly checked it. It was from Tom.
What time do you get off?
A quick reply: 8
Meet you in the car park at 8. Police escort home?
She smiled. ‘It’s okay, Gav,’ she said, nodding at her phone. ‘A friend’s going to give me a lift.’
‘Ah, that’s great,’ he said, and he sounded genuinely pleased. ‘Let me know if things change, though. I’m serious about this. We can’t have any more . . . incidents.’
The afternoon couldn’t go quickly enough for Bea. The firework display seemed a long time off. She’d been hoping to see Tom before that.
At a few minutes after six, a small vampire peered over the side of her desk. He had a pale white face, dark circles round his eyes and his hair slicked back. His plastic fangs were causing a bit of trouble. Instead of being attached to his upper teeth, they were balancing on the end of his stuck-out tongue.
‘Oooh, scary,’ Bea said, recognising Mason under the face paint.
‘Trick or treat,’ he lisped and the fangs fell out of his mouth and onto her conveyor belt.
‘Sorry,’ his mum said, scooping them up and putting them in her pocket.
‘Heeyyy.’ Mason started to squeal, but Bea swooped in.
‘It had better be treat, hadn’t it?’ She fished under the counter and produced a lolly. Mason took it greedily.
‘Thank you,’ Julie said, ‘that’s kind. Say thank you to the lady, Mason.’
‘Fankoo,’ Mason said, the lolly already unwrapped and stuffed in his mouth.
‘Better have this for the little ’un,’ Bea said and handed another lolly to Julie. Their hands briefly touched and Bea saw that the sticking plaster was back on Julie’s ring finger. There were a couple of marks that looked like cigarette burns on her wrist.
‘You all right?’ she said, without really thinking.
‘Course she is.’ Bea hadn�
��t seen that Dave was behind them. He put his hand protectively on his wife’s shoulder and she flinched. He was in civvies today – tracksuit bottoms and zipped-up hoodie. He watched his wife get her purse out of her bag, then said, ‘No, darlin’. I’ll get this,’ and paid using his debit card. Bea studiously tried not to look at him, but as she handed over the receipt their eyes met and he winked. Bea cringed but said nothing. Feeling slightly sick, she watched him pick up their bag and head towards the door.
Trade was slowing down now. Perhaps it was the Emma and Ginny effect. Perhaps it was Halloween. There were still people picking up things for dinner and a few harassed parents with tired children in tow. Now and again, a gang of dressed up teens swept through. All the staff eyed them warily, checked their ID when they asked for cigarettes, cider or eggs, but there was no trouble in the store.
‘Bit late for you to be out,’ Bea said to Norma.
‘Ran out of my winter warmer,’ the woman said, placing her hand protectively on the half-bottle of whisky lying on the belt between a packet of cheese slices and a small sliced white loaf. ‘Wish I hadn’t, though. There are kids out there with eggs.’
‘In the car park?’
‘No, around the town. Little hooligans. I’m going to get straight home and shut the door. I don’t believe in this trick or treating. We never used to have it. I blame America.’
‘It’s okay if it’s little kids dressing up and eating sweets, though. Not the other stuff.’
‘You look very fetching anyway, with your whiskers. Let me find some change.’
Norma scrabbled in her purse and found a few coppers. ‘Oh, you don’t have to,’ Bea protested. She knew the money wasn’t really ‘spare’.
‘It’s for little Kayleigh, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Here you go. God bless, darling. See you soon.’
‘Goodnight. You take care.’
It was people like this that made her job worth it, Bea thought. Some people might look down on her being a checkout girl, but what did they know? Sometimes it felt like the best job in the world. The fracas with Dot had unsettled her, and she hated being here with the station next to her empty one. But Dot would be back tomorrow, and before then, she had a date with a rather hot cop.
13
Bea checked her watch. Three minutes past eight. She scanned the car park, but couldn’t see a police car anywhere. Maybe he was in his own car. It was some sort of dark-coloured saloon, wasn’t it? Her phone was ominously silent. No new messages. She walked slowly along the rows of cars to the far corner where the path cut through to the café and on to the High Street. Five past now. It was only five minutes. The stormy weather of the last few days had been replaced by clear skies and a cold, crisp stillness. Bea could see stars beyond the yellow sulphur glow of the streetlights. She stamped her feet to keep warm. Eight minutes past. And then her phone pinged: On a call. Sorry. Get a taxi. Txx
Bea sighed. Duty calls, she thought. This is what you’ve got to expect if you date a cop. Was it worth it? She’d find out at the firework party, if he didn’t stand her up.
She set off walking. The High Street was bright and busy with a steady stream of traffic and plenty of people around. The newsagent was still open, as were the takeaways and the Indian and Italian restaurants. She passed the open door of the Methodist Church. A banner across the entrance advertised their ‘Festival of Light’. Inside, she could see families sitting at tables eating soup and baked potatoes. She caught sight of Neville with an apron on, carrying a tray full of mugs. He glanced over to the door and nodded when he saw her. He raised his eyebrows and tipped his head, inviting her in. She smiled and waved to him, and walked on.
Further down the street, the owner of Mumtaz Restaurant was scrubbing his front window as Bea passed, washing away the egg splattered across the glass.
‘Little toerags,’ Bea said to him and rolled her eyes.
