Part 20 (1/2)

Ross seems to feel bound to support her. He retreats to the video and compact disc shelves against the wall, and then Angus moves to stand in front of the counter. The next moment Agnes marches to the literature section alongside the window. ”Well, if that's the consensus,” Nigel says. ”Let's get it over with if it'll put any minds at rest.”

”They aren't meant to be resting,” Ray objects. ”We don't want them dozing off.”

”I don't see where there's any chance of that.”

Greg strides to a wall as far away from Jake as he can manage. ”I'm ready,” he announces in a tone close to a rebuke.

Ray and Nigel turn their backs on each other and pace away like duellists. Nigel is the first to reach a wall, and swings around at once. ”Off we trot, then,” he says. ”Let's make certain n.o.body can say anywhere was overlooked this time.” 245 Mad a.s.sumes this is aimed at her and whoever sided with her. All at once she feels both nervous and stupid. What is she expecting anyone to find? If a child were lurking in the shop it would surely have failed to keep silent by now, and who else would have hidden so as to disarrange her books except a child? If by any chance an unnaturally noiseless little intruder has succeeded in remaining unseen--if perhaps it's crawling on all fours towards the exit and too lacking in intelligence to realise there's no escape that way--the impression makes her uneasier than she can comprehend. She begins to sidle alongside the rear wall as Angus does along the counter so that n.o.body can dodge unnoticed out of the aisles between them. Tiny violins provide a relentless accompaniment that feels as though a swarm of strings is embedding itself in her brain. She tries to remember to breathe while swallowing a sour upsurge of coffee that tastes far too stale. She can't help growing tense in case a shape darts out of the next aisle, but when she almost lets a cry loose it's because Jake has. ”What was that?”

”Good G.o.d, don't squeal so loud,” Greg tells him. ”You'll give everyone a headache.”

”There, quick.” Jake is waving a hand at a nearby aisle. ”It went along there. Head it off.”

At first Greg seems too busy displaying his aversion to Jake's gesture, but he marches to the far end of the aisle Jake blocks. ”Where is it?” Jake cries. ”It wasn't moving fast! It didn't come out here.”

”What are you trying to say you saw?”

”Some kind of grey, grey thing low down. It poked out and went back in when I saw it like a slug when you touch it.”

”I shouldn't think anyone's surprised there's no sign of anything like that.”

I'm telling you I saw something,” Jake insists more shrilly. 246 ”Then tell us where it went.”

Mad isn't sure if Jake intends to answer by demanding ”What's that stain?”

”I can't imagine. Maybe you know more about such things than I do.”

Mad is less than eager to see, but she's the next to look once she has checked the intervening aisles with Angus. In the middle of the s.p.a.ce between Jake and Greg is an irregular greyish discolouration about a foot across. No doubt because Jake has lodged the image in her head, she's reminded of the mark a slug or rather a ma.s.s of them might leave. ”So what are you dreaming up now, Jake?” Greg enquires. ”It melted? Went through the floor?”

”It was there,” Jake contends. ”You'd have seen it if you hadn't been complaining about your poor little delicate ears that can't cope with anybody showing any feelings.”

”It's men not sounding like men I don't care for.”

”I'm not surprised if people have started imagining things,” Agnes says behind Greg before he has finished speaking. ”I expect more of us may from missing our sleep.”

Mad a.s.sumes Agnes is offering her as well as Jake the excuse. The rest of the staff have converged on the aisle, having searched the extent of the shop without result. Is Mad going to persist in the belief that there's an intruder? What possible point would there have been in disorganising a shelf's worth of books? All it has achieved is to set her and Jake apart from the others, if either of them lets that happen. ”Everybody happy now?” Nigel hopes aloud.

”Everybody satisfied?” Ray adds or translates.

Jake looks at Mad but withholds his expression. She must have forgotten to tidy that one shelf; nothing else makes sense. ”Got to be,” she says for both of them.

Jake is turning away as though his vigorous shrug has spun him round when Woody's voice flies out of its various lairs. ”Someone needs to let me know what you're playing at down there.”

Ray and Nigel both head for phones, and Nigel is the 247 winner. ”Some of us thought we could have had a better look around before we locked up,” he informs the phone. ”You mean I could have,” Woody says throughout the shop.

”All of us. You keep saying we're a team.”

”So what did the team decide?”

”We're on our own in here.”

”Okay, I don't mind if everybody smiles about it this one time. What does it take to cheer you up? Hey, I'll tell you something that ought to--it's nearly Christmas. That has to start bringing us some more customers soon.”

