“You know what I mean. You’re wealthy.”
“My parents are wealthy,” she corrected. “I’m not really.” Although her parents had always subsidized her lifestyle, so she couldn’t quibble too much. “I certainly don’t eat caviar. Anyway,” she said, trying for brightness, “here I am working in a shop.”
“Your choice.”
“I know.” She gazed at him for a moment, wondering if he had a particular problem with her or just with everyone. “Sorry I said anything about the tins,” she said at last. “Clearly you’re not looking for suggestions.”
Dan didn’t answer.
At noon he gave her a half-hour break for lunch. She bought a meat and potato pie from the warming oven that was proppedon one end of the counter. The pies, she’d already learned, were delivered by a local baker at eleven.
She’d eaten the pie standing outside, under the awning, because the rain had still been sleeting down, and watched a few people hurry down the pavement, heads ducked low as if somehow that helped in avoiding the rain. The pie was mushy and tasteless, but at least it was hot, and the street seemed to be washed in gray, a muted landscape of somewhat dingy-looking terraced houses under a heavy, dark sky. She’d grown up here, walked down this street a thousand times during her five years at the primary school, but it felt unfamiliar to her now. The years at uni, and then in London and Portugal, had separated her from the life she’d once had in Hartley-by-the-Sea. She felt as if she were looking through the wrong end of a kaleidoscope when she recalled her years here.
And yet, for a second, she could picture herself, as if watching an old film, walking up the street in her pinafore and plaits. She could see Rachel at the top by the school lane, waiting for her. They always went in together, linking arms. That sense of solidarity had been so welcome, so needed. Claire didn’t think she’d experienced it since.
And yet she’d been the one to turn away from Rachel, even if Rachel had let her. Sighing, she chucked the empty foil container into the bin and went back into the shop. Ancient history. Half-forgotten memories. She doubted she and Rachel could be friends again now.
At three fifteen the shop, which had been empty for the last hour, filled with children from the primary school, all of them squealing and squabbling over the rack of sweets. Dan had asked her to make sure none of the children pocketed a sweet, which had seemed cynical to Claire until she’d seen just that. She’d tapped the boy tentatively on the shoulder, and he’d scowled at her before shoving it back on the rack, making Claire feel bothvindicated and a little guilty, as if she’d been the one to do something wrong.
The children lined up at the till, snapping gum and grabbing cans of soda from the refrigerated section, while Claire stayed out of the way. She never did well in crowds; the background noise made it nearly impossible for her to hear anything. A crowd of children seemed even more intimidating than one of adults; children could be so blunt, so cuttingly direct. They hadn’t yet learned to have a filter.
“Oy. Oy.” Too late she realized Dan was shouting at her.
“Oh, sorry! Yes?”
He called something to her, but she couldn’t make it out over the chattering children, and so she shook her head helplessly. Scowling, Dan stalked across the shop to the rear storeroom, where he hauled out an enormous box of Haribo sweet ten-pence bags. “I’m not paying you to stand about,” he grumbled as he headed back to the till, and Claire mumbled another apology.
Finally the children trickled out, and at Dan’s instruction Claire started restocking the much-depleted sweet rack. Then at quarter to four Lucy Bagshaw breezed in, giving Dan a cheery hello, to which he actually cracked a smile. Claire was counting the minutes until she could go home.
“Claire!” Lucy’s voice rang out cheerfully. “So Dan took you on, after all. I knew he would.” She threw a playful look at Dan, who did not acknowledge it.
Claire could only wonder at Lucy’s indefatigable cheer. Did not even Dan Trenton’s surly stare put a dent in her mood?
Lucy grabbed the local paper and slapped it on the counter before turning to look at Claire. “Pub quiz tomorrow night?”
“Oh, um. Didn’t your fourth person come back? Juliet... ?” She plucked the name out of her memory and Lucy’s smile faltered only slightly.
“Well, ye-es, but Juliet could make up another table with Peter and some others.” She nibbled her lip in frowning thought, and Claire took the obvious opening.
“No, no, it’s fine. I’m not much of a pub quiz person, actually. Neither pub nor quiz, and as for both together...” She let out an uncertain laugh. Had she even made a joke?
“Well, if you’re sure,” Lucy said, and Claire thought she sounded a little relieved.
“Honestly, I’m fine. After today I think I’ll just go home and have a long soak in a huge bubble bath.” Which sounded heavenly.
“When do you end your shift?”
“At four. I think.” Claire glanced at Dan for confirmation and he gave a terse nod. “And back tomorrow at eight?” she added, making it a question. Although why she wanted to come back, Claire didn’t even know. Another eight hours of stacking tins and smearing ink, all with Dan Trenton silently glowering at her.
“Don’t be late this time,” Dan said.
“Why don’t you stop by Tarn House for a cup of tea when you’re finished here?” Lucy suggested. “It’s the white house with the black door, down at the end of the street, near the station. But you must know it.” She let out a laugh. “I keep forgetting you’re from here. You’re far less of an offcomer than I am.”
Offcomer. Claire had always hated that word, how unfriendly it sounded. “Actually,” she said, “I’m not sure I am. But yes, okay. Thanks for the offer. I’d love a cup of tea.”
Which wasn’t strictly true. She’d love to go home and run a bath and stay in it for hours, hiding from the world. But it was hard, if not completely impossible, to say no to Lucy Bagshaw.
“Great!” Lucy gave a smile and nod of satisfaction, as if she’d managed everything just as she’d intended. “I’ll see you in a bit, then.” She took her paper and fluttered her fingers at Dan. “Bye, Dan.”
