Jayne was stocking up the tinned tomatoes, making sure the labels were facing the right way, as she had been trained to do when she first started the job. It even had its own description, facing up, as if merely speaking the words make sure they’re facing the right way was insufficient.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. The ringtone was switched off, they weren’t allowed to answer their phones when on the shop floor, but curiosity started to eat at her. She didn’t get many calls, she’d been too much of a loner ever since Jimmy died, so it might be important.
Her manager appeared in the aisle. Just great. That was the part of the job she hated the most, having to suck up to people like him. Cheap black trousers, made shiny through wear, and a corporate shirt and tie. His stomach was too large and his cheeks flushed, and Jayne knew that he watched her whenever she bent over. He stood too close, as if hoping she’d brush against him.
‘Hi, Jayne. How are you getting on?’
‘Oh, you know, filling shelves and all that.’
He watched her as she carried on, her shirt lifting up as she stretched to put tins on the higher shelf. His mouth dropped open as he watched, and he breathed more heavily. She could smell his coffee.
She knew what he would find less alluring.
She grimaced as she turned to him, clutching her stomach. ‘I’m not too good actually. Must be something I ate. I know it’s not my break yet, but can I nip to the ladies?’
He curled his lip and tipped his head towards the door that led to the staff entrance. ‘Just take it off your lunch break.’
Jayne said, ‘Thank you,’ and set off slowly, as if she’d been taken over by a sudden illness, knowing that he was watching her.
Once in the cubicle, she put the lid down and sat with her foot propped on the door handle. She dug her phone out of her jeans and was surprised.
Dan Grant. He’d kept her number.
She tapped her lip with her phone. They hadn’t spoken to each other since she left Highford almost a year earlier, a pact they made because Jayne wanted to change her life and her friendship with Dan would hold her back.
She almost laughed at that. How far had she advanced since she’d left Highford? Living in an inner-city slum and being leered at by an over-promoted slob. Her rise was hardly meteoric.
Her finger hovered over the call button as she wondered whether she should call him back. What did she have to lose?
She stopped herself. No, it would be wrong to go back. That’s what they always say, that it’s never the same, and you discover quickly all the reasons why you left in the first place.
Ignore him, she told herself. She couldn’t expect her new life to be too thrilling straight away. Don’t be impatient.
It might not even be good news. Why would Dan be ringing her? Was it his father? Had something happened to him and Dan was turning to the one person who knew him well?
She shook her head. Dan wouldn’t need to turn to her if it was as awful as that. Ignore the call, get on with her life. Highford was behind her.
Jayne flushed the toilet, just for appearances’ sake, and went back to the shop floor. The pallet containing the tomato tins was still there, with beans and spaghetti tins too. Her manager stood with his hands on his hips, waiting. It wouldn’t have killed him to put a few on the shelf.
Not in his world. Not someone of his rank.
As she got closer, she put up her hand. ‘Thank you, Richard. It must be a bug or something.’
She bent down to pick up some more tins. She felt a hand on her back.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ He moved his hand slowly, caressing.
She gripped the tin and fought the urge to smash it into his face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
‘Actually, I’m not sure,’ she said, and clamped her hand over mouth, her eyes wide, as if she were about to vomit.
Richard stepped back, alarmed, panic in his eyes. ‘No, no, not here. Go. You’re ill. Go home.’
Jayne held up her hand and ran towards the staff entrance, her free hand slamming against the door as she went.
Once on the other side, she slowed down and moved her hand. As she passed the security room, where there was a guard watching the monitors, another one having a tea break, she said, ‘Can you save the footage from aisle four for the last thirty minutes? I might need it for something.’
The one drinking his tea put his mug down. ‘Why?’
‘Dickie the Groper’s at it again.’
He saluted and said, ‘Will do,’ as she headed for the exit.