At mid-morning, two of the part-timers arrive to help out on the shop floor, and Sarah decides to fill up the painkiller section whilst there’s a break in the rush. She starts with the aspirin shelf, jotting down the quantities needed from top to bottom in neat, clear numbers. As she reaches for a shopping basket beside the main till, she sees Jason coming in through the entrance. She knows he has spotted her, and she rushes out past the pharmacy and into the stock room, where she stands a moment.
‘Sarah!’ John calls down from the racking.
She jumps. ‘Oh, God, John!’ she replies, breathless. ‘You nearly scared me to death!’
‘Sorry. So, how you doing?’
‘Good. Um, I’m filling up the over-the-counter stuff – where’s the aspirin kept again?’
He jumps down and shows her. ‘Is it busy out there?’ he asks, handing her the carton of Aspro-Clear she’s looking for.
‘Yeah. Loads of dopey blokes looking for dopey Valentine’s presents.’
‘Oi! We’re not all like that, you know.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Sarah replies, ‘I know.’ She counts the correct number of packets into the basket and hands the carton back to him.
‘Nice bracelet,’ he says as he pushes the box back into its place.
‘Thanks,’ she calls over her shoulder, and she heads out front, hoping she’s been long enough for Jason to have left.
Mrs Gilroy stops her as she passes through the pharmacy. ‘Sarah – take this prescription to Mr Robson, please.’
Sarah reads the label: Mrs P. Robson. They’ll be her happy pills. That’s what Kate calls them. Sarah’s heart is banging as she rounds the corner into the shop and slips behind the till. He’s there, browsing through the Polaroid sunglasses at the front of the store. She’s not sure what to say.
‘Mr Robson?’ she calls across the shop.
He looks up and swaggers towards her, still wearing a pair of the shop’s mirrored aviator glasses. Kerry is busy serving Mrs Budge at the other counter, and she’s having to speak up as the old woman is hard of hearing. Sarah’s alone behind the till, and as Jason draws nearer she feels faint with fear. He smiles and gently places the sunglasses down on the counter.
‘Mr Robson?’ he says. ‘What have I told you about that, Sarah?’
‘Sorry,’ she says, blushing fiercely. ‘I mean Jason.’ She hands him his little paper prescription bag.
‘That’s more like it. So, where’ve you been keeping yourself? We haven’t seen you since you did your disappearing act at New Year.’
She stares at him.
‘I can’t tell you how disappointed I was when I went back into the garden and found you’d gone. I was really enjoying our chat, you know?’ He stares at her intently, the overhead lights dancing at the side of his eyes.
‘Me too,’ Sarah says. What’s wrong with her?
‘Then we must do it again,’ he says. ‘Soon.’ He pauses, holding her gaze. ‘Bye, Sar,’ he says, and he leaves the shop.
She stands quite still, her hands flat against the cool glass surface of the counter, her stomach turning over like a tombola drum. His eyes are so blue.
Mrs Minor puts Sarah in the same painting group as Kate and Tina after half-term, along with Natalie Simpson and Marianne. Kate sucks at a length of hair, her shoulder pointed towards Sarah. Tina stares at her feet, sighing loudly and fiddling with her ‘Love Animals Don’t Eat Them’ badge. Mrs Minor moves about the room arranging daffodils in the centre of each cluster. Their group sits beneath the high sash windows, and the spring sunlight slices through the classroom. Sarah fixes her eyes on the rippling leaves of the silver birch tree through the glass, distracted by thoughts of her father. This morning as they skirted around each other in their tiny kitchen she saw him stumble a little, before steadying himself against the fridge. He turned deathly pale. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked him. He shook his head and rubbed his chest with the heel of his hand. ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ he replied, turning away from her to pick up the butter knife. His knuckles appeared white as he gripped the handle, his other hand balled into a fist on the worktop. ‘Have a good day,’ he said, still not turning to face her.
Sarah had thought of nothing else since.
‘So, Sarah, you’ve not had a chance to do your roots lately, I see?’ Mrs Minor is in spiteful high spirits.
Sarah automatically brings her hand to her hair, drawing her fingers through to break up the thin block of darker roots that runs along her parting. She meets Kate’s eyes, but instead of looking pleased at Sarah’s humiliation she shoots an angry glance back towards Mrs Minor.
