The woman seemed oblivious to Henry. He gave a small nod and began to walk to the entrance.
‘You’re coming back aren’t you?’ called Rita, a sudden fear that she may never see Henry again, gripped her.
‘I’ll come back at one,’ Henry called over his shoulder. ‘I’ll wait at the entrance.’
Rita stared after him. Dead? How could Henry be dead? He looked more alive than anyone she knew. The woman tasted the sample pie and pulled a face.
‘Spicy,’ she said accusingly, as though Rita had spiced them herself.
‘Sorry,’ said Rita humbly.
She was finding it hard to concentrate now that Henry had left. She found herself constantly looking at the clock. She’d never known time to pass so slowly. As the clock ticked by and it got closer to one Rita slowly began to lose her nerve. Henry was a married man. It would be sinful to have a coffee with him. Marriage was a divine institution, a sacred bond between a man and a woman. What right did she have to come between that?
‘Remember Rita, marriage involves leaving one’s family and being united to one’s spouse.’
Rita bit her lip.
‘It is the most intimate of all human relationships. Only a sinner comes between a man and his wife.’
Jenny sliced another pie into bite-sized pieces and Rita put a small chunk into her mouth. Her cheek twitched involuntarily as the image of her dog-collared father entered her mind. His pockmarked face and hard brown eyes were right there in front of her. Any minute she expected him to sample the leek and potato pie too.
‘You know what happens to sinners, Rita,’ he’d said, an evil smile twisting his lips. Rita tried not to look down at his severed leg and the circle of blood around it. The bright red liquid ran along the floor and twisted elegantly around the corners of the aisles. Soon customers would have to step over it. She’d have to tell them what happened.
‘It isn’t real,’ she whispered.
She closed and then opened her eyes to see a strange man standing in front of her chewing on a piece of pie and Rita sighed with relief.
‘Delicious,’ he said before moving off.
Rita had wished a sinner had come between her parents if only to give her mother respite from the endless beatings and torturous tirades. It was only right what Rita had done. Anyone else would have done the same, she felt certain of that.
‘This is what happens to sinners, Rita,’ her father would bellow, raising his fist.
Her mother’s pitiful cries and bruised body had made Rita vow never to sin like her mother, even though she never understood how dinner being late to the table or a mark on a shirt could be a sin. Coffee with Henry would be a real sin. Rita knew that.
‘It’s time for your lunch break isn’t it?’
Rita jumped at the sound of Dora’s voice.
‘Oh,’ said Rita flustered. ‘Is it one already?’
It was time at last.
‘It’s raining cats and dogs. You aren’t going out are you?’ said Dora.
‘I have to pop to the bank,’ said Jenny.
‘I …’ began Rita. ‘Yes, actually, I’m meeting someone.’
There, thought Rita. The deed was done, and she hadn’t been struck down.
‘It’s thundering so be careful,’ warned Dora. Except it wasn’t Dora’s voice that she heard but her father’s. Rita walked briskly to the staff room and collected her coat and umbrella. She didn’t want Jenny to walk with her. Supposing she introduced her to Henry and Jenny also couldn’t see him? She’d think Rita crazy if she started talking to an invisible man. Although, most likely, Henry wouldn’t be at the entrance. He would either have forgotten or changed his mind. Or, most likely had realised he wasn’t dead at all and had gone to work. Still, Rita decided, it would be good to get some air. Her heart was pounding as she left the store, where, to her delight, Henry was waiting.
Chapter Seven
There were ominous dark clouds gathering. Rita looked at them unperturbed. She liked thunderstorms. She knew that lightning would not strike her dead. One punished oneself for one’s wickedness. She knew that, of course, but a small niggle of doubt still gnawed away at her stomach and attached itself to the back of her mind, whispering to her late at night. It was inevitable, of course, that Rita would sin. Hadn’t her mother been a sinner? It was in Rita’s blood. Her father had constantly reminded her of that. It was difficult keeping evil spirits away. You just never knew where they were lurking or how they would appear. They made you do bad things and that scared Rita. She didn’t want to do bad things and go to hell. That place of endless pain and torture that her father had ranted on about.
‘You must not open yourself to evil spirits,’ he’d told her. ‘Lucifer will tempt you. He knows you are your mother’s daughter.’
