Dead Stock

by Rachel Ward

  ‘Not for long, Mum. Just until we find out whose it is.’

  ‘No, Bea. I’m just getting used to Goldie, but not a cat as well. I mean, cats and dogs, how’s that going to work?’

  ‘We’ll just have to keep them in separate rooms.’

  ‘But the poo, Bea. The poo!’

  ‘I’ll run down to the corner shop, see if they’ve got a litter tray and that.’

  ‘I don’t want a filthy litter tray in the house!’

  ‘Just for today, Mum. I’ll sort it out. I promise. He’s a nice cat.’ Bea crossed her fingers behind her back as she said this. From what she’d seen of him, he wasn’t entirely sweetness and light. ‘Look at his little, face, Mum. Just look.’

  Bea had put the cat carrier on the kitchen table. Now Queenie leant over and peered through the wire door. The cat peered back and gave a little miaow.

  ‘Ooh,’ said Queenie. ‘It’s pure white. Like Arthur.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘You’re too young to remember. He used to be on the adverts years ago, eating his dinner right out of the tin. What was it now? Kattomeat!’

  ‘Perhaps we should keep him in the carrier. Just for today. I’ve got to go in to work soon. What do you think?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, Bea. Isn’t that a bit cruel? It’s only a small box, but then I don’t want a cat wandering about, pooing everywhere. And I don’t want any argy-bargy between the two of them. Oh. Oh no.’

  While they were talking, the cat had pushed his nose against the door, which had swung open.

  ‘Oh crikey,’ said Bea. ‘We can’t have done up the catch properly. Quick, Mum, get Goldie in the other room!’

  ‘Wait a minute, Bea. Look.’

  ‘Arthur’ had crept to the edge of the table and was peering over the edge. Goldie shambled over to investigate this latest development. She padded closer and closer until she was only a few inches from the table, then tipped her head up to have a good sniff. Arthur flashed out his paw and swiped Goldie’s nose. He got two good hits in before a rather dazed Goldie backed away.

  ‘Hey!’ Bea shouted. ‘That’ll do!’

  ‘No, it’s all right, Bea,’ said Queenie. ‘That’s a good thing. He’s showed her who’s boss. I reckon they might be all right together. Go and fetch a tray and some litter, like you said. And a tin or two of cat food. I wonder if they still make Kattomeat?’

  When Bea finally made it into work, Ant was skulking around with a big black cloud over his head.

  ‘What’s up with you?’

  He scowled. ‘Gotta help Eileen put out the Valentine’s stuff.’

  ‘It’s not the worst job in the world, mate.’

  ‘Hmph. I’d rather do the trolleys out in the rain.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘She hates me. She just treats me like I’m thick.’

  ‘She’s pretty good at displaying stock, though, Ant. Just watch what she does and try and learn something.’

  ‘I don’t want to learn how to make his ‘n’ hers champagne glasses look good on a shelf.’

  ‘Flutes,’ said Bea.

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re called flutes.’

  ‘God, don’t you start bloody educating me. Jeez . . . Anyway, I wanted to ask you, can you look out for Ken later? I told him to come into the shop and find me, tell me how he got on at school.’

  ‘You got him there all right?’

  ‘Yup. He smelt nice. He was dressed right. He’d had some breakfast.’ Ant listed his triumphs on his fingers. ‘I’ve done my bit, now he has to do his. How’d you get on with the cat?’

  ‘Oh, I need to tell you about that—’

  ‘Oi!’

  They both looked round to see Eileen glowering at them from the end of aisle seven. She jabbed at her watch with her stubby index finger, and jerked her head to one side to indicate that Ant was needed.

  ‘Tell me later, okay?’ He shambled off towards aisle seven like a condemned man approaching the gallows.

  Tom and Shaz joined Bea’s queue with their lunchtime meal deals – a pack of sandwiches, some crisps and a drink for £3.99.

  ‘There’s nothing on the list about a white cat, Bea,’ said Tom as they reached the front of the queue. ‘I’ve checked.’

  ‘Oh, are you sure?’

  ‘Just give it back to your mate, or whatever the story was.’

  ‘He isn’t my mate,’ said Bea.