‘You ever thought about dying your hair, miss?’ Kate slumps back in her chair, chewing on a bit of thumb-skin.
Mrs Minor turns haughtily to face Kate. ‘Oh, protecting your little friend, are you?’ she sneers.
Kate meets Sarah’s eyes. ‘Or maybe if you backcombed it you might look a little bit taller? You might gain maybe half an inch or so?’
Mrs Minor stretches across the group to rearrange their flowers, even though she’s already done it. ‘What’s that you’re wearing?’ She points at Kate’s legs. ‘Looks more like a belt than a skirt if you ask me, Kate Robson.’ She smiles victoriously.
‘I didn’t,’ says Kate.
‘Didn’t what?’
‘Ask you.’
The volume of chatter has dropped to near silence, as every girl listens in on the exchange, poised, waiting for Mrs Minor’s reaction. Sarah and Tina stare at Kate, who continues to chew her fingers and bounce her shoe around on the end of her toe.
Mrs Minor turns on her heel and marches to the front of the class, like a little wooden soldier.
‘I fucking hate her,’ Kate whispers to Tina, turning round to face the front. ‘Midget.’
As the lesson progresses, the girls chat, Kate clearly trying to draw Sarah into the conversation. Sarah is hesitant at first, wondering if it’s one of Kate’s jokes. She’ll pretend to be nice, then whip it away again. They’re talking about the book that Kate’s reading. It’s called Hollywood Wives by Jackie Collins, and Kate says it’s filthy. She borrowed it from her older sister. She says she knows exactly where all the dirty bits are because they’re the most well-thumbed. They all laugh. Mrs Minor delivers a disapproving glance over her specs, but remains seated at her desk, reading through an art book. Dust particles hover in the strip of light that cuts across her scarred wooden tabletop.
‘How are we meant to learn how to paint, when all she does is read her bloody Van Gogh book every lesson?’ asks Kate.
‘My mum says she’s past it,’ says Marianne, surprising everyone with her contribution. ‘She says if Mrs Minor really loved her job, then she’d be a better teacher, but she obviously hates it.’
‘She hates us,’ says Sarah.
Mrs Minor stands up behind her desk.
‘Look at her,’ says Kate. ‘She’s the same height standing up as she is sitting down.’
The girls snigger, and Mrs Minor glares at the group, never moving from behind the desk. The more she glowers, the more they try to stifle their laughter, covering their mouths with their floppy jumper sleeves. Tina snorts like a pig. Mrs Minor frowns and marches back down the classroom to see what the fuss is all about.
‘So, not much progress in this corner, then. As usual.’ She stands at the edge of the group, as they all chomp down on their cuffs, blinking away tears.
‘We’re stuck, miss,’ says Kate, sniffing.
‘Stuck?’
‘Well no one’s ever taught us how to actually paint properly. We don’t know what to do next.’
Mrs Minor frowns, shaking her head. Her bowly copper hair moves with her head. She looks like a Playmobil man. Finally, she tuts and walks to the back of the room and into the art store cupboard.
‘What’s she doing?’ asks Sarah.
A few minutes pass, and they exchange puzzled glances as they wait for Mrs Minor to return with more cutting remarks. The lunch bell is due t
o go off in ten minutes.
Kate puts down her paint board. ‘Let’s go and have a look.’
Marianne and Natalie look worried, but Tina and Sarah follow Kate to the cupboard and bunch together peering around the corner. Mrs Minor is up on the stepladder with her back to them, rearranging the powder paints. She’s just tidying up. Kate puts her finger to her lips, then slams the door shut, turns the key in the lock and claps her hands together. The girls dash back to their seats, grab their bags and escape from the classroom for an early lunch.
‘Well, that’s a detention,’ gasps Tina as they take refuge in the toilets that back out on to the field. Tina drops her bag by the sinks and goes into one of the cubicles.
‘She deserved it, the witch,’ says Kate, wiping smudged eyeliner from beneath her bottom lashes. ‘What she said about Sarah’s hair – it’s just totally out of order.’ She meets Sarah’s eyes in the smeary mirror.
‘Thanks,’ says Sarah, holding her sleeve against her nostrils to mask the overpowering stench of disinfectant from the damp floor. ‘You didn’t have to say anything to her.’
