by Rachel Ward
They stared at each other.
He could kill a cat with one squeeze of his big hands, Bea thought. And maybe he has done. She tried to keep looking into his eyes, to face him off, but she couldn’t do it. She was aware of movement to her left and looked away. Dot’s number five was flashing – she must have pressed her call button. Now she was getting to her feet. She tapped Tank’s ankle with the end of her walking stick.
‘You’re leaking,’ she said.
Tank turned on her. ‘What?’
‘One of your eggs must have broken. It’s coming out of your bag. Give me the box. I’ll get someone to fetch you another one.’
Tank looked down and, sure enough, a clear string of egg white was trailing from a little hole in the corner of one of his bags onto the floor. ‘Shit.’
‘Language,’ said Dot, calmly.
‘Sorry,’ said Tank, fishing in the bag for the offending egg box.
Neville approached Dot’s checkout. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Just a cracked egg, Neville. We need another box and a cleaner.’
Neville bustled back to the customer service desk and made an announcement on the tannoy system. Soon afterwards, Ant shambled into view.
‘All right?’ he said warily, seeing Tank and the mess.
‘Put your triangle out, Ant,’ said Dot, ‘and then fetch another box of eggs, there’s a love.’
‘On it,’ said Ant.
‘I’ll put all this in another bag, shall I?’ said Dot to Tank. ‘Give it here.’
She caught Bea’s eye and winked at her. Bea smiled her gratitude and turned back to her customers.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said.
‘That’s okay,’ they said, at the same time.
‘I’ll pack, you load,’ Mr Anorak said to wife. They set about their work cheerfully, making Bea wonder if she would ever end up as one of a matching pair. Or if she wanted to. All the time she was dealing with them, she was acutely aware of Tank standing behind her. She willed Ant to hurry up and fetch his eggs. He seemed to take forever, but eventually he shambled back with a new box and handed it over.
Tank grunted and left the store with the Anorak Twins trailing in his wake. Ant set about clearing up the mess.
‘He was in a bit of a mood,’ he said. ‘Did you see his hands and all?’
‘Yes,’ said Bea. ‘Covered in cuts. I just kept thinking about how he got them. He’s obviously got a bit of a temper. Didn’t like me asking questions anyway.’ Then, to Dot, ‘Thanks, babe. You saved my bacon.’
‘’S all right, love. I’ve got your back, you know that.’
‘Yeah. And vicey versey. We need to talk. All three of us.’
Ant glanced at Dot, who smiled at him. ‘Come on, Ant,’ she said. ‘I won’t bite. Let’s just be mates, forget about the other stuff.’
Ant hesitated, then smiled. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. So, what are we talking about?’
‘Tell you later,’ said Bea. She had another customer already loading up their shopping and she was pleased to see it was Julie with Tiffany and Mason. ‘Hiya,’ she said, ‘Nice to see you guys.’
Julie smiled back, but there was a weariness in her face and the smile faded quickly. ‘We’re on a bit of a schedule today,’ she said, keeping her voice low and checking over her shoulder. ‘I was late with dinner yesterday. Dave wasn’t happy. He’s waiting in the car outside for us now.’
Bea scanned her face. At least there were no bruises today. ‘You okay?’ she asked as she scanned the shopping as quickly as she could.
‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’m trying to be more organised today. Was going to make a fish pie but that’ll take too long, so it’s going to be spag bol. That’s nice and quick.’
When the shopping had gone through, Bea helped her pack it into bags. She tried not to look at the photo in Julie’s purse when she got her cash out to pay, but couldn’t help focusing on Dave’s face for a moment. He was a good-looking guy. She’d fancied him the first time she’d seen him, shopping on his own at Costsave. But looks could be deceptive.
Julie was about to start pushing the trolley towards the exit, when Bea reached up to the little shelf by her screen and brought down one of her Teeny Weeny Superheroes and held it towards Tiffany.
‘Here,’ she said, ‘I got this for you.’
Tiffany shied away from her, clutching her pink plastic duck.
‘It’s all right,’ said Bea. ‘You can have it.’
‘Oh, Bea, you didn’t need to do that,’ said Julie.