  ‘If you don’t know them, take it to the Dogs and Cats Home, then. If someone’s looking for it, they’ll check there.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Here’s your change.’

  ‘We’re on that other thing today, the one I told you about.’ He gave her a wink. ‘Much more like it.’ He moved along and stood waiting by the window as Shaz took her turn.

  ‘That’s not strictly true. What Tom just told you,’ said Shaz. She leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. ‘A woman did come in to report a missing cat, but she was rather confused. I heard her talking to Damien, the desk sergeant. She seemed to be talking about a cat but then she was talking about her husband and some sort of rant about her neighbour. I don’t think it even got recorded as a missing cat – it’s not on our list anyway – but I’ll ask Damien when I see him.’ She gave Bea a wink.

  ‘Thank you, Shaz. He must belong to someone and I don’t want to give him back to the person I saw with him. I don’t trust them.’

  Shaz raised an eyebrow. ‘Want to tell me about that?’

  Behind her, Tom was getting impatient. ‘Come on, Shaz. We’ve only got twenty minutes to eat this in now, then we’ve got some hot leads to follow.’

  Shaz rolled her eyes. She put her loose change in her trouser pocket and gathered up her lunch things. ‘Seriously, if you’ve got some information, let me know. In confidence.’

  She handed Bea a business card, with an email and mobile number on it, before going to join Tom. Bea put the card in the pocket of her tabard. As she did so, she remembered the scrap of paper she’d picked up at the farm that morning. Where was it? In her coat pocket? That had had a number on it too, hadn’t it?

  At lunchtime, Bea caught up with Ant. ‘How’s it going?’

  He puffed out his cheeks. ‘It’s done. That’s the best I can say. If you want an overpriced box of chocs, some socks that say “I love you” on the side, or a tea towel with little hearts all over it, they’re ready and waiting for you on aisle fifteen.’

  Bea grinned. ‘Don’t think I’ll be wanting any of that.’

  ‘Me neither. Not that stuff anyway. I’ll need to get something for Ayesha. I’m so skint I might have to liberate some flowers from somewhere. Valentine’s Day’s a rip-off, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, although—’ She stopped herself. This was more of a topic for Dot, not Ant.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Nothing. It is a rip-off, but it’s also miserable if you haven’t got anyone on Valentine’s Day.’

  ‘What are you talking about? You’ve got guys queuing up for you. That copper’s still sniffing around, isn’t he? And Jay’s obviously got the hots for you.’

  Bea pulled a face. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’

  ‘I know so. No need for you to be a lonely heart. Just go for it. And, hey, if those two let you down —’ he opened his arms out wide ‘—I’m here for you, any time you need me.’

  She scanned his face, checking he was joking. She reckoned he was. She took a sip of tea.

  ‘Seriously, Bea. Obviously I’m okay in the romance department at the moment, but how about we make a pact? If we get really old, like thirty or something, and we’re still not fixed up, how about you and me?’

  Bea started to choke on her tea, not knowing whether to gulp it down or spit it out. She ended up with a disastrous volley of coughs and burps all mixed up together. Everyone in the staffroom stopped what they were doing and looked at her.

  ‘You all right, Bea?’ Kirsty shouted out.

  ‘Slap her back, Ant, quickly!’ said Bob.<
br />
  Bea flapped her hands in the air to indicate that she didn’t need any help, and eventually she recovered a bit of composure.

  ‘Sorry, everyone,’ she said. ‘Tea down the wrong way.’

  Ant grinned. ‘Bit of a shock to the system,’ he said, then tapped the side of his head, ‘but think about it. You don’t have to give me an answer now.’

  ‘Ant, I don’t need to think,’ she said. ‘The answer’s—’

  But Ant’s phone started to ring. He held his hand up to shush her and answered. His expression darkened. ‘Oh no. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Okay, thanks for telling me.’ He killed the call.

  ‘What is it, mate?’ asked Bea.

  ‘That was the school. Ken’s gone AWOL again.’

  26

  After the teatime rush, the store became eerily empty.

  Ant was on ‘put-backs’, returning items left at the checkouts to their rightful places on the shelves. His meanderings took him to where Bea and Jay were working alongside each other.

  ‘Did you track down Ken?’ Bea asked.