‘I did.’ Kate bends over and brushes her hair in fierce, noisy strokes. She flips her hair back, picking up sections to backcomb from underneath. When she’s finished, she offers the brush to Sarah. ‘Sorry, Sar. About Dante and everything. About New Year.’
Sarah pauses, biting her lip.
Kate smooths her jumper down over her breasts, turning to check out her reflection from all angles. She continues to look in the mirror, poking and prodding at her hair. She turns to face Sarah square on. ‘So, can we be friends again? I’ve really missed you, Sar.’
Sarah finishes brushing her own hair and hands back the brush. ‘Yeah, why not?’
The loo flushes and Tina comes out of her cubicle. She fills her mouth with water from the cold tap, swills it around noisily and spits into the sink.
‘Cool,’ she says, giving them both the thumbs up. ‘Everything’s back to normal.’
Kate stands between them, putting an arm around each of her friends. ‘Cool,’ she says.
‘Yeah,’ Sarah says, relief rushing through her as warm as sunlight. ‘Cool.’
After work on Saturday, Sarah goes to Kate’s with her overnight bag. When she arrives, Tina answers the door and beckons her in with a flick of her head. She’s holding the biscuit tin in her chocolatey splayed fingers and she has to finish her mouthful before she’s able to speak.
‘Kate’s in the shower,’ she says, pushing the tin back on to the shelf and washing her hands at the sink. ‘She said to help ourselves to anything.’
Sarah drops her bag by the fridge and looks out of the window at the dark garden beyond. She can still see the edge of one of the tree stumps poking out from behind the large shed. ‘Clocks’ll change soon,’ she says.
Tina opens the fridge and reaches in for a Diet Coke. ‘Want one?’ she asks, snapping back the ring-pull and strolling over to lean against the warm oven.
Sarah takes a can and does the same, hiccuping as she swallows the first fizzy mouthful. She laughs, putting her hand to her mouth just as Jason walks in, tucking a smart black shirt into his jeans with the flat of his hand. He’s wearing black Chelsea boots, which have been polished to a high shine.
‘Hello, Sarah, love. Glad to see you’re making yourself at home.’ He gives her a bright smile, making a final adjustment to his jeans with a tug of the belt loops.
‘Oh, sorry – ’ she stutters, holding up the can.
Jason wrinkles his eyebrows in a frown. ‘Don’t be a daft mare!’ He walks across the kitchen and stretches one arm around her shoulder so that they’re standing side by side, facing Tina over by the oven. He gives Sarah a tight, jostling squeeze. ‘What do I always say, Teen? Mi casa es su casa, as the Spanish say. Help yourself!’
Sarah’s muscles go rigid, and she stands beneath the weight of his arm, uncomfortably gripping her can of Coke and staring blankly at Tina.
Tina laughs, blushing, and takes another swig from her drink. ‘What’s that other one you always say? Que sera, sera,’ she says.
‘Very good!’ Jason says, abruptly releasing Sarah and striding towards Tina.
In that instant, Tina stiffens, appearing small, her eyes uncertain. Jason stops and reaches into the cupboard above her head. He brings out a glass and carefully pushes the door shut. Tina stares at her feet.
He stands between the two girls, juggling the glass loosely from one hand to the other, regarding them both expectantly.
‘Well?’ he asks, his hands held wide. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
Tina and Sarah look at one another, baffled, trying to stifle their embarrassed laughter.
Jason lets his shoulders fall, as if disappointed. ‘About how dashing I look? I’m taking Patty out tonight for our anniversary.’
‘Oh! You look very nice,’ says Sarah, smiling politely.
Tina keeps her bony hand clasped over her mouth.
‘Sixteen years we’ve been married,’ he says, filling his glass at the cold tap. He turns towards the kitchen door conspiratorially. ‘You’d get less for armed robbery,’ he whispers with a wink.
Sarah doesn’t know how to react, so she smiles and runs her hand through her hair. She hopes Kate won’t be too long. Maybe they could just go up to her room and wait.
‘Right!’ says Jason, looking at his watch, ‘I’d better go and give Patty a kick up the bum.’ He drinks his water down and sprints into the hall and up the stairs without a backward glance.
Sarah frowns at Tina and they break into silent laughter, folding their arms across their bellies and hiding their faces behind their loose hair.
