Part 19 (1/2)
”We're closed to the public now. We aren't insured for anyone but staff.”
Woody's almost certain that's the case, but the men look as if they know he isn't. ”Never mind saying we're public,” one somewhat obscurely complains. 233 ”We've been here every day. We deserve a bit of credit.”
”Have you bought anything?” enquires Nigel.
Woody has the impression Nigel wants to make up to him for failing to eject the men, and Ray also tries by remarking ”You don't seem to read much.”
”Who says you've got to read to be here?”
”You lot don't all. The one that tore the book up and stuffed it in the other b.u.g.g.e.r's gob, he couldn't and he works here.”
”Not any more,” Woody immediately feels he had no need to say.
”You could all be like him, far as we know.” Ignoring Woody, the left-hand man says to Nigel ”Let's hear you read a goodnight story and maybe we'll give you some peace.”
”And you read us one as well,” his comrade says to Ray.
Ray and Nigel swing around from avoiding each other's eyes to meet Frank's arrival. The guard has taken long enough to quit defending the entrance from nothing except fog. ”Look out, here's reinforcements,” the left-hand man remarks.
”More if they're needed,” Greg vows, slamming a book onto a shelf and marching over.
The men tilt their heads as if they're enjoying their slowness. ”We having a fight?” one hopes, enthusiastically for them.
”If you insist,” Woody says before anyone else can speak. ”With the law if you don't move right now.”
Perhaps the last phrase is too ambitious. Even the sense of the rest appears to take time to seep through. ”You really want us going out there,” the right-hand man eventually has to have confirmed.
”You got it. We really do.”
”You'll be stuck all night with just them that's here,” his companion points out.
'I guess we'll live.”
All right, we know where we're not wanted.” An 234 unnecessary number of seconds make themselves felt before he follows his words out of the left-hand chair. His a.s.sociate heaves himself up with the same sticky gasp of moist leather, muttering ”That's what we know all right.”
Frank tramps after them down the Poetry aisle with Woody in his wake, and Greg stays in Woody's, leaving Ray and then Nigel to bring up the rear. They're herding the men out of the store, not being led towards the blank wall of fog that towers above the floodlights and embraces the dark. As the men shuffle off the READ ON! mat and onto the sidewalk one says ”Don't reckon the bluebottles would get here too quick in this.”
”He means the police,” Nigel murmurs to Woody.
'There won't be a reason for me to call them now, will there? Good night,” Woody bids the sullen backs as he secures the door.
The men swivel their torsos and stare at the clicking of the keypad. They haven't finished staring when their feet begin to carry them into the fog. Soon it dilutes the figures, then flattens them and fills their outlines with a s.h.i.+fting pallor before it absorbs them. As Woody watches to be certain they're gone for the night, he hears Nigel murmur ”You rather landed us in that, didn't you, Ray?”
”Like to tell me how?”
”You didn't have to give them quite so much information just because they asked if we were leaving too.”
”It's called being friendly, Nigel. That's how we are up this end of the road, and aren't we supposed to be welcoming everyone? That's the routine, isn't it, Woody?”
”I guess I can't argue with that.”
”If anyone did any landing, Nigel, maybe it was you getting their backs up.”
”I've had no complaints about how I handle people. I'm not expecting any either.”
”Maybe it was you not being from round here did it.”
”I'd say they'd have to be rather stupid, anyone who reacted that way.” 235 ”Why, aren't we allowed to notice any more if someone talks different from us?”
”More grammatically, you mean.”
”Next you'll be saying I'm another thickie like someone else turned out to be.”
”Hey, I talk more different than any of you,” Woody intervenes. ”Let's just make sure we're on our own at last with no distractions.” That brings the argument to an end without his having to chide them in front of the rest of the team. He's still in control, and he raises his voice until it sounds as big as the interior. ”Okay, everyone go to the edge.”
n.o.body does so, not even Greg. Ray and Connie look as though they want to exchange glances. ”Go to the walls as far apart as you can,” Woody says, grabbing the nearest phone from the counter to give himself more of a voice. ”Get it now? Take a good look on the way that there's n.o.body else here.”
