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The pair of them erupted into raucous laughter, startling Spook, who glared at them as if they had completely lost their minds.
Chapter Twenty
Janine Harper’s mood was nuclear. She couldn’t believe that old bastard, Cuthbertson. He’d tricked her into doing the final stocktake for the auditors on her own. It won’t take long, he’d said, and it is an emergency. A couple of hours and you’ll be done, and you can still go out and enjoy yourself afterwards. He had to be fucking joking, the mood she was in.
She’d suspected all day that he’d been leading up to something. He’d been too nice: offering her a longer lunch than normal, making afternoon tea, and buying the cakes! He was normally as tight as a duck’s arse. The only way to force a warm drink out of him was to stick your fingers down his throat.
And then came the crunch phone call, a little after four o’clock. His sister had been taken ill, rushed into a hospital somewhere – although where, he’d failed to mention. Janine didn’t think he had a sister; she’d thought his only family was a test tube.
She checked her watch: it was a little after nine-thirty. She should have been with her friends now. The four of them had made plans to go out for drinks, and then on to the Italian on New Briggate. They didn’t treat themselves very often. The uncertainty over Brexit had tightened their pockets.
Janine sighed loudly. She really couldn’t believe she was doing it. Well, she would show Cuthbertson. Boy, would he receive a major shock when he opened the door tomorrow morning. Give him a fucking heart attack if she had her way.
She put the clipboard down and picked up her mobile phone, calling her friend Angie. No one answered. She called Sarah next, but her phone was switched off. They were obviously having a good time. She threw the mobile down on the shelf. It bounced onto the floor, where the battery disconnected and the phone slid under the Dexion shelving.
“Fucking wonderful,” cried Janine. “Could things be any worse?”
In the haunting silence that followed, she suspected that perhaps things could, because the door to the shop had actually opened.
Who the hell could that be? Surely to God it wasn’t a punter who thought it was late night opening. Or worse, a gang of drunken idiots. It could be anybody; maybe a tramp, they wandered all over Leeds, day and night. Perhaps he had popped in to keep warm. She’d never shift him. He might be plastered on meths. He could do anything to her. And there was no one around, because no one else worked so late. All the other shopkeepers had gone home by now, and none of them lived above the premises.
Janine’s nerves tingled. She thought she had locked the shop. Her legs grew heavier, and the space inside her head started to close in. Palpitations were squeezing her chest, and she honestly thought she was going to stop breathing. Oh Jesus, what was she going to do?
She glanced around for a possible weapon. The shop was full of dangerous things she could use. Liquids or powders she could throw into someone’s face. She’d open a bottle of acetone. Chuck that in his face, and his eyes would end up in his arse. She’d teach him to mess with her. Janine slowly reached for the bottle.
Wait a minute. What was she thinking of? Who else could it be at nine-thirty on a Friday evening? It was very obviously Cuthbertson, coming back to see if she was doing the job properly. Checking up on her.
Maybe his story had been genuine. Perhaps he did have a sister who had been taken ill. He had been to see her, and on his way home had felt guilty enough to see if Janine was still here and needed a hand. Well, whether he had or not, she would give him a piece of her mind. By the time she was finished, he would be in the bed next to his sister.
Janine marched straight through into the shop. She nearly puked when her eyes focused and fed the message to her brain.
“Oh... my... fucking... God.”
Chapter Twenty-one
It was Wednesday morning in the centre of Leeds, and Alan Cuthbertson was enjoying yet another early spring day. Despite being a little overcast, the temperature was quite high. He was strolling to work, observing the masses doing the same.
The amount of people walking and eating never failed to amaze him. Everywhere he turned, someone had food in their hands; he passed a bunch of youths, cigarette in one hand, McDonald’s in the other, who – judging by their appearance – had been out all night. A middle-aged couple on the other side of the road were trying to have a conversation whilst devouring a sandwich. Don’t these people ever rise early and sort out their own breakfasts? Are they really that lazy? Staying in bed till the last minute before rolling out and into a suit and straight out of the door. It wouldn’t have happened in his day.
Cuthbertson turned into the arcade, toward the shop. He almost collided with a tramp, one of many in the city centre asking for handouts, leading you to believe they weren’t eating. And what happened when you gave them the money? Straight down the off licence.
“Could you spare some change, mate?”
“No!” shouted Cuthbert son. “Piss off and get a job like I have.”
The tramp turned on him. A wave of fear surged through Cuthbertson’s aged body. He’d heard how nasty they could be. He wished he hadn’t said it now. Apart from the two of them, the arcade was empty.
“It could be you one day, son. You could be homeless, just like me.”
Cuthbertson chose to ignore him, scurrying away to his shop.
At the entrance, he reached into his pocket for the keys. He tried the correct one, but it wouldn’t turn the lock. Strange. Surely Janine had locked up last night? Then again, the mood she’d been in… she could be a right little madam when she wanted. He tried the Yale key. When that didn’t work, he reached and turned the handle and pushed open the door.
He would have to have words with her. She was becoming very lackadaisical of late. Forgetting to lock up was the last straw. And he wasn’t happy with the way she addressed customers. He would definitely nip it in the bud.
The shop was unnaturally dark as he entered. He pinched his nose, wondering what in God’s name the smell was. He reached out, switched on the light, turne
d a little too fast. He lost his footing and hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. He was still on the ground when he glanced upwards.
