by Rachel Ward
‘Jesus.’
He moved his foot a few inches to the side to reveal a gold ring lying on the floor. They both swooped down to grab it and their heads clashed spectacularly. Bea ended up planting her bottom firmly on the floor, feet flying out. She went rolling backwards, like an upended turtle. Ant managed to put his hands down to stop himself and while Bea was righting herself, he picked up the ring.
‘You little bugger—’
‘What on earth—?’
Ears still ringing, Bea looked up to find Dot looking down at them both.
‘We don’t normally do the initiation ceremony until the second week,’ she said. ‘You’re getting a bit ahead of yourselves. And why’s he still got his trousers on? You’re not doing it properly.’
She held out a hand to Bea and helped her up.
‘Ha, ha. Very funny. We just . . . I just . . . bumped,’ Bea said, dusting herself down. She was annoyed to see a big ladder in her tights.
‘Hmm. Play nicely, you two.’ She turned to Ant. ‘You’re coming back tomorrow, then? Don’t let her frighten you off.’
Ant was rubbing his head.
‘Yeah, I guess. I’m not a quitter.’
He and Bea exchanged looks. She watched him pocket the ring again. He put on a T-shirt, picked up his uniform from where he’d thrown it and sauntered out of the staffroom.
‘Wait!’ she said. ‘Sorry, Dot. See you tomorrow.’ She gathered up her bag and went after him. He was rounding the corner of the building when she got out of the staff exit.
‘Ant! Wait!’ He showed no sign of having heard her.
‘Goddamn it.’ She was going to have to run, something she avoided in the normal course of events. Huffing and puffing, she caught up with him halfway across the car park. She reached forward and tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’
He unplugged one earphone.
‘Animal magnetism,’ he said, grinning. ‘Pheromones or something.’
‘It’s not you I want, Romeo, it’s that wedding ring.’
‘Bea, I like you and that. You’ve been a laugh today, but we’ve only just met—’
‘I think I know whose it is.’
He kept walking.
‘Yeah, so do I. Mine.’
‘It’s not yours, though, is it? Is it?’
She jabbed her finger into his arm. He stopped walking and turned to face her.
‘It’s my grandma’s, okay?’ he said. ‘I keep it with me. It’s sentimental.’
Wrong-footed, she wondered fleetingly if he was telling the truth. But this was Ant, wasn’t it? Expelled from school. In and out of trouble before and since.
‘That’s really nice,’ she said. ‘Do you mind showing me?’
He pulled a face, but fished it out and held it in the middle of his palm.
‘Can I—?’ She picked it up and inspected it. On the outside it was a plain gold band, but there was some writing inside. ‘So when exactly did your grandma get married?’
Ant shuffled his feet.
‘1970?’ he guessed wildly.
‘You asking me or telling?’
‘Telling.’
‘So not the twenty-first of June 2008 then? Like the person whose ring this is.’
He puffed out his cheeks and blew out some air.
‘Okay. It’s not my grandma’s. I found it. So it’s mine. Finders keepers.’
‘Where was it?’
‘In one of the freezers. Eileen made me get all the chickens from the bottom, and then put in some new ones and put the old ones on top. I nearly got chuffing frostbite.’
‘You were wearing gloves, weren’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Stop whining then. And the ring was in with the chickens?’
‘Yeah. It had dropped down and was wedged in a layer of ice.’
Bea closed her hand around it. ‘The woman who dropped the brown sauce told me she’d lost her ring. She was so upset. I bet it’s hers. I’ll hand it in to Big Gav first thing tomorrow.’
His face darkened. ‘Na-ah. I found it. It’s mine. I could get twenty, well, a tenner for it down the Prospect. Give it here.’ He held his hand out and beckoned to her with his fingers.
‘No way. It’s not yours. You can’t sell it.’
‘Do you know what they’re paying me for this so-called great opportunity? Less than minimum wage.’
‘It is an opportunity. Who else is going to give you a job round here? If you’re good enough, they’ll keep you on. Think about it. What’s the alternative?’