Is Agnes deliberately lagging because she can claim she's only doing as she was told? As he watches her his skin crawls hot and cold, and his eyes p.r.i.c.kle Like patches of a rash. When she reaches the video section at last he succeeds in relaxing his grip on the phone, which has been creaking in his ear like a structure about to collapse. ”Fine, everyone stay where you are and look around. Clear?”
He doesn't immediately understand why several of them seem close to insulted, and then he smiles at himself and, more importantly, at them. ”I'm saying is the store clear?” he amplifies, and the phone does.
”Clear,” Greg calls, followed by a chorus of everyone else; Woody sees their mouths move, at any rate.
Fine, fine. Now give everyone you can see a smile.” Woody lets his linger on each member of the team in turn tetore asking ”Anyone had less than they think they deserve? Then let's be sure to keep that up for the night.” Frank emits a cough from beside the security posts.
We've all got a smile for you too, right, guys?” Woody says, and the store does in his voice. 236 The guard begins to turn towards the exit before at least one of them has finished smiling. ”I'll be getting home, then,” he mumbles, rubbing one reddened cheek.
”Thanks for your help today. Travel safe.”
As Woody unb.u.t.tons the door Frank takes a heavy pace away from it; he might almost be recoiling from the prospect of the fog. ”Good luck,” he says too loud to be speaking only to Woody, who could almost imagine he isn't being addressed at all.
Woody doesn't respond until the door is locked. ”We don't need it, do we?” he shouts as Frank tramps past the window, dragging his blurred swollen shadow across the fog. The shadow slithers down it and vanishes into the glistening sidewalk as he turns the corner of the store. Soon a giant m.u.f.fled cough is audible behind the building, and then the motorcycle chugs out of the retail park. Before too long the harsh clogged throaty sound is no louder than the miniature violins overhead, which seem to scurry off with it and silence it. ”Okay, now it's just the team,” Woody shouts. ”Everyone back where you were. Let's find out what we're capable of tonight.” 237
MADELEINE.
”Mad.” The word seems to hang in the air until she glances up, when Woody's disembodied voice says ”Take your break now, please.” when Woody's disembodied voice says ”Take your break now, please.”
She has finished shelving her books at last, and tidying her section too. She knows it isn't the way to think, but she's tempted to welcome the fog if it keeps grubby little hands away from making a mess of her shelves. As she gives her alcoves a satisfied inspection, Woody adds ”Ross, you break as well.”
n.o.body could mistake Ross's reaction for eagerness. Once he raises his head above his aisle, where she could imagine he was doing his best to hide, he takes longer still to risk eyeing Mad. When she flashes him a neutral smile she feels as if Woody's invisible stare is trying to pull her ups into the shape he favours. ”You look as if you could do with a coffee,” she calls across the shop to Ross. ”I don't mind telling you I could.”
That's more than true. As she holds her badge against the plaque beside the door up to the staffroom she shuts her eyes for what she a.s.sumes is a moment, only to open 238 them to find Ross next to her. The door yields to his shove, and he holds it open for her even when she's well through it. ”Don't worry, Ross,” she murmurs. ”You know I don't bite.”
His mouth struggles to hold back an expression, and she remembers that he knows the opposite. She almost thinks she glimpses the faintest lingering mark of her teeth on his neck. As she hurries upstairs she feels as though she's trying to outrun her remark, which she would never have made if she were more awake, but neither the staircase nor the equally windowless staffroom offers any escape. All she can do is lift his mug and hers down from the wall cupboard. Whoever put them away seems not to have cared about how, since several others topple forward with them. Ross saves those by reaching up behind Mad but almost drops them when her shoulders meet his chest. By the time she shuts the cupboard he's on the far side of the table and pretending that they didn't touch. ”Ross,” she rebukes him.
”Sorry,” he mumbles, blinking about for somewhere safe to look.
”For what?” For touching her or for recoiling? Rather than embarra.s.s him by appearing to wait for an answer, she says ”Shall we just try and get on together? There are too many people round here at each other's throats.”