Thieving Fear Part 8

'I've no idea. You never told me why I was moving the stock.'

'You could have asked, or don't you care enough about your section?'

Hugh remembered Justin giving him the task before hurrying away to chat to a manager. 'You're moving right fourteen to left thirteen and vicey versa,' Justin said. 'See the sense now?'

'I think so.'

'Try being sure. Go and have your break and come back with your ideas sorted. There's enough of this in your family without you.'

'Enough of what?'

'People playing silly b.u.g.g.e.rs with cans.' Justin paused not quite long enough to give Hugh time to respond. 'And you'll need to get a move on with this,' he said. 'We can't have anybody sleeping on the job.'

For some reason this unnerved Hugh. He turned away to hide his aggravated confusion and hurried along the aisle. He'd just realised that his haste was taking him away from the staffroom when his mobile rang. Staff were forbidden to use their phones in the public area and the storeroom a indeed, mobiles weren't supposed to be switched on. Hugh spun around to see that Justin had left the aisle, but which way should he head to elude the supervisor? The ringtone a the theme from Sesame Street a seemed to be leaving his thoughts no chance to cohere. He needed to be outside the supermarket, and so he dashed towards the checkouts. He sidled past two heaped trolleys beside the thirteenth desk and dodged a security guard, who gave him an unnecessarily suspicious blink.

Beyond the car park the sullen brows of the moor were crowned with a puffy strip of white clouds beneath a thinner sky. Hugh quelled the ringtone and read the named number. 'Ellen,' he said.

'Is that Hugh?' Before he could ask who else she expected to encounter on his phone she said 'What have you been saying about me?'

He couldn't help his defensiveness. 'What have you been hearing?'

'I only rang up yesterday to see how people were. I wasn't looking for anyone to bail me out. I said after the funeral I had money in the bank.'

'You thought you'd be able to find another job, though, didn't you?'

'I've got one. Charlotte's getting my book bought and the one I'll write next too.'

'A proper job, I meant.'

'This is a proper job. It's every day. I'm even working now, on Sunday.'

'Well, so am I,' Hugh was provoked to retort. 'Someone has to, and the ones with families like to spend Sundays with them.'

'Oh, are you? I was going to ask if you'd seen Rory lately.'

'Not since we all met.'

'We shouldn't keep losing touch. If you weren't working I'd have liked you to check up on him.'

'Why, what's wrong?'

'Probably nothing. Most likely just me stuck in my caring mode. It was only that he offered me his grant, and when I said he mustn't be so silly he tried to give me half.'

'I'm not sure why that's bad.'

'I expect you're right. He was only being generous even if he doesn't want anyone to think he is. I just wondered a'

Hugh thought he heard his name or one like his beneath the rumble of traffic on the motorway. If he was being paged, the store would have to wait. 'What?' he urged.

'If he'd given me his grant, what was he going to live on? Do you think he's in a bad way somehow?'

'I didn't when I spoke to him. Maybe he knew you'd have to turn him down and so you'd find it harder not to accept half. Or maybe he's got money in the bank like you.'

'I'm sure that's it, one of them. Thanks, Hugh. You've helped,' Ellen said. 'So what did you actually say to him about me?'

'Just what you said about how we should all look out for each other.'

All at once Hugh wondered if she was hoping he'd said more or would now. He could tell her that he cared about her most of anyone he knew. The thought of admitting it kindled his face, but if he ever meant to risk it, shouldn't he try while she couldn't see him? He was struggling to part his nervous lips when Ellen said 'You should have known if I wouldn't take your money I wouldn't take his either.'

Hugh hadn't told his brother about offering a loan. It didn't seem worth establishing the truth now that he'd lost the opportunity to tell her how he felt. 'Is there anything else I can do to help?' he said.

'Not that I can think of. Should you be getting back to work?'

'I've a few minutes yet of my break. It's a pity you aren't closer,' Hugh said before his daring deserted him. 'Rory could have a go at taking your photo. Will Charlotte?'

After quite a silence Ellen said 'Why would anyone want to do that?'

'Why wouldn't they?' Much more loudly Hugh said 'To put on your book.'

'I hadn't thought of that. Some books don't have a picture of the author.'

'Well, yours definitely should. Don't you want people to know you? You want to get all the publicity you can. Make sure people see a lot of you.'

'There's too much of that, I'm afraid.'

She must mean she already felt visible a because of the business with the care home, of course. Hugh closed his eyes to help him dare to murmur 'There's nothing wrong with you, anything but. You're just how you ought to be.'

Perhaps she didn't hear. His eyes jerked open, because he'd begun to feel as if he were dreaming of being watched. 'Were you ready to get back to your writing?' he belatedly wondered. 'You don't need me in the way.'

