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Then a fresh rumble from my stomach reminded me of my other pressing problem. So, I took a detour route home, via the Walmart Superstore just down the 101.
I didn’t need much. I wasn’t exactly what you’d call a gourmet chef and always favoured eating out to cooking for myself. It wasn’t as if Port Angeles was exactly lacking in restaurants after all, and plenty would deliver. Still, you don’t always get a choice in the matter. When it was near nine and everywhere would more than likely be full, your guts would sing up like Pavarotti’s greatest hits. Beggars definitely couldn’t be choosers.
It was a big place. Huge compared to the ones I’d occasionally seen in New York, where space came at a premium and the locals knew how to pack everything and the kitchen sink into a carry-on bag. It was blessedly quiet, with only a handful of cars in the lot and not quite as many staff behind the tills and walking the floor.
Grabbing a basket, my first point of call was the fruit and veg for some tomatoes and mushrooms. Then into the fridge section for a pack of bacon and a few chipolatas, though I skipped the black pudding. A pack of six eggs and a loaf of bread landed in the basket after a walk along the back wall. Almost done, all I needed was to pick up a can of baked beans on my way to the tills and I’d be off, homeward bound for a proper Full English.
Simple enough, unless you had ‘mug’ stamped across your forehead.
I’d just collected my can of Heinz and was rounding the bend with my basket in hand, about to pay for my groceries, when I saw a woman down the next aisle. She was standing on the tips of her flat canvas shoes with her back to me, trying to reach something on the top shelf. A small thing, with rich dark hair that tumbled down her back, dressed in a faded denim jacket and jeans.
On any other day, I’d have probably left her to it. People just didn’t help each other anymore, and I wasn’t any different. I never claimed to be Sir Galahad. In fact, I was worse. I wanted to stay under the radar, and the way to do that was by being invisible. In my old life, reputation was everything. I had been a man of reputation, and my esteemed reputation had always preceded me. My death had given me a fresh start, but start helping every Tom, Dick, and Harriet that you crossed, and you would get noticed. If people started noticing me, eventually that reputation would come back to haunt me. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t hold a door open for someone when our paths crossed, though. That was just rude, which could be just as counterproductive.
The trick was just to never go out of my way.
She was halfway down an aisle that I had absolutely no reason to go down. I’d never had much of a sweet tooth and confectionery wasn’t my style. However, I was still feeling pretty shitty after threatening to break Riley’s legs and wanted to do something to make myself feel better.
“Here, let me get that for you,” I say, not even bothering to ask as I came up behind her, reached over her head and grabbed the bag of sweets.
“Oh, thank you very much,” she said, twisting to face me, a broad, grateful smile spreading across her lips as I handed her the candy, which promptly dropped when she saw my face.
Her eyes went wide.
“You!”
Shit!
