The Cost of Living

by Rachel Ward

  ‘Nothing wrong with peaches,’ Ant said. Bea could feel herself starting to blush. ‘Except their furry skin.’ He shuddered. ‘Tinned peaches are all right, though, aren’t they?’ His voice trailed off as he saw Bea’s tears welling up again.

  ‘It’s going to be a disaster anyway,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got enough time to do everything. Big Gav wants us all in T-shirts with Costsave and Kayleigh’s Wish all over them, and I’ve got to get some flyers printed and . . . ’

  ‘I can help you with the T-shirts.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘My brother, Ken – one of his mates prints T-shirts. If we work out how many and what you want on them, I can sort that out this evening. Have them ready by Wednesday.’

  ‘That would be great.’ Bea started to feel better already. ‘How many brothers and sisters have you got?’

  ‘Four brothers, two sisters. I’m number four, right in the middle.’

  ‘Must be nice, though, all those people.’

  ‘Yeah, sometimes.’

  ‘It’s just me and Queenie. Has been since Dad died.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘About your dad.’

  ‘Hmm, thanks. Six years ago, but it still hurts. I don’t think that ever goes away. Queenie’s not been the same since. She, well, she needs me more.’

  ‘So, everything’s not all right, really, is it? You’ve got a lot on your plate.’

  ‘Yeah, I s’pose. So’s everyone, though. Everyone’s got something to deal with.’

  ‘True that.’

  ‘Like your reading?’

  His face darkened.

  ‘I told you, I’m fine. I’m not stupid, you know.’

  ‘I know you’re not. But maybe you need a bit of help. Maybe I could help you.’

  He ground his cigarette into the tarmac with a viciousness which was nothing to do with extinguishing the embers.

  ‘I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.’

  A stiff breeze swirled around the yard. Bea shivered.

  ‘Okay, okay. It’s just that I need yours and I’d like to return the favour. That’s all. Just remember that, okay? Can we put these bloody bikes away now and sort out the T-shirts?’

  5

  ‘Are you sure it should be here?’ said Bea.

  ‘Yes. You can’t miss it. Everyone will have to walk past,’ Gavin said.

  He had moved the newspaper display to one side and the team from the Leisure Centre had started setting up the static bike directly opposite the front door.

  ‘He’s right,’ said Lee, who was there with his stripy Leisure Centre tracksuit. ‘It’s a great spot.’

  Bea’s heart sank. She knew they were right. Everyone would have to walk past. Everyone would see. And that was the problem. Everyone would see her. She’d put herself down for the first half-hour stint. Now, everything was ready – balloons, banners, collecting buckets. It was all in place except the T-shirts. Despite his promises, Ant had yet to turn up with a single shirt, let alone the box of the twenty-four she’d ordered. At the moment she was wearing her Costsave tabard over a long black vest and her leggings. Today, and only today, trainers were allowed at work too.

  ‘Okay,’ she said and she stood back, by the fresh fruit and veg special offers, while they secured the bike and tested it. The first shift was starting to file onto the shop floor. Shelf-stackers, bakers, produce specialists and checkout staff all gathered around as Lee started pedalling slowly then quickly built up so that his legs were firing like pistons. He’d stripped down to his T-shirt and Bea could see the tendons in his arms, as taut as cheese wires, as he gripped the handlebars and went for it. After a few minutes, he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He wound down to a halt, then pressed the buttons on the panel at the front.

  A little ripple of applause broke out among the watching staff. Lee did a mock bow and climbed off.

  ‘That’s all fine. I’ve zeroed it all.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Five to. Who’s going to be first?’

  Bea shuffled forward, hoping, even now, that there’d be some last-minute hitch which would stop this whole thing. But a hole didn’t open up in the tiled floor, Health and Safety didn’t suddenly swoop on Costsave to ban this farrago, and the fury of Lee’s pedalling hadn’t caused the bike to spontaneously combust. She was going to have to do it.

  ‘Me,’ she said. ‘Thought I’d get it over with.’

  ‘Go, girl!’ someone called out.

  Lee smiled and clapped her on the back, nearly knocking the wind out of her.

