Checkout

“Why would anyone need eight toothbrushes?” Jenny wondered idly as she bleeped them through. “They’re not even on special offer.”

She dared a glance up at the man packing the toothbrushes into his tartan shopping bag. He stared back at her tight-lipped as if daring her to say something. She offered him a quick smile then carried on passing his shopping through to him. She totalled it up, asked him if he had a loyalty card, took his cash, gave him his change and wished him a good day.

Just twenty minutes till end of shift and she was free to go home to Cedric, who would be grumpy until he got his dinner but would then turn affectionate, curling up on her lap and purring so loudly she’d have to turn up the TV volume.

She turned to the next person in her queue, a young man buying several bottles of spirits and a twenty-four-pack of lager. She looked at him as the bottles clinked towards her and then at the sticker on the till. “Are you over 21?” Was he? She found it hard to tell anymore. He could be anything between fourteen and thirty. Everyone seemed younger these days. Car drivers seemed to be practically children and the old stereotype, policemen, were looking younger all the time.

She glanced down at herself in her shapeless store-issue tabard. How old do I look through his eyes, she wondered. Less than forty she hoped. The big four-oh loomed large and the least she could hope was not to look it before she got there. She sighed and looked across at Aleisha opposite her. Aleisha was seventeen, only slightly older than Jenny was when she first started here. A depressing thought. Aleisha’s customer, a young lad, was joking with her, trying to make her laugh, impress her. Aleisha was playing it cool, flirting a little but with the confidence that comes from enjoying that power over men.

Jenny remembered that feeling only too well. Men surrounding her like moths to a flame – it was remarkable the effect she had on them without even trying. Overnight in her teens she seemed to develop a magical aura that drew them to her, grinning and trying to catch her eye. And because it took no effort she took it for granted. And the magic gradually ebbed away till now the only moths drawn to her flame were older, much older; widower moths who smiled and joked gently with her about the weather and went away happier for receiving one of her smiles. What magic she had now worked only on the elderly.

Them and Brian of course. Brian liked her. Brian had always liked her ever since they started here, Jenny with her perfectly applied make-up and Brian with his Smiths-inspired floppy hair. The hair was mostly history now – just a few straggly bits down the side, above his chubby, unshaven face. Jenny had watched fascinated as his face swelled and sagged into a pudgy version of its former self.

Of course, Brian more than liked her, she discovered last week. Brian loved her. Brian wanted to make her his wife. Down on bended knee in the store room, he proposed in front of a pallet of economy cat litter. They’d known each other so long, he said. Since the good old days and they were the only two left. It didn’t matter that he was management now. He’d look after her, she could move into his house, his mother wouldn’t mind.

Divine providence had intervened as Lizzie’s nasal tones called for more staff at the checkouts. Jenny had turned and fled and had so far managed to avoid any more close encounters with Brian’s ardour.

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Matt felt bad. Really bad. His arms tingled and his hands shook as he struggled to light his last cigarette. His heart hammered in his chest and he squeezed his eyes closed as he fought back the urge to vomit.

A woman packing her shopping away in the boot of her car looked at him and he glared back until she turned away again. He carried on glaring at her back as she slammed the boot shut and swung her handbag onto her shoulder. Something flew out and skidded to a stop right at his feet.

Her wallet. For a crazy moment he thought about just handing it back to her, but she was getting into her car and starting the engine. A blonde child stared solemnly out at him from the back seat as the car reversed out then drove past him. He waited a minute before scooping the wallet up and slipping it into the deep pockets of his trousers. He looked round. No one looking.

He walked on, the wallet swinging heavily in the pocket. He took a deep drag on the cigarette, held it in, then breathed smoke out into the early evening air. He reached the wall of the supermarket and slipped the wallet out and opened it. Four twenty-pound notes and some change.

He took out his phone – no calls. Four bars of signal. He scrolled through the address book to J and pressed call.

It rang eight, nine, ten times, “Jimmy is busy. Leave a fucking message.” Beep.

“Where the fuck are you, Jimmy? I need something now. I’ve got money. I’m in town. Call me or I’m fucking coming round to yours.” He hung up and stared at the phone. A steady drizzle fell. A teenage boy walked past shoving crisps into his spotty face and Matt realised he hadn’t eaten all day.

Two figures came round the corner. Police. One real, one community support. Casually he flicked his cigarette away, pushed away from the wall and sauntered towards the entrance. He glanced up at himself on the security monitor, saw the police follow him in. He scurried into the fruit and veg, without looking round.

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Janet finally managed to yank the trolley free from the stack, wheeling it viciously round and through the automatic doors into the cold air-conditioned air. Muttering to herself she shoved it angrily into the fruit and veg section, lobbing in broccoli, spinach and cabbage.