Mad thinks that should have begun happening weeks ago, and perhaps Nigel is keeping the same thought quiet. ”Still no smiles?” Woody booms from everywhere. ”What we need is a truckload of goodwill.”

Nigel shuffles on the spot as if he regrets he was so keen to reach the phone, until Woody says ”Ross, grab a disc of some Christmas music. It can go on my tab.”

Ross spends so long at the compact disc shelves that Mad grows edgy with impatience. At last he brings Nigel a copy of Santa Santa 'so Disco, which wouldn't have been her choice. It hardly matters; when Nigel ousts Vivaldi with it, there's no sound. ”Let's try something else,” he urges. 'so Disco, which wouldn't have been her choice. It hardly matters; when Nigel ousts Vivaldi with it, there's no sound. ”Let's try something else,” he urges.

This time Ross eventually selects Carnival Carnival of of Carols, Carols, which Mad would have chosen in the first place. The trouble is that it doesn't play either, and when Nigel replaces it with Vivaldi, that too is as silent as the swaying of the fog outside the window. As he jabs the b.u.t.tons again, Woody demands ”What's the holdup now?” which Mad would have chosen in the first place. The trouble is that it doesn't play either, and when Nigel replaces it with Vivaldi, that too is as silent as the swaying of the fog outside the window. As he jabs the b.u.t.tons again, Woody demands ”What's the holdup now?”

Nigel grabs the receiver and keeps poking the controls of the player as if he's on a leash that's the telephone cord. ”Something's gone wrong. Nothing will play any more.”

'So don't waste any more time on it. Why don't you all think of some Christmas songs and sing while you work.” ”Like the slaves we're expected to be,” Agnes remarks. What was that? What did she say, Nigel?” 248 Nigel hesitates before mumbling ”I don't think I quite caught it.”

Greg clears his throat with an eloquence he may be hoping will communicate itself to Woody. It must have fallen short of the phone, since Woody says ”I guess maybe she's thinking I should join in and not just tell everyone else what to do, am I right? Here's a tune to get us in the mood.”

Mad doubts that she's alone in growing apprehensive as he draws an amplified breath. Once he begins to sing she wouldn't be surprised if n.o.body knows where to look. He's performing either at the top of his voice or with his mouth against the mouthpiece; the huge blurred song audibly trembles the speakers. Among the less appealing aspects of his performance is his inability to remember most of the words, largely confining himself to an exhortation to let it snow. Mad is wondering if he would prefer that to fog when he interrupts himself. ”Hey, this wasn't meant to be a solo. Don't tell me you don't know that song. It was in a movie some of you have to have watched.”

”To be honest, and I don't know how alone I am in this,” Nigel says, ”I think we'd work better without singing.”

Everyone but Greg makes their agreement visible at once. ”Don't nod so much or you'll be nodding off,” Woody says, with what kind of a smile isn't clear. ”Maybe I ought to serenade you instead.”

The nervous silence this provokes is interrupted by the clank of a bar on a door. Connie hurries out of the exit from the staffroom, followed by Jill. Both seem to be trying not to betray how Woody's voice has driven them downstairs. In a moment he cuts himself off with a magnified clatter that prompts Ray to shout ”Time to get back to work.”

Nigel clearly thinks either that he doesn't need to be told or that he should have done the telling. He trudges back to Humour as the rest of the staff move away from 249 the stain on the floor. Is everyone determined to ignore Woody's behaviour? Mad doesn't want to lose the chance to bring it up. ”Did you hear anything odd while you were upstairs?” she calls.

”That isn't much of a joke,” says Connie.

”I mean apart from what we've all been hearing 8 ”I didn't,” Ross apparently thinks worth establis.h.i.+ng.

”It was after you left me alone up there. Woody...” The only words Mad feels able to use convey less than she wants them to. ”Woody talking to himself.”

”Maybe he's decided that's the best way to avoid arguments round here,” says Nigel.

As Ray stares hard and sharply at him across the floor, Jill says ”I think we'd have heard him if he had been. There wasn't any other talking going on up there.”

Mad has the impression that Angus intends to prevent a quarrel by remarking ”I'm glad he's stopped singing at least. That song didn't make me feel much like Christmas.”

”He was only trying to get us smiling,” Greg objects. ”What's the matter with the song? Too American for you?”

'Too mixed up with that Bruce Willis film with all the mindless violence.”

”I thought the film was b.l.o.o.d.y terrific,” Ray says. ”Must have left my mind at home.”

This time it's Nigel who sends a look too eloquent for words across the shop. Meanwhile Jake enquires ”What did you think of it, Greg?”

”Nothing wrong with heroism. He's only trying to save his wife and her workmates.”