  ‘Nah. I keep trying his mobile but he’s not answering.’

  ‘You could ask George to leave early.’

  ‘She’s gone already. It would have to be Neville,’ he cast a glance towards the customer service desk, ‘and I’m not sure he’d be very sympathetic. Anyway, what am I going to do – walk round the whole town on the off-chance that I’ll find him swigging cider in the park or doing some hippy crack round the back of the garages?’

  ‘Well, yeah, maybe. He’s just running wild, isn’t he?’

  ‘I know, but is it all my fault? Stevo’s just moved in with his girlfriend’s family – her mum’s a really good cook – and left me to it. It’s not really fair, is it?’ There was more than a hint of truculence in Ant’s tone.

  ‘No, mate. I didn’t say that,’ said Bea. ‘But it seems like you’re the only one who’s around and who cares enough to do something about it.’

  ‘Not sure I do. He’s always been a little shit.’

  ‘Ant,’ Bea said, reproachfully.

  ‘I don’t mean it. Not really. I’d like to help sort him out, but I’m not sure where to start. If he’s home when I get back, I’ll try and have a chat with him. Can we talk about something else?’

  ‘Oops, incoming,’ said Bea, spotting a customer approaching. ‘Catch you later.’

  Kevin, the photographer with the tragic comb-over, put his shopping on Bea’s conveyor belt – a couple of meat pies, a bag of oven chips, a plain Viennetta, and a family bag of mint humbugs. Bea smiled and just managed to stop herself saying, Dinner at your mum’s, is it? After all, she was in the same boat.

  ‘Bea,’ said Kevin. ‘You haven’t paid me a visit yet.’ He’d offered to take Bea’s photo last year and given her his business card. ‘I’d do it for free,’ he said. ‘Seeing as we’re friends.’

  Bea’s wit was letting her down. She couldn’t think of a suitable put-down. ‘I’m happy with a selfie,’ she said, and then regretted it as Kevin’s mouth spread into a leer.

  ‘I bet you are,’ he said.

  Bea swallowed down the little bit of sick that had risen to the back of her throat. ‘Any progress on the missing cats case?’ she said, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

  ‘Nah. Happy with this week’s front page, though.’

  This week’s Bugle featured a montage of various views of Costsave and photos of the missing cats. It was bad news for Costsave but it had at least knocked the story of Ant’s dad into the middle pages.

  ‘You must get an instinct for these things, though. What do you think’s going on?’

  Kevin put his shopping in a canvas bag. ‘I don’t know, Bea. There might be a sicko out there, taking them. Or perhaps there’s a mad old woman luring them in and keeping them as pets.’ He put the mint humbugs in his bag. ‘I’d better check round at Mum’s, hadn’t I, see if the daft old bird’s turned into a catnapper. She’s got one cat, and that’s one too many. Nasty old thing. She’d be better off without it. Can’t stand cats myself.’

  After he’d gone, Bea sprayed her conveyor belt with disinfectant and used some hand sanitiser. It was the best she could do at work, although really she wanted to take a shower. Kevin always made her feel like that.

  ‘He’s a bit of a creep, isn’t he?’ said Jay.

  ‘Got it in one,’ said Bea.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Photographer for the local rag.’

  ‘Figures,’ he said.

  Ant, Bea and Jay walked down the High Street together. They stopped outside the chip shop.

  ‘You can’t live on chips, Ant,’ said Bea.

  ‘I’m skint, Bea. And besides, I can’t cook. I found a fiver stuffed in one of the kitchen drawers. So it’s toast for breakfast and lunch. Chips for tea.’

  ‘I was going to cook tonight,’ said Jay, ‘but it’s a bit late. I’ll come and get some chips with you.’

  ‘Well, I’d better head home and see how Queenie’s got on with a cat and a dog for company. Before I go, though, I wanted to show you something. I found it this morning at the farm.’ She fished in her pocket and drew out the bit of paper.

  Ant stood back. It wasn’t public knowledge yet that he couldn’t read, and he obviously wasn’t keen to share the information. Jay took the paper from Bea and looked at it.

  ‘It’s a bit dark out here,’ he said. ‘Let’s go inside. Have a quick cuppa with us, Bea.’

