Embarrassed, I murmur agreement. I’m fortunate that Jerry’s a genuinely nice boss – even if he is somewhat gullible.
Once I’ve said my goodbyes and hung up, I grab my coat and bag. There’s a lot to accomplish today. I stroke the Chairman’s ears and dash out while he watches me, bemused. My neighbour from across the road – the offshore worker who spoke to the police about me – is putting his rubbish out. I wave exuberantly and grin. He blinks several times before giving me a hesitant wave. God, it feels good to be free from debilitating terror.
***
I jog into the supermarket car park less than thirty minutes later. It’s still early so there are only a few cars, which suits me. As much as I’m suddenly enjoying the open, it’s easier knowing there aren’t a lot of people around.
Rather than head through the main doors, I skirt round the building to the back. The familiar delivery van is there but there’s no sign of the kid. I peer inside the supermarket and spot a harassed-looking man on the phone.
‘What do you mean you’re not coming in?’ I creep a little closer. ‘You can’t do this!’ he bawls. ‘You know we’re short-staffed!’
I watch him as he tilts his head, listening to the reply. There’s a loud sigh and he speaks again. ‘How much do you want?’ I smile. ‘I can’t go that high!’ He listens for a bit longer and pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Fine,’ he eventually snaps. ‘I’ll do what I can.’ He presses a button on his phone and stuffs it into his back pocket, then catches sight of me hovering. ‘What do you want? The bloody entrance is the other side!’
‘Sorry!’ I call out, twisting on my heel and leaving before he decides to take his frustration out on me. I walk away quickly, still grinning. I can’t be sure, of course, that the only reason the kid asked for a raise is because of what happened in his dream. I’m pretty certain, however, that it had something to do with it. It would be too much of a coincidence otherwise.
It’s little more than a hop, skip and a jump to the florist’s. I’m nervous about this so I spend some time examining the buckets of flowers outside before I go in. The sign outside the shop is pretty – Thomson and Taylor. It’s in old-fashioned type with carefully painted ivy joining the two names. My brain creaks into action. Isn’t ivy symbolic of friendship and trust?
It’s clear from the moment I enter that neither friendship nor trust are in evidence. The atmosphere is distinctly frosty. There are two women, both of them from my two dreams. I receive polite smiles from them but their body language tells a very different story.
‘It’s Ms Lydon, isn’t it?’ the first woman asks. ‘I recognise you from last week.’
Her colleague’s mouth widens until I’m afraid her face will crack. ‘I recognise you from yesterday. Zoe, right?’
I glance from one to the other. It’s worse than I thought. I know they’re going to end up shooting the messenger but it’s better than them shooting each other, even if only subconsciously. ‘Hi.’ I clear my throat. ‘I want to thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful.’
They both beam. ‘We have some lilies fresh in this morning. Perhaps you’d like some of those?’
‘Oh, Margaret, she’s not a lily kind of person. You’d prefer something with more soul, wouldn’t you? I’m thinking daisies and daffodils. It’s the perfect time of year for a bit of spring.’
Before this degenerates further, I speak up. ‘It’s not flowers that I’m here for. It’s, uh,’ I look at Margaret’s hand, bare of any rings, ‘your boyfriend.’
Her brow furrows. ‘You mean Alan? My fiancé?’
‘Uh, sorry, yes, your fiancé.’
‘Here we go,’ the other woman mutters. ‘If he’s not given you a ring, are you really engaged?’
There’s malevolent spite in Margaret’s eyes. ‘We’re waiting until we can afford one.’ She pastes another smile on her face and gazes at me. ‘How do you know him?’
I throw the dice. ‘You’re Margaret Thomson? And you’re....’
‘Rebecca Taylor,’ her colleague finishes.
I nod and meet Margaret’s eyes. ‘I saw him a few days ago. Your fiancé, I mean. He was with another woman.’ I smooth my hands over my skirt. ‘Trying to kiss her.’
Her expression grows pale. ‘Who the hell are you? Did she put you up to this?’
I look at Rebecca. She’s watching me with a knowing expression in her eyes. Certain I’ve read the situation accurately, I feel a surge of confidence. ‘He’s not any good for you, Margaret. Deep down you know you can’t trust him. Instead of worrying about what other women are doing with him, you should worry about what he’s doing.’
Rebecca swallows. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you this,’ she whispers.
Margaret throws up her hands. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here but you can get the hell out of my shop.’