‘He’s barmy,’ Tina whispers, when she’s sure he’s out of earshot.
Sarah nods, finishing her drink and dropping the can in the swing bin. ‘He’s quite a laugh, really. He’s nothing like my dad.’
Tina shakes her head. ‘Nor mine! Nothing like him at all.’
Five minutes later, Kate comes down looking blow-dried, and her parents leave through the front door.
‘Be good!’ Jason shouts as he closes the door behind him.
‘And you!’ Kate calls back. She freezes for a moment, with her hand cupped to her ear, listening for the sound of the car pulling away. ‘Yes!’ she says when she’s certain they’ve gone.
She brings out the cider and whacks up the volume on the kitchen hi-fi, bopping her head in time to the beat. ‘Who’s hungry?’
The others nod.
‘Oh, I love this album,’ says Tina.
‘Who is it, then?’ asks Kate. She’s always trying to catch her out.
‘It’s Prince, isn’t it? Purple Rain.’ She rolls her eyes at Kate. ‘I’m not a complete div, you know.’
Kate laughs. ‘Yeah. Who was the one who got A Flock of Seagulls mixed up with ABC? And you didn’t even know who Ian McCulloch was!’
Sarah doesn’t know who Ian McCulloch is either. ‘This album’s great,’ she says, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. ‘Can I tape it?’
Kate picks up the oven gloves and opens the door to lift out a large macaroni cheese. ‘Sure. Dante hates Prince; he can’t believe I like him. He calls it my plebby music.’
‘You should listen to whatever you like,’ says Tina. She points at the food. ‘Has that got any meat in it?’
‘Fuckin’ hell, Teen! It’s a bloody macaroni cheese! Since when did macaroni cheese have meat in it?’
Tina’s neck shrinks into her shoulders as if she’s been caught in a cold wind. ‘Alright, alright. Anyway, you should listen to whatever music you want. I’d never let a bloke tell me what to do.’
Kate drops the oven gloves on the side and tuts. ‘Like you’re suddenly the world expert on men or something?’
Tina looks wounded. She starts furiously scratching at the palm of her hand. ‘No. I’m just saying. I wouldn’t let a bloke tell me what to do.’
‘What, and you think I would?’ Kate’s hands
are on her hips now, and she looks ready for a full-on fight.
Sarah shifts in her seat awkwardly. ‘I don’t think she meant – ’ she mumbles.
‘And if I’m such a pushover, how come I am listening to Prince, even though Dante hates it? I don’t let him tell me what to do. I do whatever I want to do, whenever I want. I’ve got my own mind, thank you very much.’
Tina puts her hands up in surrender. ‘Alright! I didn’t mean it like that. I know you’ve got your own mind.’
‘Shall I get some plates out?’ Sarah asks, getting up from her seat. ‘Where are they, Kate?’
Kate looks at Tina and Sarah and sighs. She points to one of the cupboards. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘It’s bloody Dante again.’
Sarah turns to the cupboard, clenching her teeth. She’s sick to death of hearing about Dante.
‘We went shopping in Tighborn today, and we ended up having a massive argument in Our Price. He kept going on and on about my crap taste in music in front of the whole shop, so I told him to shove his Velvet Underground up his arse and I stormed off. I got the bus back on my own.’
Sarah pinches her lips between her finger and thumb, to stop herself from laughing. Tina stares at her feet.
Kate notices and breaks into a reluctant smile. ‘Yeah, I suppose it does sound funny when you say it out loud. Anyway, he just really pissed me off.’ She picks up the oven gloves and lifts the macaroni cheese on to the table with a thump. ‘Right. Let’s eat.’
Later, when they’re all asleep, Sarah hears Patty and Jason returning downstairs. She can distinguish the sounds of discarded shoes thudding on the soft carpet, of keys being dropped on the kitchen floor. In the silence of the house she can just make out their muffled argument.
‘Fuck it,’ Jason says. They must be in the living room.
‘What d’you mean, “fuck it”?’ Patty’s words are slurred.
A cupboard door slamming.
‘I mean fuck it. It’s the same old thing with you. You never change your tune. Day in, day out. Poor me, poor me, poor me. Change the record, Pats.’
Hurry Up and Wait Page 14
