Page 17 of Check Me Out

“It wasn’t Mr G’s fault,” Pips said mulishly. “Too many people in one place, and that table isn’t the most stable thing. As I said in the staff meeting about this crappy Demo business—”

Tamara held up her hand, silencing him. I suspected that didn’t often work, but we were all worn a bit ragged this morning.

“Whatever,” she said. “We are not in the business of providing entertainment for elderly citizens who can’t find anything decent on the TV during the day. Let alone feeding them on a regular basis.”

“He’s hardly any trouble,” Pips interrupted. “Usually.”

“And he helps with stocking the shelves,” I chipped in.

Pips groaned softly. Maybe that hadn’t been the best defence to offer.

“It was a genuine accident,” I added quickly.

It seemed Tamara acknowledged me for the first time. Her eyebrows vanished up under her bright red fringe.

“Marcus, what are you doing here? Heavens. I understand that this doesn’t look good to an outside view—”

You’re telling me, I thought, but I bit that back.

“But I hope that this store’s previously excellent reputation will allow your department to view this, erm, event with the appropriate perspective.”

“His department?” Pips whirled around to stare at me. “What does she mean?”

“Please allow for the fact this is only the first day of implementation of your excellent and innovative campaign,” Tamara continued.

Oh, shit.

“Aren’t you a new temp?” Pips demanded. “Where the fuckdoyou work?”

“Language in the store, Pips!” Tamara looked horrified.

I caught Pips’ glare and shrugged; I couldn’t really do anything else. “Head Office. Marketing.”

“The Demo Day initiative. It’s yours.” Pips made it sound more of an accusation than a question.

“Yes. Well, my department’s.”

“But they told me it was largely your inspiration!” Tamara gushed.

I was definitely flushed now, though not from pride. But there was no point in denying it. “Yes.”

“And Marcus is here as part of his training to gain a rounded view of life on the shopfloor, and to gather staff feedback on this, erm, excellent, innovative, erm, campaign—” Tamara stumbled for a moment, flustered. I suspected she could hear the weak repetition herself. My boss had already briefed me there might be resistance at some of the smaller stores.

All the time, Pips had eyes only for me. “You’re the Head Office Tsar. The despotic decree maker. One of the fat cat tossers who’ve never worked an honest day on the shop floor.”

Not really, I thought, but all I could do was nod. “Pips, it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, but it does!” Tamara crowed. She glanced quickly between my bleak look and Pips’ wild-eyed one, perhaps wondering what the hell Pips had actually said to me. “It’s important we can show our commitment and enthusiasm for the campaign and make sure of Head Office’s continued support!”

And, to my despair, Pips turned tail and ran from the aisle.

6

Pips

“So,” said Lina. She stood in the store’s doorway, peering out. From there, she had a wide-ranging view of the car park. “You’ve made less mess than yesterday. I suspect that’s why Tamara sent you out here today.”

It was late afternoon and I was situated to one side of the store entrance/exit. I’d been allocated two of the nearest car parking spaces to set up a working example of our new barbecue. It was the very latest Value-Cookout model—so we’d been told—and on offer this week. Kingsmere had been blessed with two subsequent days of sunshine, which meant the British public went bonkers, exposing their pale white knees in barely-worn shorts and thinking every subsequent meal could be enjoyedal fresco.

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