‘You sound like a probation worker. I was starting to like you, too. Thought we could have a laugh.’
Bea put the hand holding the ring into her pocket and clasped the strap of her bag with the other, pulling it into her body.
‘Yeah, so did I, but I don’t “have a laugh” with tea leaves.’
He looked at the ground and kicked at some loose stones.
‘You’re just like everyone else, after all. Labelling me. Writing me off. I’m not a thief.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
She sniffed hard and stalked off in the opposite direction. She reached the main road and pressed the button at the crossing. A gust of wind caught the back of her neck. She shivered and turned up the collar of her coat. The traffic lights showed amber and then red. The green man at the crossing control lit up, but Bea stayed where she was. The driver of the car which had stopped for the lights sounded the horn. Bea glanced up and saw him gesticulating, palms up. He was mouthing something. Bea just shook her head, turned around and started running again.
She guessed that Ant lived somewhere on the ex-council estate, near the school. She jogged down an alleyway which led off the High Street and into the heart of the estate. She hadn’t been this way for years – the alley was longer than she remembered.
About halfway along, she saw something blocking the light ahead. A figure, a man, was walking towards her. She felt a familiar frisson of alarm, made sharper by the words ‘Kingsleigh Stalker’ which were fresh in her mind. She checked behind her. It was as far to go back now as it was to press on. Why should she turn back? She had a right to be here. And this was just a bloke going for a walk. She shouldn’t assume that all men were potential attackers.
As he got closer she could see that there was something walking alongside him, a dog of some sort, and she relaxed. A dog walker wasn’t nearly as threatening as a man on his own.
She held her head up and kept walking. Everything was fine. A few metres away from her, the dog started barking and straining on its short leash. Bea stopped in her tracks. She could see now that its owner was only a lad, younger than her. He struggled to get the dog under control, swearing at it, and eventually gripping its studded collar and hauling the dog close to his legs.
‘’S okay,’ he said. ‘You can go past. He won’t hurt yer.’
She skirted past them and jogged to the end of the alley. She decided to go left, rounded a corner and almost ran smack into Ant. He put his hands out to ward her off and ended up holding her shoulders.
‘You again,’ he said. ‘This is getting silly. You’re starting to creep me out.’
Bea needed a few moments to get her breath back. She stood in his arms-length embrace puffing and panting, mouth gasping like a fish out of water.
‘Here,’ she said, eventually. She held the ring between her thumb and index finger.
Ant let go of her.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Take it,’ she said.
Slowly, he reached forward. His fingers pinched the other side of the ring, but Bea didn’t let go. He pulled a little harder. So did she.
‘I’m not like everyone else,’ she said. A little rivulet of sweat trickled down the side of her face.
‘No, okay. No offence meant.’
‘So I’m giving this to you and I’m trusting you to do the right thing.’
‘Take it back to work? Hand it in?’ He blew out through
his mouth, making a raspberry with his lips. A fine spray of spit reached Bea’s face. She didn’t flinch.
‘Take it back to work,’ she said, steadily. ‘Hand it in. I trust you. I’m not like everyone else and neither are you.’
She let go of the ring.
‘Goodnight, Ant. See you tomorrow.’
She turned around and started walking back towards the alley. When she was sure she was out of view, she extracted her hanky from up her sleeve and rubbed her face until it hurt.
Bea spent a restless night. As she tried to drop off to sleep she was haunted by her stupid impulsive behaviour. She had had Julie’s ring in her hand and she gave it away! To Ant! What was she thinking? Let’s face it, he wouldn’t be back at work tomorrow, so then what would she do? Find out where he lived and go and see him? Plead with him? Buy the ring back herself? And what if he’d already got rid of it?
She tossed and turned, and when she finally drifted off, her sleep was tormented by twisted hobbity nightmares – a gold ring, dragons, dwarves, freezers and mops. She woke up at half past five in a hot sweat. As her eyes flicked open she remembered what she’d done.
‘Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,’ she said out loud, then looked at her alarm clock and groaned, and however much she tried she couldn’t get to sleep again.