  ‘Good plan,’ he said. ‘Do you want a warm-up?’

  ‘No. No, I’ll just, I mean, I think half an hour is going to be pushing it. I don’t want to do a minute longer.’

  As well as someone actually pedalling, Bea had scheduled two people to stand near the doors collecting money. Marcus, the student, and Joey were first up.

  ‘Are we getting T-shirts?’ asked Joey.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bea, ‘but they’re not here yet. Bear with us. I know they’re coming.’

  She checked her watch. One minute to eight.

  Gavin was walking towards the front doors with his bunch of keys. He paused as he walked past Bea.

  ‘Ready?’ he said.

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said, pulling a face.

  ‘I’m really proud of you,’ he said. ‘Of us. Of Costsave.’

  Bea felt a little flutter of something she couldn’t identify, swelling in her chest. She took a deep breath and climbed onto the bike, to the accompanying noise of twenty smartphones taking pictures. She glanced up.

  ‘Oh, fuck off, you lot. No pictures!’

  Her colleagues laughed, and carried on snapping.

  ‘Here we go,’ Gavin called from the door. Bea pressed down on the left pedal. It moved obligingly easily. Right. Left. This wasn’t too bad. ‘I declare the Great Costsave Spinathon open!’

  Gavin unlocked the door and held it open for the first customer. Smelly Reg shambled in, his grubby brown coat flapping as he walked. He headed straight towards Bea and then stopped. He looked at her and then all around the semi-circle of people watching her. Now, they were watching him. He seemed to be having trouble taking it all in. Bea kept pedalling while she watched him grapple with this unexpected vision.

  He looked left and right, and then said, ‘Where’s the papers?’

  Joey stepped forward.

  ‘They’re over there,’ he said, pointing to the displaced island, ‘but we’re collecting for Kayleigh’s Wish, if you’d like to—’ but he was talking to Reg’s back as he headed for his Racing Post and packet of fags. Bea caught a lungful of the familiar acrid ‘Reg’ odour wafting behind him.

  ‘Okay, everyone, back to your stations,’ Gavin said. He stood next to Bea, who was starting to feel uncomfortably warm and wondering what odour she’d be giving off in the next few minutes. She’d double-deodorised this morning and sprayed on an eye-watering amount of her favourite perfume, but even so . . .

  ‘What time’s the press coming?’ he asked her.

  ‘Half ten,’ she said, amazed that she could still speak fairly comfortably. ‘Keisha’s going to bring Kayleigh and then they’ll want you and a few of the staff too.’

  ‘I want you to be in it.’

  ‘Oh no. At half past ten, I’ll still be lying down in the cool room. I’m not even kidding.’ She could feel the warmth in her legs spreading through her body now. She was getting sticky down her back and under her boobs.

  ‘Haha,’ Gavin laughed, mirthlessly, ‘I’ll see you back here at about twenty past, then.’

  Bea was really starting to feel it now, an ache in both hips, breath getting faster and more desperate. She’d been pedalling for ages – she must be at least halfway now. She checked the monitor on the front of the bike: ‘Time: 2:15’. Two fifteen? Had Lee set the clock wrong, or something? She watched as it ticked up 2:20, 2:21, 2:22. Ah crap. It was right, after all. She’d still got twe
nty-seven minutes to go.

  Now she knew. She didn’t need to worry about attackers in alleyways. She could throw her list of suspects in the bin. She wasn’t going to die at someone else’s hands. She was going to die here in the foyer of Costsave, in front of half a dozen colleagues and Smelly Reg.

  She leaned forward, resting her forehead on the handlebars and groaned.

  ‘You all right? You’re doing a great job.’

  She sat up. Lee was at her elbow.

  ‘Take it steady, that’s the thing. You don’t have to beat any land speed records.’

  ‘I want to stop now. It hurts.’

  ‘You can’t stop. Keep pedalling. And keep smiling. You’re doing great. Really.’

  Bea groaned again. Underneath her tabard, her vest top was wringing wet now. Sweat was trickling from her hairline down her neck.

  ‘I should’ve put towels out.’

  Lee dived into his sports bag and brought out a navy blue Leisure Centre towel.