‘I want to,’ said Bea. ‘Girl power and all that. I’ve got one too.’ She picked up her own little Superhero and held the two together for a moment, making them dance in the air.
Julie smiled and took one toy and showed it to Tiffany. ‘Look, darling. This is for you.’
Tiffany squirmed in her seat, shook her head and held her duck up to her face. Julie grimaced. ‘Sorry, Bea. I think she thinks it’s instead of her duck.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Bea. ‘Pop it in your handbag. You can give it to her later, if you like.’
‘I like it.’ Mason was standing on his tiptoes, looking longingly at the brightly coloured plush toy in his mother’s hands.
‘Do you, darling?’ said Julie.
‘Can I have it? She can be friends with my Transformers.’
Julie looked at Bea. ‘Is that all right?’
‘Of course,’ said Bea, smiling at Mason. ‘Girl power is for boys too.’
‘Yeaaah!’ Mason raised his little hand in the air and Julie flew the toy down to meet it. Grabbing it eagerly, the boy spun away, zooming along by the other checkouts.
‘Careful, Mason!’ Julie called. ‘Oh. Oh no.’ Head down, Mason had cannoned into his dad.
‘Daddy, Daddy, look at this. That lady gave it to me.’ He held the toy up towards Dave’s face. Dave scowled, then snatched the toy away, causing Mason to start crying.
‘That’s very kind,’ he said, ‘but he can’t have this.’ He held the toy out towards Bea.
‘It’s okay,’ said Bea. ‘It’s a present. It’s only little.’
‘It’s for girls,’ he said and dropped it onto the packing area. He turned on Julie. ‘Why were you taking so long, anyway? I’ve been sitting in that car park for ages.’
‘I was just coming. Mason, come here.’ She carefully peeled Mason away from Dave and wiped his face with a tissue. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home.’
Bea watched as the little family group made its way to the front entrance. She felt a shudder run down her spine as she imagined what might happen when Julie and Dave were behind closed doors tonight. The Teeny Weeny Superhero lay on its back on the grey plastic counter. Bea picked it up and looked at it sadly.
‘Put it by your other one,’ said Dot. ‘They can keep each other company.’
Bea was fighting back tears now. ‘I was just trying to do a good thing,’ she said, voice wobbling.
‘I know, babe. Don’t let twassocks like him put you off. Keep doing good things. Keep being you.’
A tear squeezed its way out of Bea’s right eye. She quickly dashed it away and took a deep breath. ‘Stop being nice, you. I can’t cope.’
Dot smiled. ‘Sorry, babe. The thing is, you can’t fix other people’s lives. Not really. But little things can mean a lot.’
‘You’re still doing it,’ said Bea, sniffing hard. ‘Being nice. I warned you.’
‘Okay. I’ll stop.’
‘You’re right, though, Dot. It is the little things, isn’t it? Like having you here every day. I proper missed you when you were away. That’s a big thing, really.’
‘A big thing? Are you saying I’m fat?’ Dot pretended to take umbrage.
‘Yeah,’ said Bea. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’
‘I can’t work you girls out,’ said Ant. ‘If I used the “F” word to either of you, you’d turn my giblets into soup.’
‘You still here?’ said
Bea. ‘How can wiping up a smear of egg take a quarter of an hour?’
‘It’s a skill,’ said Ant, leaning on the top of his mop, grinning. ‘Not everyone can do it. It’s nearly knocking-off time now. Where are we meeting? Are we having some chips?’
‘I’ve got to go and pick Goldie up,’ said Bea. ‘It’ll have to be tomorrow, unless we can WhatsApp or something.’
‘What’s what?’ said Dot.
‘Never mind. Are you in tomorrow?’
‘No. Only two days this week. I could meet you for lunch, though. Café on the corner?’
‘It’s a date,’ said Bea.
‘Girl power,’ said Dot with a wink.
‘Here, what about me?’ said Ant.
‘You can be an honorary member of the sisterhood.’
He appeared to wrestle with this for a moment. ‘Cheers. I think.’ Then, as he spotted Neville emerging from the customer service desk, he shook his head and shambled away.
Not long afterwards, Bea put out her ‘checkout closing’ sign, processed her last customer and started to log out of her terminal. She swivelled round in her chair, expecting to see Dot doing the same but she showed no signs of stopping.