'Don't underrate yourself, Hugh. We all admire you for doing what you can. I know I do.' Before he could at least return the compliment if not strive to improve on it Ellen said 'Maybe you should have another go at teaching now you're more mature.'

'Once was enough. I'd rather not feel like that ever again, not knowing what I was doing and not wanting anyone to know. I'm best off staying where I know my way around.' To head off any further impractical advice he blurted 'Aren't you going to tell me what your other book's about?'

'Four people spend a night somewhere, I'm not sure where yet, and something magic gets inside them.'

'That sounds like a'

Three words sufficed to let him hear that he was addressing a silence so hollow it seemed to gape beneath him. Had Ellen's phone run out of power, or could she have rung off because she didn't think he was creative enough to help? He pocketed the mobile, having switched it off, and glanced at his watch to see black sc.r.a.ps of digits form themselves into the next minute. He hadn't time for a coffee, and his useless labour was waiting to be reversed. He tramped past the vista of checkouts rendered more identical by dozens of overalls as yellow as a Frugo sign, and succeeded in feeling decisive by the time he reached the empty shelves and the floor piled with stock.

'Back you go,' he muttered as he handed items forwards. At least this restrained his frustration, so that he didn't slam cans into place. Long before he'd finished, the whole of him was as hot as the girls had made his face, not to mention as p.r.i.c.kly as the pear Tamara had accused him of resembling. It took him most of an hour to restore the shelves to their earlier state. He stood back at last and closed his eyes, and thought he'd done so for at most a few moments when Justin said 'Do you know what you're doing now?'

Hugh opened his eyes to find he didn't know which side of the aisle he had been working. The discordant colours of the tins seemed to clamour in his head. He felt as if his stomach had given way, or the ground beneath him had. Perhaps his confusion was evident, unless Justin lost all patience. 'Clear this,' he said, s.n.a.t.c.hing a can of spaghetti off a shelf behind Hugh and planting it on the floor, 'and bring everything round from the back.'

That couldn't go wrong, Hugh vowed, and set about emptying the shelf. He didn't notice when he was left alone, perhaps because he still felt watched. Surely that was only a symptom of his fear of making another mistake. The girls had confused him, and then Ellen had distracted him a some aspect of her call had. He mustn't think about that now; he had to concentrate on his task. All that mattered was not to forget which shelves he was turning back to front. There was no room for anything else, especially imagination, in his mind. Just now the job was his life.

NINE.

As the doors of the lift drew shut a hand stayed them. It was Glen's. 'More coming,' he said as he stepped in. 'Make room.'

He wasn't speaking to Charlotte. He seemed not to have noticed her at the back. She would have thought the lift was full, despite the notice claiming that it held twelve people. Two secretaries dutifully retreated, backing her into a corner, and a pair of editors joined the crowd. The lift was unquestionably packed now; what was it waiting for? If it was overloaded she wouldn't mind taking the next one. Then the doors lumbered together, so sluggishly that they could have been admitting someone else.

Of course they hadn't. There were just eleven people a no, twelve including Charlotte. It cost her some seconds to count the immobile backs of heads and the equally inexpressive profiles beside her, but apparently that wasn't long enough to stir the lift. Was it stuck? Should she ask, since everybody else seemed to be ignoring its paralysis? No, it was sinking at last, and in a few seconds a more precisely, twenty or so a she would be out of the windowless cage, out of the surrept.i.tious light as grey as the walls. Meanwhile she was reduced to watching the secretive heads, which she could have fancied were determined to overlook some intruder, staring resolutely forwards while he wormed across the floor. The notion was so grotesque that she refused to look down, to establish that no face was grimacing up at her. n.o.body was there, either in the lift or under it a n.o.body was dragging it downwards so lethargically that the air befogged by the light would be used up before they ever reached the bas.e.m.e.nt. Her companions hadn't stopped moving because they were unable to breathe; they weren't about to topple against her, pinning her in the corner. They were swaying only because the lift had shuddered to a halt, although the doors weren't opening. Was it between the floors? Charlotte took a shallow effortful breath so as to wonder aloud, and then the doors crept apart, revealing the underground corridor. The foremost rank of pa.s.sengers stepped forwards, and as she succeeded in drawing more breath the people in front of her gave her some room. By the time they reached the doors she was almost treading on their heels.

She had never been so conscious of how much the lockers narrowed the corridor. Even the extensive office felt pressed smaller by the ceiling, and once she was seated the part.i.tions that surrounded the desks took away more s.p.a.ciousness. She was trying to concentrate on opening the day's envelopes and packages as she saw Glen return to his compartment. 'Morning, Glen,' she said and turned her wave into fanning herself. When he looked at best puzzled she said 'Too many of us in a box.'

'Everyone's important here. We all have to get to work. I don't believe anyone else had a problem.'