Geoff had really gone too far this time. A call just as she’s leaving work. He had told her that Dennis and Frances were coming for dinner tonight, hadn’t he? He hadn’t? Was she sure? Well, could she just nip to the shop and pick up and few things and whip something up? Oh, and remember Frances only eats organic. Thanks darling, you’re a star.

Briefly she imagined serving up cheap ready-meal lasagne with Angel Delight for dessert. But she would be the one who would look bad. Geoff apologising for her as he showed Dennis and Frances out; she’s been under a lot of strain lately. He was such an utter shit.

Janet felt something wet on her hand, realised she had crushed a tomato, the juice dripping off her fingers. Guiltily she flicked it off back into the pile and moved off quickly, throwing vegetables angrily into her trolley.

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Ewan looked again at the list. What the hell did she want with all this crap?

Broccoli (organic)
Spinach (organic, fresh, NOT frozen)
Diced lamb (organic)
Six eggs (medium, free range, organic)

He sighed and turned the music on his headphone up. He just could not be bothered with this. A box-set of Dr Who awaited him at home. Why couldn’t his mum just get a takeaway for once and leave him to surf the net rather than sending him on stupid errands. He’d just screw it up and she’d be here herself tomorrow to get all the right things. Why didn’t she learn?

A shifty looking bloke in baggy trousers, khaki jacket, and a sorry excuse for a moustache on his pasty upper lip was loitering by the lettuce. Christ, man, why don’t you just wear a t-shirt with ‘SHOPLIFTER’ across it?

He wandered over to the DVDs and browsed the discount bin. He was a little insulted to find it reflected his own DVD collection. Then, jackpot. Xena, Warrior Princess – Seasons 1-6 – only two ninety-nine; the majestic Lucy Lawless, resplendent in leather, giving him a sultry stare from the cover.

Gripping the case to his chest he headed for the checkouts before remembering the shopping list. His heart sank. He didn’t have time for this now; Xena awaited. He stared gloomily into a trolley in front of him. What was the obsession with green veg? Broccoli, spinach.

A lightbulb lit up in his mind. He checked the list against the contents of the trolley. Close enough. He could just get some bread (brown, organic), pay and be back with ass-kicking Xena and friends in no time. Quickly he wheeled the trolley off round the corner.

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“Jenny, may I have a word with you, please?” Brian loomed over her, hands behind his back, swaying slowly back and forth.

“Just a bit busy at the moment, serving this customer, Mr Taylor.” Jenny indicated the elderly gentleman smiling benignly at her.

“Of course,” Brian offered her and the customer a thin smile, “but you are due a break now so feel free to close the checkout after you have finished with this gentleman."

“I’m fine, I don’t mind hanging on for a bit. We’re quite busy.”

“Well, that’s very admirable, Jenny, but you must have your breaks. Can’t have you wearing yourself out, can we?” He gave three short hiccups, intended as laughter. “Besides, there is a matter that I must discuss with you, quite urgently. That joint venture we were discussing?”

“Oh, I thought that had been called off,” Jenny said. “Would you like help packing, sir?” The man nodded gratefully.

“Oh no, Jenny, I am very keen indeed to push the deal through, so I would much appreciate it if we could discuss it as soon as you are free.” He handed her the sign: ‘Sorry, this checkout is closing’. “As soon as you’re free,” he repeated.

Jenny took the sign reluctantly, then looked up as another customer joined the queue. She put the sign face down next to the till and gave Brian a shrug.

Brian’s bottom lip poked out. “Well, I’ll be waiting, then,” he mumbled.

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Janet pondered; lamb in one hand, chicken in the other, weighing them up, then putting the lamb back and carrying the chicken back to where she’d left her trolley. She marvelled at Geoff’s cheerful ability to sail through life, oblivious of the stress he caused her. She wondered again whether he was having an affair. He had the smug self confidence of a man having his cake and eating it.

And what was she going to do for dessert? And where was her trolley? She looked around. The ‘world foods’ aisle was empty. Great, just what she needed. She marched up and down the aisles, swinging the chicken angrily, past the cereals, then the coffee and tea, then home baking and finally into the bakery section. There it was, being pushed by a lanky young man with long greasy hair, large headphones and, she wrinkled her nose as she approached him, need of a shower.

She cleared her throat pointedly.

“Excuse me, I think that’s my trolley.”

He stared at her, tinny music emanating from his oversized headphones.

She mimed taking off the headphones. He rolled his eyes, sighed and lifted them off.

“What?”

“I believe you have taken my trolley. By mistake.”

“This trolley?”

“Yes, could you give it back, please.”

“This is my trolley.”

“Look, I really don’t think it is, so if you could just give it back please. I’m in a hurry.”