‘It’s five o’clock, Dot.’
‘I know, love, I’m just hanging on here for a minute or two . . .’
‘Wow, you really do want to meet Jay, don’t you?’
‘Too right I do. Specially if he’s your new beau.’
‘Shh,’ said Bea. ‘Not so loud, and he isn’t, anyway. We just had a drink. Oh, here he is.’
They both looked towards the back of the store, to see Jay walking slowly towards them. He stood by the side of checkout five. ‘You must be Dot.’
‘That’s me,’ Dot said and stood up. ‘I’ve been keeping this seat warm for you.’
Jay grinned. ‘Much obliged,’ he said. They chatted for a minute or two, before a warning look from Neville sent Bea and Dot heading for the staffroom.
‘Bit too hipstery for me, Bea, but I can see what you mean. Those eyes! David Bowie or what?’
‘Yeah, I know. There’s something about him, too, Dot. He’s kind and principled, you know?’
‘Nice. Kind is good.’
‘And . . .no, I shouldn’t say really.’
‘What?’
Bea drew Dot closer to her. ‘His parents are minted.’
Dot’s eyes grew wide. ‘Tell me more.’
‘Tennis courts and swimming pool sort of minted.’
Dot gave a low whistle. She clutched at Bea’s arm. ‘Get in there, girl!’
22
Bea looked at the figure on the bottom of the sheet of paper. The numbers seemed to swim in front of her eyes. £345.36. ‘That can’t be right.’
‘Would you like me to print out an itemised bill?’ said the woman behind the counter.
‘Yes, please.’
‘No. No, it’s fine,’ said Bob. He gently took the paper from Bea and put his debit card into the payment machine. ‘I said I’d take care of it and I will.’
‘Bob, you can’t. It’s too much,’ said Bea.
‘We’ll pay you back,’ said Queenie.
‘Yes,’ said Bea. ‘We will.’
Having typed in his code, Bob took the card out of the machine and back into his wallet. Then he put a hand on both their shoulders and gave them a little squeeze. ‘Ladies, I’ve paid. It’s done. Let’s say no more about it. We need to get this lady home.’
They all looked down at Goldie, who was sitting by their feet grinning up at them, apparently better after her overnight stay. They headed for the door. As they were going out, Simon was coming in. His eyes briefly met Bea’s and there was a flash of recognition. He had a nice, open face and Bea couldn’t imagine what he and Tank had in common. But she had seen them together and there was some sort of transaction going on. She wondered if he realised where he’d seen her before.
She hurried after Bob and Queenie. Goldie obligingly hopped into the boot of Bob’s car.
Bob stayed on for tea – they made two Costsave Italiano pizzas stretch to the three of them by cooking a few oven chips as well – and afterwards they sat in the lounge, watching telly. It almost felt like he’d moved in. Bea didn’t exactly mind him being there, but it felt odd. She couldn’t properly relax, didn’t feel she could change into her onesie and slob about as she would normally do. At a quarter to eight, he looked at his watch. Bea breathed a little sigh of relief – he was clearly about to go.
‘Footie kicks off soon,’ said Bob. ‘It’s on the other channel.’
‘Oh,’ said Queenie. ‘Change over, then. We don’t mind a bit of football, do we, Bea?’
Bea struggled to find a polite reply. It was one of their ‘things’, hers and Queenie’s, that they both hated sport. She was just about to splutter something when she realised what Queenie was doing now, and she actually gasped as Queenie handed the remote to Bob.
The remote.
The centre of their existence was in Bob’s hands now.
It was too much.
‘I . . .I’m going to have a bath,’ Bea said, clambering to her feet.
‘Right-oh, love,’ said Queenie.
‘Can you put the kettle on, while you’re on your feet?’ said Bob. ‘Fancy a cuppa now. Unless,’ he paused, ‘unless there’s a beer in the fridge.’
‘Sorry, Bob,’ said Queenie, ‘we don’t have any. I’ll have to get some in.’
