by K. L. Slater
Everything is going well. Everything is going to be fine.
She wouldn’t let her past define her any more… Today was all about her future, and she would push aside anyone who tried to stop her in her tracks.
She had to do it for herself, and this time ensure she made a much better job of it.
Chapter Eighteen
Holly
As soon as the memory drifted closer, she got the familiar sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Ordinarily she’d push it away as hard as she could, back in its box and snap the lid shut. But today, she felt so good she thought she might just risk allowing herself a few minutes to think about what had happened.
To move on, she knew she had to revisit the past in an effort to construct an organised timeline that might help her now she was feeling better.
* * *
Markus had reassured her more than once during the coach trip to Manchester that he had already organised temporary accommodation for the two of them.
‘Where?’ she’d asked. ‘A hotel or an apartment?’
He had laughed. ‘Take a chill pill, Holly.’ He’d shaken his head. ‘I had you down as a little more of a maverick rather than the worrying, nervous type.’
‘I’m not worrying or nervous,’ she’d lied. ‘I’m just asking, is all.’
He had smiled and closed his eyes again. ‘Trust me. Everything will be fine.’
The cold rain had lashed their faces as they’d alighted from the coach at Manchester bus station. Reversing beeps and vehicle headlights had lit up the darkness and showered them with a blaze of artificial brightness that Holly had found herself turning away from.
Markus had brought a holdall and a rucksack, the same as Holly had, and they’d waited in turn behind the other passengers, ready to pull their bags from the under-vehicle luggage stowage.
A scruffy-looking man in his twenties had been waiting for them as they walked into the foyer. Markus had introduced him simply as Tyrone. He’d nodded towards Holly without looking at her and then handed Markus a hand-scrawled note with some directions, and what looked to Holly like timings.
‘Everything’s on there,’ he’d said, his eyes darting around the station. ‘You’ve got my number, yeah?’
‘Yes,’ Markus had agreed, and glanced at his watch. ‘We are supposed to meet Karla here… five minutes ago, actually.’
‘I know nothing about that, man,’ Tyrone had mumbled. ‘See you back here at eight in the morning, yeah?’
‘Fine,’ Markus had said confidently. ‘Thank you.’
When Tyrone had disappeared, Holly grasped Markus’s arm. ‘Where’s this woman who’s supposed to be meeting us? What if she doesn’t turn up… where will we stay?’
‘Holly, Holly!’ he’d drawled. ‘Relax. She will show, I promise.’
She did show. Half an hour late.
It was after eleven at night and the coach arrivals seemed to have slowed to nothing. Apart from a steward in a high-vis jacket, it appeared that Holly and Markus were the only two people still waiting.
Suddenly a tall, impoverished-looking young woman in jeans and high heels, with stringy black hair, had appeared out of nowhere and walked quickly towards them.
‘Is that her?’ Holly had asked, hardly able to keep the hope out of her voice.
‘I don’t know.’ Markus had shrugged. ‘I have never met her.’
An uneasy feeling had gripped Holly’s stomach yet again, but the woman was closer now, so she’d had to keep her thoughts to herself.
‘Markus?’ the woman had said in a broad Manchester accent. Her face was plastered with greasy-looking make-up, her eyes heavily painted with eyeliner, but her dry, chapped lips had been left with no colour.
‘Yes, and this is my friend Holly.’ Markus had smiled but the woman didn’t return it. ‘You are Karla, I presume?’
‘Yeah.’ She’d checked her watch. ‘Look, I need to be somewhere else in twenty minutes, so we’d best grab a cab.’
‘Where are we staying?’ Markus had asked once they’d shoved their luggage in the boot of the cab and were on their way. ‘Is it an apartment, or a house?’
Karla had turned around in the front passenger seat and looked back at him like he’d fallen from the sky.
‘Dunno, mate. I just do as I’m told.’ A smirk had played around the corners of her dry mouth as she’d added playfully, ‘Might be a five-bed mansion in Altrincham for all I know.’
It turned out not to be a mansion in an affluent area of Manchester.
The cab had turned suddenly from the brightly lit main road and progressed slowly down a warren of dingy side streets. Holly had spotted dubious-looking groups of hooded characters clustered together in the dense shadows.
She’d gripped Markus’s upper arm and squeezed to signify her nervousness, but he had stared out of his own window and hadn’t reacted when she hissed, ‘I thought your friend had a decent place for us to stay?’
When the cab finally came to a standstill, Markus paid him in cash.
‘It’s that one, with the broken glass.’ Karla had pointed to the most run-down house in the middle of a terrace of five. ‘See you around, yeah?’
Without answering her, Holly had pushed the door of the cab shut and the heavy black vehicle had pulled away.
‘Markus, I don’t want to stay—’
‘Holly, please,’ he’d said sharply, his feet scuffing on the wet pavement. ‘We just need to get through the next couple of days, that’s all. Unless you’ve got money for a swanky hotel, that is.’