'I won't again,' Charlotte promised herself more than him. 'I wouldn't mind a bit more elbow room on our way upstairs, though.'

'Not much chance we'll be alone in there,' he said and wheeled his chair over. 'We'd better talk now.' As she turned her chair towards him in the flimsy alcove he murmured 'I'd have called you if I had your number.'

'Shall I give it to you now?'

'You can if you like,' he said and rested a hand on her arm, but only for a moment. 'You may not want to. Let me tell you first of all you've got a knack for pitching projects.'

'Well, thank you.'

'I've seen you do it upstairs but I guess I never appreciated just how good you were.'

'Thank you twice.'

'But I've been thinking over the weekend, I don't believe even you can sell your cousin's book upstairs by yourself.'

'Then it's a good job I won't be trying, yes?'

'You won't.' This was close to a question, and so was 'You've decided to wait till she sends us some rewrites.'

'No, I mean I'm glad I'll have your support up there today.'

Glen inched his chair towards Charlotte. 'What did you say to her?' he said in a low voice. 'You didn't tell her it's bought.'

'I wouldn't before it is.' Charlotte was starting to feel penned in. 'I might have implied that with both of us behind it we shouldn't have much of a problem,' she admitted.

'Yeah, well, that could be one.'

'I don't think I follow.'

Glen clamped his hands to his thighs and leaned so close that Charlotte smelled harsh coffee on his breath. 'Are you trying to make this as hard as you can?'

She didn't retreat, not least since there was very little room. 'No, I'm trying to be pleasant,' she said.

'Hey, me too. OK, let's be professional as well.'

'I thought I was.'

'Maybe I wasn't on Friday, so I apologise.'

'Glen, you've nothing to apologise for. I had a good time and I hope you did.'

'Sure, but remind me never to talk terms after an evening like that. Like I said, you're great at firing people up, but I've had the weekend to think it over. Call me unprofessional, only maybe you were too if you told your cousin she could expect a contract ahead of the pitch.'

'I already said I didn't say that. What are you saying I should have said?'

'You're going to need to tell her to show us some rewrites before we can make a decision.'

'We agreed that wasn't necessary. You can't have changed your mind that much.' Charlotte's voice had begun to sound as boxed in as she felt. 'Is this about Friday night?' she said so quietly that she almost didn't hear herself.

'What about it?'

'Wasn't I as friendly as you wanted? I really did have work to finish. You were saying that's the att.i.tude we need to have. If you think supporting Ellen's book is doing me a favour a'

However she might have continued, Glen cut her off. 'I won't be,' he said. 'That's all that matters here.'

'I won't ask you, then. I'll see if I'm as good at pitching as you say.'

'Let me tell you as a friend, that's not a good idea.'

'Why isn't it?'

'Because if you try I'll block you. I have to look out for my imprint, and that book isn't ready for us.'

'Suppose I can persuade everyone?'

'You won't persuade me, and I'll kill it.' Glen laid one hand on her desk and waved the other beside her, hemming her in. 'Listen, n.o.body can afford too many failed pitches round here any more. I'm thinking of you. Don't risk your job.'

Just now it was answering him that Charlotte didn't dare to risk. He steered the chair away and glanced at his watch. 'Time we were moving,' he said. 'Let's not be the last to take our seats.'

She had another first novel to propose, by an author who felt fiction ought to help her readers help themselves. 'You haven't turned against How Not to be Afraid of Anything as well, have you?'

'Nothing wrong with your judgment when it comes to Disney Hall. I'd be happy to pitch her book myself.'

As he trundled his chair to his desk, Charlotte grabbed her handbag and made for the lift. Her determination to act efficient and professional lasted as far as the subterranean corridor. How crowded might the lift grow on its way to the top floor? Although she'd jabbed the b.u.t.ton she hurried along the corridor, which was cramped enough. She had almost reached the door to the emergency stairs before Glen called 'Don't you want to ride with me?'

'I don't feel like riding with anyone just now.'

'We all need to be part of the team,' he said, but Charlotte pushed the door open and stepped out of the corridor without looking back.

She'd thought the concrete stairs were wider. There appeared to be just enough s.p.a.ce for two average people to pa.s.s. That had to be enough for her, however windowless the pa.s.sage was. She ran up the flight to the bend between floors, not so much accompanied as beset by the flattened echoes of her footsteps. She was turning the bend when she thought someone below her spoke her name.

She didn't recognise the voice, though it seemed somehow familiar. She took a step backwards to peer around the enclosed bend. If anyone had called her, they must have been on the other side of the door; the voice had sounded at least that m.u.f.fled. She wasn't about to waste time on finding out, because the prospect of descending the stairs seemed to shrink the pa.s.sage. She turned her back and made to take two stairs at once, and then she grabbed the solitary banister so hard that she felt one of its supports grind within the wall. The higher flight of stairs was narrower.