After her bath, Bea took refuge in her room. She sat on her bed and opened her laptop intending to look at the link Jay had sent. She found his message and was about to click on the link when his words came back to her. I could link you to some videos, if you like. If you watch them, though, you’ll never eat meat again.
Bea paused. Was she ready for this? What if Jay was right and she was so disgusted by what she saw that she couldn’t face eating meat again? She liked eating meat – bacon, chicken, the odd burger. Mm, bacon. Her mouth filled with saliva at the thought of it. If she viewed the video now, she might never eat a bacon sandwich again. She might have eaten her last one.
Bea sat back against the pillows and looked up at the ceiling. If she was going to do this, it shouldn’t, couldn’t, just be a casual thing. She should at least eat the final bacon sandwich mindfully, savour its salty deliciousness. Say goodbye properly.
She found herself thinking about the peck on the cheek that had turned into something else. What would it be like being involved with someone like Jay? She exited Messenger and brought up Google instead, and typed the words, ‘Kingsleigh Hunt Sabs’.
There was a website, Facebook groups, a Twitter feed and several YouTube videos. Bea clicked on YouTube and selected the first video. The caption explained the footage – scenes from a day’s sabbing including lining up where the hunt gathered, trying to distract the hounds by spraying scent on hedges and imitating the huntsmen’s calls, and finding the bloody results of an ‘accidental’ kill.
To start with the two sides seemed amorphous in their own way, two tribes of anonymous people. The sabs were all in dark clothes, with black balaclavas or woolly hats and scarves, and heavy boots. The huntsmen wore red jackets, pale jodhpurs and black riding hats. They had their own people on the ground, too, following them on quad bikes or in Land Rovers.
There was antagonism between the groups from the start, and Bea found herself feeling anxious as she played the footage. There was an undercurrent of violence, never far from the surface. The sabs were keen not to be identified, but as the camera panned past one group, Bea gasped. She paused the video, rewound it, played it again and froze the screen. Only the sabs’ eyes were visible through the postbox slots of their balaclavas, but there was no doubting the person frozen on screen – one blue eye and one green. It was clearly Jay.
Bea watched to the end of the video and loaded the next one. Another meet. Another Saturday. She was looking out for Jay again, but didn’t spot him this time. But there was someone she did recognise. A man in a Barbour jac
ket and flat cap talking to a group of riders, before heels were dug into sides, reins gathered, and the group trotted and then cantered away, along the edge of a field.
‘Well I never,’ Bea said to herself. For some reason, she had never imagined any of her Costsave clientele as part of the hunting, shooting and fishing brigade, but, then again why not? All the world passes through the aisles of a supermarket.
She’d seen enough for one evening. She closed the laptop and wondered whether to go and make a bedtime cuppa, perhaps even take in an old episode of The Kardashians or a Come Dine With Me. There were muffled shouts from downstairs as Bob made his opinions about the referee clear. The ninety minutes were clearly not yet up. Bea sighed and reached towards the bedside table and her current book. She’d gone back to the classics recently – she’d always liked English at school and even A-Level English Literature hadn’t put her off reading – and was enjoying the wicked adventures of Becky Sharp in Vanity Fair. Not a million miles from the shenanigans on reality TV, and the clothes were better, she thought to herself, as she snuggled under the duvet and found her bookmarked place.
23
It was a beautiful morning. The January sun was reaching over the horizon, sending long shadows across the fields. After a good sleep, Goldie seemed to be back to her usual self, plodding along happily beside Ant and Bea as they headed towards the farm.
‘You sure you shouldn’t be at home on Mother Hen duties?’ said Bea.
‘Yeah, it’s fine,’ said Ant. ‘I checked on the little bastard before I left and he was actually in his bed. His room smelt rank, mind. Gonna go in like a SWAT team when I get back. Wake him up, throw him in the shower, make him eat some breakfast and march him off to school.’
Bea pulled a face. ‘Good luck with all that.’
‘The thing is, I can get him there, but I can’t make him stay. He could go AWOL any time during the day. Used to do it myself.’
‘You can only do what you can do.’
‘True dat. Bet you didn’t.’
‘What?’
‘Bunk off when you were at school.’
Bea smiled. ‘No, I was a good girl. I did miss a bit of school, when my dad was ill and then . . .you know.’