‘Nothing personal. They’ve done all down the street,’ he said. ‘Their parents should know where they are, what they’re doing, but these days . . . ’
It was true, streaks of egg on windows and doors would greet most of Kingsleigh’s shop owners tomorrow morning.
‘Bloody Dean,’ Bea muttered.
The shops thinned out at the end of the High Street, and it got progressively quieter. The entrance to the Leisure Centre was the other side of the road. Lee was standing outside. He waved at her, and she crossed the road.
‘Haven’t seen you in the gym yet,’ he said.
Bea pulled a face. ‘No. Been busy.’
‘Induction only takes half an hour. You can find half an hour, can’t you?’
‘Not tonight,’ she said.
‘No. Not tonight.’ He looked up and down the street. ‘I’m meant to be running a five-a-side comp, keep the lads off the street and out of trouble, but no one’s turned up. Well, I had three, but I sent them home. Might as well take this in.’ He folded up an A-board advertising the event and tucked it under his arm. ‘See you later, Bea. Take care.’
‘See ya.’
Bea crossed over the road again. As she turned off into the side street, she wondered whether she should stop where it was busier and ring for a taxi, but righteous indignation overtook her. Why should she faff about and have to wait in the cold? There were a lot of people out and about tonight. Safety in numbers. It wouldn’t take her long to get home.
Pumpkin lanterns dotted the suburban street. Some were straightforward, ghoulish faces, others clearly the result of templates and a lot of adult patience. On one hedge, two distorted faces spewed a mess of seeds out of their gaping mouths. On another, a head was cruelly stuck with pins and nails.
Bea heard a click and looked to one side. Kevin, the photographer, was crouching down in a gateway. His lens was pointing at her.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it’s you.’
She pulled her coat more firmly around her.
‘Sorry,’ he said, straightening up and stepping out of the shadows. ‘Did I scare you?’
He had a dark anorak on. It was zipped up to the top, but the hood was down.
‘No,’ said Bea.
‘On your own?’
It was perfectly obvious that she was.
‘No,’ she bluffed. ‘I’m meeting some friends.’
‘That’s all right then. I can walk with you, if you like. Until you find them.’
‘Don’t you need to take some more pictures?’
‘I’ve got what I need,’ he said. ‘A few groups of kids dressed up. Some lanterns. All that sort of thing. Same every year. Don’t think my editor would notice if I just sent in last year’s pictures. I can do this stuff in my sleep.’
He started walking in the direction Bea had been heading, and she had no real choice but to walk with him.
‘You don’t sound very thrilled with it. What would you rather be doing?’
‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I like this small-town stuff. It’s a good gig. But the photos I really like taking are a bit more . . . artistic.’
They had turned off the main drag now and were heading for the bungalows near the rec. Bea was relieved to see the unsteady beams of torches from a group of trick or treaters not too far ahead of them. She glanced behind. There was no one following.
‘Yeah?’ she said, casually. ‘Like landscapes and things, the sort of stuff you see in the posh Sunday paper magazines?’
‘Ha, no, not landscapes,’ he said. ‘People.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘People like you, Bea. Good-looking. Fun.’
Bea’s heart was racing now. If she was a real detective she would play along now, wouldn’t she? See what she could get him to reveal, but her skin was prickling with discomfort and her hackles were up.
‘Fun,’ she said. ‘Some people use that word when they mean fat.’
‘Not me,’ Kevin said. ‘I just meant fun. You’re up for a laugh, aren’t you?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Bea. ‘No
t recently, though. This is you, isn’t it? You said your mum lived in one of these bungalows.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Kevin. ‘Right here, but I’m happy to walk you home if you’ve given up on your friends.’
Bea was glad it was dark, so he couldn’t see her blush at her lie being exposed for what it was.
‘They’ll be at the pub. The Jubilee,’ she said, naming the pub at the other side of the rec. ‘I’ll go there now. They’ll be expecting me.’
‘I quite fancy a pint. I’ll join you, shall I?’
The trick or treaters had moved out of sight, into one of the side streets. The thought of walking across the Green alone with Kevin made Bea feel sick, but she couldn’t think how to get out of it. Then she heard another noise – someone rapping on a window. She turned her head towards the sound and there was a woman standing in the front room of the nearest bungalow. She was pointing at Kevin and gesturing. He rolled his eyes.
‘Mother,’ he said. ‘She’s spotted me. I’d better go in. Here, I’ll give you my card. It’s not for the paper, it’s for my private work. I’d take some shots for free – you wouldn’t have to pay.’
‘Oh, great. Thanks.’ Bea took the card, identical to the one she’d found in Ginny’s locker. ‘Goodnight, then.’
‘Night.’
She hurried along the path, glad to get away from him. There was no one ahead and no one behind. It would only take her a minute or two to cross the rec. She wondered if she’d actually be safer going straight over the middle, but instinct kept her to the path round the edge. She could hear voices as she approached one of the paths off into the estate. She had butterflies the size of small birds battering their wings against the inside of her stomach.
Voices, plural, she thought. That’s okay. It’s the someone on their own that I need to worry about. Somebody quiet.
She pressed on. As she passed the entrance to the path people swirled out towards her. They weren’t really wearing costumes, just black hoodies and jeans, trackie bottoms and tops, but all their faces were covered by masks. They were cackling and shrieking, jeering at her, moving constantly.