When he snapped, it unnerved her. She’d never known Markus anything other than smiling, joking, reassuring in his manner. Maybe he was also feeling unsure about how safe his arrangements were. Earlier, he’d certainly implied that everything had been taken care of satisfactorily.
‘This will all be behind you if you impress my friend,’ he said simply.
She’d waited, but as usual, no further details were forthcoming. She was getting sick and tired of hearing about this mystery friend who apparently held their future in his palm.
Markus had rapped twice at the peeling front door with the boarded-up panel, but there had been no reply. He’d shrugged at her and then turned the handle and pushed… and the door had creaked open, catching on the rucked-up carpet inside.
Holly had followed him into the house, having decided she really had no choice but to front it out. That was definitely what Markus was doing. He might appear confident, but she’d noticed his tense jaw and the odd exaggerated blink.
She’d just have to look at it as the start of her new adventure, she told herself for the umpteenth time.
As Markus closed the door behind them, a figure had appeared in the doorway of what Holly presumed would be the front room in a normal, functioning household.
It was at that precise moment, when she’d looked into the man’s lifeless eyes, that she had realised this first night was probably going to be a far worse experience than she had previously imagined.
Chapter Nineteen
David
I watch as the driver of the silver BMW parks up at the top of the car park, behind the assistant manager’s outsized Range Rover.
I’ve seen this underhanded strategy many times since I started the job. Some folks think that if they park as far away from my office as possible and use a larger vehicle as cover, I won’t notice they are parking illegally.
Barely blinking, I train my eyes on the spot, and within a matter of seconds I catch a glimpse of the driver disappearing up the near-invisible alleyway in the top corner.
It’s a little-known short cut through which one is able to double back onto the main street and the shopping mall beyond.
I smile in satisfaction as my eyes drop to the clipboard.
I already have his full registration number, recorded a mere second or two after he entered the car park. I pick up the phone and speed-dial Bob at Clamp ’Em, a company we use that’s located a mere stone’s throw from the
store.
‘Be there in a jiffy, David,’ Bob says brightly. ‘We’ll give him a nice two-hundred-quid surprise for when he gets back from his shopping trip, eh?’
I sigh with contentment and lean back in my padded chair.
Job satisfaction is a fine thing. The outside world is a different matter altogether, but here, in my office, I am king.
My word is law, as that arrogant Beamer driver is about to discover.
I grab my high-vis jacket and quickly lock up the office. I’ve probably got five minutes at the most before Bob arrives with his specialist clamping equipment.
He’s got the offending vehicle’s registration number and he can get on with the job without me, but if I’m honest, I don’t want to miss all the fun.
I use the shop’s back entrance and bump into Cath, the receptionist.
‘I’m after Mr Kellington, Cath,’ I say briskly, one arm tangling up in my jacket as I try to get it on. ‘I’ve some important information for him.’
Cath’s mouth seems to fight a smirk, but I’m probably imagining it. There’s nothing funny about a parking violation. ‘He’s upstairs, David, just about to interview for the sales assistant vacancy. You might catch him if you hurry.’
I race upstairs up to the small suite of management offices.
Mr Kellington likes to be aware of everything that happens on the premises. I know he’ll appreciate me taking the time to inform him about today’s rogue driver.
I probably initiate about four or five clamps a month, and Mr Kellington once informed me that this figure was double the number carried out under the previous parking assistant’s watch.
‘Our last attendant didn’t quite have your… shall we say, enthusiasm, for punishing offenders,’ he’d said, smiling at me in that funny way he sometimes did when I handed him my weekly parking violations report. ‘He always warned them first, you see.’
I’ve no time for that sort of softly-softly approach, particularly when drivers pass a large black-and-white sign on the way in:
CUSTOMER PARKING ONLY. OFFENDERS WILL BE CLAMPED.
If that’s not a clear enough warning, I don’t know what is.
As I near the top of the stairs, I spot Mr Kellington and Josh speaking to a smartly dressed young lady. Josh sweeps an open arm to steer her into the meeting room.
I’m just on the brink of calling out, to catch them before they disappear into the office, when, entirely of their own accord, my feet suddenly stop dead.
From a distance, I didn’t register the significance of the shoulder-length light brown hair, nor the dark, brooding eyes and sensible flat shoes.
But when she turns to thank Josh for holding the door, I realise exactly who she is.
It’s the girl from next door.
Mrs Barrett’s visitor.
Chapter Twenty
There are lots of things I don’t recall very clearly, but I remember watching her. In the café.
It didn’t take me long to work out that when she could, she sat in the same place.
Once she was busy chatting, it wasn’t too difficult to squeeze in at one of the tables just around the corner. The ones that are usually free because they’re tight for space… but also conveniently out of her line of sight.
Just a friendly suggestion: she should learn to speak a little more quietly.
I learned a lot about her just by listening, even before we actually met.
She gave me the idea; she made me want to get to know her better.
She’d do well to remember that.
She can’t see me from down here, has no clue that I have a bird’s-eye view of her every move. She spends most of her time in the living room or the kitchen, and occasionally she comes out into the yard.