‘You all right, love?’ Queenie asked as Bea shuffled into the kitchen at quarter past seven. She’d set the table for breakfast like she did every day: boxes of cereal in a neat row, milk in a jug, bowls, plates, spoons and knives at the ready. ‘Reckon you’re a bit out of sorts, what with forgetting the rice yesterday, and now not sleeping. I heard you get up and go to the bathroom this morning. What was it? Five o’clock?’
Bea sighed. She loved her mum, but despite all the evidence over the years, Queenie had yet to grasp that Bea wasn’t a morning person. What bliss it would be not to have to talk at least until after her first cup of tea. All she could manage today was a sort of grunt as she sat down opposite her and reached for the Rice Krispies.
Later, as she walked to work, she felt a twinge of guilt. Her mum probably wouldn’t talk to anyone else until she came back from the supermarket in the evening. She should have made more effort. She’d try harder tomorrow.
In the staff loos Bea leaned close to the mirror. Her golden rule for bad mornings was to dab a good layer of concealer under her eyes, make the eyeliner thicker, add a jaunty flick at the corners and stick on bigger lashes. Despite the little pink veins sullying the whites of her eyes, she wasn’t looking half as bad as she felt.
A cistern flushed behind her and one of the cubicle doors opened. Dot emerged, looking immaculate as ever – her uniform crisp, her hair lacquered to perfection, her nails glossy and red.
Bea had a sudden flash of insight that she was looking at her future. She wouldn’t mind looking that good at fifty-eight, but did she still want to be at Costsave?
‘Rough night, doll?’ said Dot.
‘How can you tell? Do I look minging?’
‘No, you look lush as ever, but you’ve got your megalashes on. I know you.’
‘Yeah. Thank God for these babies.’
Dot washed her hands, then joined Bea at the mirror. ‘You all right?’
‘Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep. The thing is, I did something yesterday—’ She stopped. What was the point of telling her? The ring was gone, wasn’t it?
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Doesn’t matter.’
They walked into the staffroom.
‘No sign of Ant, then,’ Bea said morosely. ‘What did I tell you?’
Dot tilted her head towards the corridor.
‘He’s in with Gav,’ she said. ‘Turned up five minutes before you did.’
Bea looked at her.
‘Close your mouth, love,’ said Dot, with a little smile of triumph. ‘Slack-jawed isn’t a good look on anyone.’ She checked her watch. ‘Time we weren’t here. Ready for another day in paradise?’
They made their way onto the shop floor with everyone else. Even though it felt like she’d been here forever, even though it was a middle-of-the-range supermarket not Harrods, even though the first customer through the door would be Smelly Reg here to buy his Racing Post and a packet of fags like he always did, Bea still felt a tingle of anticipation in the minutes before the store opened. She made herself comfortable at checkout six, adjusted the chair back to where it should be, punched her ID into the screen and put on some hand cream. Beside her, Dot stretched out her arms and wiggled her fingers like a concert pianist preparing for bravura performance.
‘All right, Gav?’ Bea called out to their manager as he bustled along the row of tills towards the front door, a bundle of keys jangling at his waistband. He always liked to do the unlocking himself.
He winced visibly. ‘Mr Howells, please, Beatrice. You know the rules.’
‘Yes, Mr Howells. Sorry, Mr Howells.’
Dot raised her eyebrows and wagged a finger at Bea. ‘Youth of today. No respect.’ She winked.
Bea spotted Ant at the far end of the aisle opposite her. He appeared briefly, pushing his cleaning trolley towards the fresh veg section. He wasn’t shuffling today. There was something jaunty about the way he was moving – it was almost a swagger. He glanced in her direction. She was embarrassed to be caught looking, but he grinned and gave her the thumbs up. Bea shook her head, smiling. He’d done it, then. Good for him.
The morning started slowly. Bea had a few of her regulars through – the ones that looked out for her and came to her checkout even if there wasn’t a queue at one of the others. She liked to think of it as building a fan base. A smile here, a compliment there, went a long way. Some of the over-sixties liked to flirt with her. She didn’t mind it up to a point, encouraged it even. It all helped to make the day pass more pleasantly.