  ‘Here,’ he said.

  Bea looked at the towel longingly.

  ‘You can let go of the handles, Bea,’ he said. ‘Just remember to keep pedalling.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She was actually gripping extremely tightly. It felt like her arms were holding her on there, but that wasn’t logical, was it? She loosened her grip, and then let go, sitting up straighter. ‘Oh, right. This is a bit better.’

  She took the towel from Lee and wiped her face and neck, being careful around her eyes to try and avoid the smudged panda look.

  More customers were starting to come in now. Many smiled as they saw her. The clink of their loose change in the buckets acted like a cattle prod – it reminded her what she was there for and spurred her on.

  ‘Ha!’ she said to Lee. ‘Real money!’

  She’d settled into a rhythm now. Although everything still hurt, she tried to detach herself from that, and just watch the numbers on the clock increasing and listen for the sound of coins on plastic. She found that if she made eye contact with the customers and managed a smile – even a grim imitation of one – they were more likely to dig in their pockets. Her regulars were the best contributors.

  ‘Is that really you?’ asked one, bringing her shopping bag on wheels closer. She was a pensioner with a tight perm and a sharp face, the sort of woman who would never shop without a list, and never deviate from it. In the heat of the moment, Bea couldn’t remember her name.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Bea. ‘It’s me all right.’

  ‘Good on you, girl.’

  There was no noise in Joey’s bucket, but Bea saw the folded note go in and pedalled a bit faster.

  Towards the end of her half-hour, Ant turned up. He came through the front door, carrying a large cardboard box, which he dumped on the floor near the bike.

  ‘Sorry,’ he puffed. ‘Could only pick them up this morning.’

  By this stage, Bea was on autopilot, legs moving by themselves, brain dormant.

  ‘I wanted to be here at the beginning, to cheer you on. Are you nearly done?’

  Bea couldn’t speak, but she nodded to the monitor. ‘28:16’.

  ‘Wow! You’ve done it, Bea! You’ve done it!’

  She relaxed for a moment, and her legs turned to jelly. Each turn of the pedal was suddenly impossible.

  ‘I can’t,’ she murmured. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You can! You have!’

  Lee stepped in closer, and a small crowd gathered.

  ‘Go on, Bea. Go on! You’re unstoppable!’

  She fixed her eyes on the monitor, but surely it had stopped working. The seconds hardly changed, each one an agonising lifetime apart.

  ‘Come on, Bea. You can do it!’

  The crowd was counting down now. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve. And a wave of nausea swept over her. She flushed hot and cold and unbearably hot again. Eight, seven, six, five. Bea started thinking of things to be sick in. The collecting buckets were out, obviously, but the flower stall wasn’t far away. Three, two, one.

  The world in front of Bea’s eyes turned red aand then black. There was unbearable pressure in the back of throat, and a piercing shrill noise in her ears. A piercing shrill noise. Lee was blowing his whistle for her to stop. Multiple hands helped her off the bike and the next volunteer clambered on – Dean from Stores.

  ‘Mm,’ he said, ‘nice warm seat.’

  Bea wasn’t listening. Her many helpers had lowered her to the floor and she sat there, enjoying the rather odd feeling of the cold tiles through her damp leggings. The cloth was so soggy, she wondered whether she had actually wet herself, but, to be honest, she was past caring.

  Someone handed her a sports drink.

  ‘Just sip it,’ she heard Lee say.

  She sucked on the bottle, and her mouth exploded with saliva at the first touch of the sweet liquid. She felt a bubble of euphoria. She was an actual Sportswoman, drinking a Sports drink because she had done Sport. There was a first time for everything.

  She looked through the forest of legs around her. Dean was getting into his ride now, his spindly legs going like the clappers, his lank hair falling across his face as he leaned forward. He was no Bradley Wiggins but, bless him, he was going for it. She felt a surge of goodwill for everyone who had rallied to her call, who had helped her make this happen, her Costsave family.

  ‘I bloody love you lot,’ she said, leaned sideways and was sick on Lee’s shoes.