It hasn’t taken me long to establish her routine. I know that if I can get around the back of the house, stand under the cover of an oak tree that shades the unmade path that runs across into open fields, I can watch her in the bedroom, too.
She always puts on the light and then closes the thin bedroom curtains. Sometimes she stands there for a few moments, illuminated by the stark light behind her, staring out into the darkness. It seems as if she knows I’m here, watching. I often feel like she’s reaching out to me, wanting me to show my face.
Of course, I never do. For now, it’s best she hasn’t got a clue that I’m getting to know her, watching her live her uneventful life.
There’s no need for her to know my intentions at this point.
She’ll become aware of them soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-One
Holly
The day after her interview, Holly started the new job.
On her arrival at the main entrance, she was impressed that Mr Kellington himself had taken the time to give her a tour of the large three-storey premises.
Afterwards, he spoke to her for a good thirty minutes in his office, availing her of the family history behind the company and the ethos that he said made Kellington’s different.
‘We’re a business like any other,’ he began, lifting his chin and tweaking his black-and-white-spotted bow tie. ‘But our customer service must never be sacrificed in favour of the balance sheet. As my father told me when I started here fifty years ago as an apprentice: the customer always comes first at Kellington’s.’
Holly nodded in all the right places, but as Mr Kellington continued, she started to understand.
‘When a customer approaches you, we don’t click the stopwatch here, Holly. If they want to talk about the holiday they’ve just returned from in the Caribbean, then listen. Maybe tell them it’s a place you’ve always wanted to go, or talk about your own holiday experiences to build some rapport.’
Fat chance of that, Holly thought. She hadn’t taken a holiday in years.
‘Get to know the products inside out so you can best advise the customer on what they need. They might not know themself, and you can help them make the necessary decisions. And the most important thing of all,’ Mr Kellington added, ‘is to remember there’s no hard sell here. You will receive a good commission structure for all goods sold, but we want our customers to return, not to feel they’ve been pressured or fleeced.’
Holly immediately thought about her last job before leaving Manchester. It had been in a vast, impersonal call centre, selling life insurance. The manager had told her to say literally anything to get the customers to buy, particularly during December, when family took priority over telesales products and any spare cash was spent on presents.
‘Scare them with the facts,’ he’d said. ‘Ask them what good all their gifts will do if their family get lumbered with crippling funeral costs.’
‘That seems a bit mean,’ Holly had countered. ‘To be talking about death, I mean, at Christmas.’
The manager had laughed at her naïvety. ‘It’s a fact of life, love! Try googling celebs who’ve died on Christmas Day; you’ll be surprised how many there are. Rattling off a few well-known names who’ve carked it soon brings it home to the customer that these things can happen to anyone. Get their bank details and get them off the phone quick as you can, so you can sign up the next one.’
She’d lasted almost three weeks there, until a recently widowed lady had broken down when Holly had used the ‘Christmas death’ sales line. She’d decided there and then that she couldn’t do it any more.
So when Mr Kellington outlined the exact opposite policy at the store, Holly smiled appreciatively and nodded.
‘As my father once said to me, people buy from people,’ he stressed. ‘And I would add that they especially buy from people that they trust and like.’
She left the MD’s office not only feeling that she knew practically every last sales tip that Mr Kellington’s father had ever uttered, but also with a sense that there was a chance she might make a real difference here, and be good at it too.
That wasn’t something she’d been used to in her previous call-centre roles, where new staff were viewed as constant,
transient fodder.
It would’ve been easy to take everything Mr Kellington had said with a pinch of salt and concentrate on maximising her own sales – she’d been very pleasantly surprised at the excellent commission structure – but Holly decided to follow his advice.
He might appear a touch eccentric, wandering around the shop floor with the little notebook he scribbled in constantly, and his striking bow ties – a different design for each day, apparently – but clearly he knew his stuff. And she could tell that his store was a personal passion rather than simply a means of earning as much money as possible.
The assistant manager, Josh Peterson, was particularly helpful. He sort of took Holly under his wing, giving her bits of useful inside information, like Mr Kellington’s bizarre bow ties. He also pointed out Emily Beech, the top saleswoman in the company.
The store showrooms were split into three levels. Bedrooms downstairs, lavish home accessories and staff offices upstairs, and on the ground floor, which was to be Holly’s base, lounge and dining furniture and also lighting.
Holly would be one of four sales assistants working the ground floor, and Emily Beech was another.
Josh lowered his voice, even though Emily was busy with customers over the other side of the showroom.
‘She’s only worked here for a year, but between you and me, with commission, her salary has just exceeded thirty grand. That’s considerably more than any of the other sales staff. Jeez, it’s not that far off my own pay.’
Holly’s eyes widened. She thought of what a salary like that could do for her in terms of paying off her debt and achieving the fresh start she craved so badly… Everything suddenly felt so much more achievable.
When the recruitment consultant had flagged up this job, Holly had expected a standard retail assistant post, paying the minimum wage. She’d imagined it would entail nothing more strenuous than giving customers a bit of information about the products and then pointing them in the direction of the cash till.