  Bea didn’t need her arm twisting. ‘Well, just a quick one.’

  They trooped into the chippy and Bea gave Jay a couple of pounds for her tea and nabbed a table in the furthest corner for them all. She smoothed the scrap of paper out on the table top.

  ‘That’s got your fingerprints all over it now,’ said Ant, swinging into the chair opposite her. ‘If it’s evidence.’

  ‘Ha! You’re starting to think like a detective,’ said Bea.

  ‘I’m not just a pretty face, you know,’ said Ant. He pushed his polystyrene tray of chips into the middle of the table, next to the paper. ‘Have some,’ he said.

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ said Bea.

  ‘Go on. They’re nice today.’

  She took a chip, dipped it in the reservoir of sauce Ant had squeezed into the corner of the tray and bit half of it off. It was piping hot and the perfect combination of grease, potato, salt, vinegar and ketchup.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she said. ‘They are good.’

  Jay sat down next to Ant.

  ‘What were you going to cook?’ said Ant.

  ‘Veggie curry and flatbreads. I’ve got all the stuff at home.’

  ‘Flatbreads?’

  ‘Yeah, unleavened bread. It’s easy, you make up a dough and then cook them on a griddle. They puff up a bit if you’re lucky.’

  ‘You make them from scratch?’

  ‘Yeah, man,’ said Jay. ‘It’s easy. Look, come round tomorrow. Bring that brother of yours if you can find him. I’ll cook dinner.’

  ‘Really?’ said Ant.

  ‘Yeah. Why not? Bea’s right, man cannot live on chips alone. Right, Bea?’ Bea, feeling rather left out, had been pretending to study the piece of paper. Now she looked across the table at Ant and Jay. ‘Fancy a curry tomorrow, Bea? I’m cooking.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. I’ll ask Queenie, but yes, that’d be really nice. If you’ve got enough to go round.’

  ‘Ah, that’s the good thing about curries. You can just keep chucking things in. Feed an army. The more the merrier. So, are we ringing the number on that paper, then?’

  Bea looked back at it. There was a star or an asterisk and a mobile phone number.

  ‘I reckon we should,’ she said.

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Jay. ‘Give it a ring and see who answers.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Say they dropped something at the farm. See what happens.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Go on. Do you want me to?’

  ‘No,
I’ll do it.’

  ‘Put it on the table, on speakerphone.’

  Bea did so and then dialled the number. It rang briefly, then someone picked up.

  ‘Hello?’

  It was a man’s voice. Bea froze. She just didn’t know what to say. The others looked at her, but she shook her head. Ant stepped in.

  ‘All right?’ he said.

  ‘Who is this?’ said the man.

  ‘I’ve been given your number. It’s about the farm. I wanted to know when the next . . .gig is.’

  ‘Gig?’

  ‘Yeah. I can’t spell it out, mate. I’m in the pub.’

  ‘Right. Gig. Who gave you this number?’

  ‘Just a mate.’ Ant hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘Dean.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Well, I’ll have a bloody word with him when I see him. He shouldn’t be giving this number out. Delete it off your phone, right?’

  ‘Yeah. Okay. No problem.’

  ‘It’s Saturday anyway. You can get all the details off him. Bring some friends, if you like. As many as you like as long as they’ve got the cash. No freeloaders.’

  ‘Right. Okay, see you Saturday, man.’

  ‘Yeah, what was your name again?’

  ‘It’s—’ Ant cancelled the call.

  ‘That was brilliant, Ant,’ said Bea. ‘You’re like a private eye or something. Nice one. So something’s kicking off at the farm on Saturday. What are we going to do about it?’

  She and Ant looked at Jay. He was sitting, staring into space, apparently lost in thought.

  ‘Jay,’ said Bea. ‘You all right? What are we going to do about Saturday?’

  He snapped out of it. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But I do know I recognise that voice.’

  ‘Yeah? Who was it?’

  ‘I can’t place them. I’ll get there in the end.’ He seemed to shiver.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s just . . .I don’t know where I’ve met them, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

  They turned back to their chips, and as they were finishing up, Jay slapped the table and said, ‘Got it!’

  Ant and Bea looked up at him.