“Yeah, me too, actually, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“Look, just give me back the trolley, or I’m calling security.”

“Okay, go ahead, but it’s my trolley.”

“If it’s yours, what are all these doing in here?” Janet picked up a pack of pink ladyshave and brandished it in his face.

“Kindly take your hands off my purchases,” he plucked them from her fingers. “Those are for my girlfriend.”

Janet looked him up and down doubtfully. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yes, and she’s waiting for me, so I can’t stand here listening to the rantings of a mad woman.”

“Mad woman?” Janet shrilled indignantly. “You have stolen my shopping, now give it back, you... you odious individual.”

“Have you paid for it?”

“Have I paid...? No, we’re still in the shop.”

“So, you haven’t paid for it, so it’s not yours. Is it?"

“But...”Janet foundered.

“Bye bye now.”

“Give me my trolley back.” Janet screamed at his retreating back.

He turned and cocked a finger at her. “Lady, you are totally off your trolley.” He smirked and flicked his headphones back over his ears.

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Too bright in here. The lights like needles in his eyes.

Matt grabbed a pack of Mars bars and stuffed it casually inside his jacket, then remembered the money in the woman’s wallet and pulled it quickly out again, looking round guiltily. A security guard eyed him from the end of the aisle. Matt stared at him but he just folded his arms and regarded Matt impassively.

Matt flicked his phone out. Still nothing. Muttering, he moved to the next aisle and picked up some crisps. The security guard now stood at the end of this aisle. Matt paused then squeezed by him, heard the steady tread follow him to the checkout. He threw the chocolate and crisps onto the conveyor belt and waited behind an old man.

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Off your trolley, that was genius. Ewan congratulated himself as he swaggered to the checkouts. Two decent options: the foxy black girl or the decent older woman. The older woman’s queue was shorter, just an old guy and the shoplifter guy. He wheeled the trolley in.

A noise pervaded his headphones but a quick flick of the volume control drowned it out. He tried to ignore the hand tapping him sharply on the shoulder but it was insistent. He turned round to face the mad trolley woman, gesticulating; her mouth moving angrily. He lifted the headphones off with a sigh.

“...refuses to give it back,” she trilled. A large security guard stood behind her staring at him.

“Is this true, sir? Did you take this lady’s trolley?”

Ewan shook his head sullenly. “It’s my trolley,” he muttered.

“You liar,” she shrieked, waving a packet of chicken at him. “I want this person arrested. You there, police officers, come here, arrest this man, he’s a thief.”

Ewan looked up at two policemen approaching. He swallowed nervously.

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Matt could feel the security guard’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. The checkout woman swiped the old man’s food through, the bleeps stabbing into his head. His teeth itched like crazy. Fucking call me back, Jimmy.

The old man was talking to the woman about the weather now. Just pay and get out, you old bastard. “Fuck’s sake.” Matt muttered under his breath. The old man turned slowly and gave him a long stare. Matt clenched his hands into fists as he resisted the urge to punch the old man in the face. He thought about just getting out but he didn’t want any confrontations with the security guard.

The old man finally paid and tottered off and Matt moved up to the checkout woman. Behind him a woman’s piercing voice cut through him and he closed his eyes to try and shut her out. One word broke through: “Police.” Another: “Thief.” Matt saw the two officers coming towards him. Shit. He spun round, the security guard looming. Shit shit shit. Matt slipped a hand into his pocket.

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It happened fast and yet she saw everything in stark detail. The tall man with the long hair arguing with the posh woman, Leon in his blue security guard uniform stepping in between them. Pan round to two policemen walking towards her checkout. Jump cut to the lad in front of her, his hand reaching out and gripping her hair, the pain sharp, forcing her to stand. Close-up on the grain in the wood of the handle, his thumb pressing down on the silver button, the blade springing out. Then the point against her throat.

“Get back or I’ll fucking cut her.” His mouth right by her ear but his voice seeming miles away. Around them in plateau, the policemen, Leon, the man, the woman, and now Brian, his hands raised helplessly. All eyes fixed on her, no one moving.

“Get back,” he screamed again. His fear mingled with hers. The point of the knife pressed harder against her skin. Her hand groped behind her, closing round something solid. No thought, just swinging, connecting hard and she staggered backwards, her hand to her neck.

The plateau broke. Leon diving on the floor, grabbing the knife, one policeman pinning the boy down, shouting, the other talking urgently into his walkie talkie then saying something to her.

Jenny took her hand from her neck and looked at it. Then at the dented ‘I’m sorry, this checkout is closing’ sign in her other hand. She placed it carefully on the conveyor belt, then unbuttoned her uniform and let it fall on the chair.

Jenny turned and started walking. She heard her name but didn’t look round. The doors slid open and she stepped through.