Alice catches Lynne staring at her as they sort through the rail of rejected clothes outside the changing rooms and pile them over their arms, preparing to return them to the racks.
‘What?’
‘You’re amazing. You know that?’
Alice laughs. If Peter had been as ready with the compliments they might still be married. Actually, no, they wouldn’t. Nothing would have allowed her to forgive him for his infidelity, but she might have left the relationship with a tiny amount of self-confidence.
‘Why am I amazing?’
Lynne lugs a heavy coat off the hanger and loops it over her arm. ‘Most normal people would have gone home after what happened to you.’
‘So I’m not normal then? Cheers.’
Now it’s Lynne’s turn to laugh. ‘You know what I mean. I’d have been straight under my duvet. Or …’ she gives her a sideways glance ‘… at the police station. Are you sure you don’t want to report him? I don’t want to go on at you but—’
Alice sighs. That was what Simon said – the man who’d nearly given her a heart attack by running after her all the way from the pub to the mall with her dropped purse. He’d seen the whole thing and was willing to make a statement to the police. She’d said no, she just wanted to forget it, but her decision has been rankling at her ever since. What if she wasn’t the first woman Michael abused on a date? What if there were dozens of other women he’d creeped out and hurt? She realised she was going to have to report what happened but now she had no way of getting in touch with Simon, the only witness. She’d gone back to the shop without getting his details, desperate to put the whole episode behind her.
‘Oh, crap.’ She swears softly under her breath, causing Lynne to look round. It’s not long until they close and a customer has just wandered in.
‘It’s her.’ Lynne sidles up beside her and hisses in her ear. ‘The one I told you about.’
Alice watches the customer as she drifts from rack to rack, trailing her fingers over the clothes. She’s the tallest woman Alice has ever seen – at least six foot three or four – with wide shoulders, a weighty physique and a large face with a broad forehead that her fine fringe draws attention to rather than hides. She’s dressed casually, in jogging bottoms, trainers and a lumpy wool coat.
‘Last time she was in she took a size eight skirt,’ Lynne hisses. ‘One of the new lot of stock – the ugly blue floral design none of us like. And she’s at least a size twenty-four.’
Alice’s gaze flicks towards the door where Larry, their sixty-something security guard, is staring longingly out towards the concourse. Probably desperate to get home.
‘Did he catch her?’ she asks Lynne, already knowing the answer.
‘He didn’t even notice and there was nothing on the CCTV.’
Alice sighs softly. Chances are the woman’s stealing to order – probably has a list as long as her arm. The regular shoplifters are known to every manager in the Meads. They’re all banned but it doesn’t stop them from chancing it if Larry’s distracted and the staff are busy. But this woman isn’t on the printout Alice has got pinned up in the back of the shop.
‘But she definitely took it?’
‘Yeah. I saw her stuffing it into her jacket, but I had a customer kicking up a fuss about a button coming off a pair of trousers she’d bought two months ago. The next time I looked up, Godzilla over there had disappeared. So had the skirt.’
Alice watches as the tall woman drifts towards the back of the store where they keep the handbags and jewellery.
‘You cash up,’ she tells Lynne. ‘I’ll tell her we’re about to close.’
She follows the shoplifter across the store, dawdling at the racks en route, sorting the sizes into order as she keeps an eye on her. It doesn’t seem as though the woman’s looking for anything in particular but there’s a strange, tense air about her as though she’s holding her breath or she’s primed for a fight. It reminds Alice of her daughter and the way the air in the house changes when she gets back from work. There’s no point talking to Emily for at least half an hour after she comes in. Alice has to wait for her to stomp along to her room, get changed, stomp back down again to the kitchen, open the cupboard, uncork the rioja and glug a sizeable measure into a glass. Then they both relax.
‘Excuse me?’ The tall woman with the fringe appears beside Alice, making her jump. She looms rather than stands, her shoulders curved inwards, her head slightly bowed. The blue/grey eyeliner under her lower lashes is smudged and there’s a faint tint of pink lipstick on her top lip.
‘Yes?’ Alice tries to read her body language. Most shoplifters are harmless – they want to get in and out without being spotted. But there’s another, more dangerous, breed: feisty and desperate women who’ll threaten anyone who gets too close with a dirty syringe. This woman doesn’t look like a druggy but there’s an edgy vibe to her that puts Alice on her guard.
‘There’s a man over there who’s trying to get your attention.’ The shoplifter raises a long arm and points over Alice’s head.
Standing near the cash desk, shifting awkwardly from side to side with an enormous bouquet of flowers in his hands, is Simon. Lynne, still behind the counter, catches Alice’s eye and pulls a face as if to say, ‘What the fuck?’
‘Excuse me.’ Alice abandons the shoplifter and hurries across the shop towards Simon. He clears his throat as she draws closer, the base of his neck flushed red.
‘I … um … sorry, this is probably a bit weird but I … er … I’ve been wrestling with what happened earlier. I can’t help but feel that I should have stepped in or done something and I really didn’t help matters by chasing you down the street so um …’ He thrusts the bouquet of lilies and roses at her. ‘These are to say sorry. For what you went through and me …’ he clears his throat again ‘… being a bit crap.’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’ Alice feels herself flush as she takes the flowers. She buries her face in the blooms, sniffing to give herself a couple of seconds thinking time. She can’t remember the last time someone gave her flowers. Peter was never much of a romantic; she was lucky to get a card on Valentine’s Day and she’d always receive something functional and lacking in romance on her birthday.
‘My … um …’ Simon taps the cellophane wrapper. ‘I wrote my number on the florist’s card. Just in case you changed your mind about talking to the police.’
‘Thank you.’ Alice raises her eyes to meet his. ‘You really didn’t have to do this. But it’s very kind of you.’
He smiles awkwardly, one side of his mouth lifting more than the other. He’s not an attractive man per se – it’s not just his mouth that’s asymmetrical; there’s something about the balance of his face that’s a little bit off – but his grey eyes are soft and warm and his voice is deep and melodic.
‘Okay then.’ He shrugs and half-turns to go.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ Alice says.
Simon stops walking and looks back at her, surprise registering on his pale, freckled face.
‘About the police,’ she clarifies. ‘I’m going to ring them when I get home.’
‘Of course.’ He gives a small sharp nod, his eyes flicking towards the hulking woman who slips between him and Larry and trots out of the shop, arms folded tightly over her bulky coat.
‘Oh shit,’ Lynne breathes from behind Alice. ‘She’s nicked something else.’