  Lee was surprisingly okay about his trainers, but Bea felt awful. She insisted on mopping them herself with one of the Leisure Centre towels. Afterwards she wondered whether that had compounded her disgrace, since Lee would presumably have to carry it back to work and wash it.

  After a while, she was able to get to her feet. Dean was still going great guns, although there was a rather unsavoury hum around him. She noticed that the supporting players were starting to move their semi-circle a little further away from the bike. She craftily sniffed at her own pits – hot, sweaty, but not offensive, she thought, but can you ever really smell your own smell? She’d feel better when she’d had a shower and changed into her spare clothes.

  Ant high-fived her. ‘You did it. I knew you could. Joey reckons he’s got about thirty or forty quid in his bucket already.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at these T-shirts, then,’ said Bea. They crouched down either side of the box. The top was taped down. Ant tried picking at the tape, but Bea noticed that he hardly had any nails and the skin round the stumps that he had looked bitten and raw. ‘Here, let me,’ she said, and scythed through the tape with the edge of her glossy thumbnail. She flipped open the top leaves of the box and picked out the first shirt. She held it by the shoulders and shook it out, spreading it face upwards over the top of the box. It was a striking bright pink with white writing, as they’d agreed.

  She read it twice. And then again.

  ‘What the hell’s this, Ant?’

  ‘It’s what we agreed. What you wrote down on that paper.’

  ‘It bloody isn’t.’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’

  His eyes ran over the printed words, but somehow they couldn’t get a grip. The letters were just shapes, wriggling about on the material, not making sense.

  ‘Cockslave, Ant. Cock. Slave.’

  He focused on the company logo, and tried to sound out the letters. But he knew he didn’t need to, because the look on her face told him he was in trouble.

  ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘Are these the T-shirts?’ Joey said, walking over from his post by the door.

  ‘No!’ Bea stuffed the shirt into the box and slammed the top shut. ‘No, they are T-shirts – but they’ve sent the wrong lot.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ He wandered away again.

  ‘I’m sorry, Bea,’ Ant said. ‘I’ve stuffed up. I should’ve checked. I’ll kill Saggy.’ He was chewing the edge of his thumb, drawing blood. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘I dunno. We’ll have to lose these. Can you take them bac
k and get the money back?’

  Ant looked panicky.

  ‘These are legit, aren’t they?’ said Bea. ‘I mean, it is a real company. You got a receipt and everything.’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘You’re shitting me?’

  ‘I was helping you out.’

  ‘Yeah. Big fat thanks. Everything else has worked. Everybody else is rallying round. But you—’

  She was talking to the back of his heels. He’d picked up the box and was running out of the store. Legs protesting, Bea sprinted after him.

  ‘You’re not leaving, are you? I’ve got you down for the bike at one o’clock.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’ll be there,’ he called back.

  ‘Ant, you’re actually meant to be—’

  It was no good. He was gone. She walked back into the store. Kirsty and Joey rattled their buckets at her as she passed them while Neville was ready to pounce.

  ‘I knew he wouldn’t come to anything,’ he said.

  ‘Who? What are you talking about?’ said Bea.

  ‘That young layabout.’ He pointedly looked at his watch. ‘Half an hour late and now he’s gone AWOL again. I know Mr Howells has got a soft spot for him, for some reason, but this is too much.’

  ‘It’s not his fault,’ said Bea, quickly. ‘He’s doing something for me.’

  ‘And you’re management now, are you?’

  ‘No. No, but Gav— Mr Howells has put me in charge of the spinathon and I asked Ant to do something urgently. Talk to Mr Howells – he’ll back me up.’ Would he? Would it help if she crossed her fingers behind her back?

  ‘I will talk to him.’

  ‘Good. You do that.’

  ‘In the meantime, according to my schedules, you’re doing an hour on the checkouts, starting in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, that’s right. I’m just going to have a shower first.’

  Bea bustled away as fast as her tired legs would let her. She showered and changed quickly so she could spend five minutes in front of the mirror fixing her face and hair. If she was going to have her picture in the paper, it was damn well not going to happen without make-up.

  She checked on the spinathon on her way to the till. Everything was under control. Dot had taken over bucket duty.