Page 25 of A Face in the Crowd
Jonathan spends a few seconds detangling the cord and then replaces the phone on the holder. ‘Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t.’
I glance around the room, searching for anything that might help, while still trying to avoid his eyes. There are certificates on the walls showing Jonathan’s qualifications, plus more from when we won third place at the Grocer of the Year awards. It was a big upset considering all the larger companies involved and everyone got one hundred pounds as thanks. Mine went on paying off the interest on my debts.
‘She had a baby,’ I say, nodding at the girl on the monitor. ‘And she was so thin herself. I knew she couldn’t afford it, and…’ I tail off. What is there to say?
‘How many times have you done something like this?’
I was wrong. Now is the time to stick or twist.
‘Not often,’ I say quietly, still staring at the floor. ‘Now and then. The odd item. Never for me.’
It’s the truth. I’ve never once stolen food or anything else from this placefor me. It’s also true that the girl with the baby wasn’t the first person for whom I’ve passed items over the scanner, or ignored the odds and ends on the bottom of a trolley. I can see the despair in people’s faces sometimes.
‘That’s not really the point,’ Jonathan says.
‘No…’
He motions for the phone but not in any serious way. ‘Tell me why.’
I look up at him, finally meeting his gaze. ‘Because I know what it’s like to budget,’ I say. ‘Things go wrong. I’ve missed meals because I’d rather my dog eats. He sometimes needs things at the vet, too. In the choice of him or me, I always choose him.’ I take a breath and wave a hand towards the rest of the supermarket. ‘I see it in other people, too. When they have to put back items, or when coupons don’t work. I know they’ve got kids and that they’re going to miss meals themselves.’
Jonathan turns away first. He focuses on the third-place Grocer of the Year certificate. It’s strange the things of which we are proudest. What counts as a success for one person is a chronic failure for another. Companies report billions in profit, but it’s a disaster because they made slightly more the quarter before.
‘It’s still stealing,’ Jonathan says, more quietly.
‘I know. I’ll pay you back, I’ll—’
‘How will you do that?’ He turns to me and his eyes are like ice. ‘I know what you make.’
I shrink into my seat, unable to speak.
There’s a long, awkward silence and I can only think that I seem to bring out the worst in people. I wonder if people go to prison for this, or if it’s just community service? Would there be a fine? And, if so, how does it make sense to fine a person who steals minor items from a supermarket? Surely that person is stealing because they’re short of money?
Jonathan sighs again and then turns back to me. ‘I’m not a monster,’ he says softly. ‘I know that people complain about me in the back. I’m the boss and it’s all fine.’ He bites his lip and puffs out a small breath once more. ‘But this is still a crime. I should call the police. If I don’t, I can’t make any sort of insurance claim.’
He pauses and glances to the photo of him and his wife. It’s as if time has stopped. I’m holding my breath and it feels like my life is in his hands. Turn left and the police show up; turn right and…
Jonathan shakes his head. It’s barely a movement, but it’s enough. ‘I’m not going to do any of that,’ he says – and I can finally exhale. ‘I’m going to have to fire you. I know you’ve been here two years and I don’t really want to train someone new, but I don’t have much of a choice.’
He sounds so reluctant, so sorry, that I almost reach forward to comfort him. I start nodding along, agreeing my firing is fine.
‘Of course,’ I say. Somehow, I didn’t see this coming, although it’s predictable. Who expects to steal and then not be fired?
‘I need your key,’ he says, reaching across the desk.
It’s as if I’m watching myself as I take the keys from my bag and unloop the one that opens the door to the staffroom. My thumb gets caught in the metal hoop and I give a little gasp before tugging it clear. Jonathan waits with his palm extended and I drop the key into it. It’s only then that I notice I’m shaking.
‘Is there anything in your locker?’ he asks.
‘Only clothes.’
‘I’d like you to go to the staffroom, change and leave your uniform in the locker,’ he says. ‘I’ll let you in and wait outside.’
It’s like some sort of death march as I loop around the edge of the store to get back to the changing area. I can sense Jonathan behind me, matching my pace, not letting me get too far ahead in case I do something mad like make a run for it. When we arrive, he unlocks the door and then I re-enter the area I left a short while before. Life was different then. I had a job. I wasn’t a confessed thief.
The room is empty and I take off my uniform, then hang it up. I stand in front of the full-length mirror and look at myself. Look at what I’ve become. I can see my ribs and the boniness of my hips. There are bags under my eyes and a few threads of grey around my ears. I’m only thirty.
I’m a zombie as I put my own clothes back on. It’s not the best job and I’ve never been sure if I actually liked it. It was hardly a career choice and yet, for two years, this has been my life. Sometimes, it’s felt like this is all I’ve had. It’s been regular money, regular hours. People who, if not friends, know my name. What will Daff and the rest think now?