She didn’t see Julie until nearly lunchtime. She was pushing Tiffany in her pushchair with Mason trotting along beside her, trying to keep up as she powered up and down the aisles putting a few bits and bobs into a basket. Bea lit up her checkout number to summon the floor manager. It was Neville again today, clipboard clasped firmly, biro at the ready.
‘The woman with the pushchair and the little boy, the one in the leather jacket—’
‘Yes?’
‘She lost her wedding ring, but Ant found it and gave it to Ga— to Mr Howells. Can you go and tell her?’
‘Yes. Right.’
Julie was walking rapidly away from them. Neville ducked down the next aisle aiming to intercept her at the other end. Bea leaned sideways as far as she could, but she couldn’t see what happened next. A couple of minutes later there was an announcement over the tannoy.
‘Cleaner to management suite. Cleaner, Anthony, to the management suite, please.’
At lunchtime, Bea found Ant in the yard again. It wasn’t drizzling today, but there was a cold wind whistling through the metal gates.
‘You on your break too?’ she said.
‘Yeah. No. Bit of a nicotine top-up.’
She didn’t bother pointing out the sign again.
‘You brought it back then?’
‘Yeah.’
‘She was dead chuffed, you know. I could see when she came out of Big Gav’s office. You did a good thing there.’
There was a pause, then, ‘So did you. You made me think.’
‘What?’
‘You made me think what it would be like to be her. To lose something that means so much to you. Ach, sounds soft when you say it out loud.’ He couldn’t meet her eye, and instead looked at the ground and scuffed his toes in the gravel.
Bea looked down too. She was wondering what it would feel like to love someone so much you’d want to wear their ring. She wondered if it would ever happen to her.
‘Mr Howells was well pleased,’ said Ant. ‘Treated me like some sort of hero.’
‘Good. That’s nice. You can’t call him that, though,’ said Bea. ‘Everyone calls him Gav to his face, Big Gav behind hi
s back. It’s the rules.’
Ant grinned. ‘I like those sort of rules. They’re the sort I can sign up to.’
He held his hand up and, again, Bea found her hand moving to meet his.
The door to the store was open. The sound of the tannoy drifted out. ‘Cleaning team to aisle four. Cleaning team to aisle four.’
‘Uh-oh,’ said Bea. ‘That’s not good.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s code. “Cleaner” is food spillage. “Cleaning team” is something biological – urine, vomit, and if you’re very unlucky, poo.’
‘You’re kidding?’ He searched her face, looking for telltale signs of a wind-up. Finding none, his shoulders sagged. ‘Oh crap.’
‘Very likely, mate. Welcome to paradise, Ant.’
2
‘You’re brave,’ Ant said, grinning. He was leaning on Bea’s checkout, having stopped on his way to do some litter-picking in the car park. He was kitted out with gloves, a thick, padded jacket with Costsave emblazoned across the front and back, and was carrying a black plastic bag and something that looked like long-handled tongs.
‘What?’
‘Sitting at checkout number six. Deano in Stores said the last four girls who sat there got knocked up.’
Bea sniffed. She smoothed down the skirt of uniform, even though it was perfectly crease free.
‘I might not have any A-levels, but I do know that you don’t fall pregnant by sitting on a chair.’
‘What if I got there first and you’re sitting on top of me?’
‘You’re actually making me feel sick now,’ said Bea. ‘You’ve given me the side effects of pregnancy without any physical contact. Impressive.’
‘Perhaps you want to get pregnant. That’s why you’re sitting there. If so, I’m more than willing to oblige.’
‘I’m sitting here because I’m not superstitious. I’m not going to get up the duff. This chair isn’t special or magic or haunted. It’s a chair.’
She spun it round for a full revolution to demonstrate its chair-like properties.
‘I’m here if you’re feeling frisky, Ant,’ Dot called over. ‘And I definitely won’t get pregnant – I’m the wrong side of the change, so you’ll be safe with me, love.’
