Late at night in the supermarket.
One evening, long after dark, in the dim glow of the towns supermarket, Emily sat slumped at her till, exhaustion and loneliness weighing heavy on her. Tears welled in her tired eyesanother sleepless night, another wave of frustration. On the other side of her flats thin walls, her neighbour, Jack, a notorious drunk, was at it again with his rowdy mates. Even the police had given up trying to shut him up.
She wiped her eyes quickly as a handsome young man in a sharp coat approached her checkout. For weeks, this tall, dark-haired stranger had come to her till, always buying the same thinga pepperoni pizza and an apple juice. *Probably a loner,* she thought. *Some girls going to be lucky with a bloke that good-looking.*
Tonight, he handed her a crisp fifty-pound note, then hesitated. “Wait, Ill grab some changedont want to trouble you.” He paid, flashed her a polite smile, and left.
Only an hour until closing. The few shoppers dragged their heels, tossing items into their trolleys without enthusiasm. Emily yawned, silently cursing Jackjust as he staggered in, dishevelled and bruised, clutching two bottles of expensive vodka. With a drunken smirk, he slapped down another fifty. “Partys lasting till sunrise,” she thought bitterly.
“Jack, did you rob someone?” His bloodshot eyes flickered between bruises. “Whyd I nick it?”
Out of habit, Emily held the note up to the light, running her fingers over the printthen froze. “Hang on. Somethings not right.” She fed it into the counterfeit detector. Her voice dropped. “Whered you get this? Its fake.”
Jack went rigid, clutching the bottles like a lifeline, as if praying for mercy. Then, in a flash, he slammed them onto the counter. “Check these too,” he blurted, shoving two more fifties at her.
“These as well. Ive got to call the police.”
“Emily, swear down, I found em outside! Some bloke dropped his walletI just took the cash. Dont grass on me!”
She savoured his fear, ready to admit the truththe notes were real. But Jack, panicked, bolted to the bin, tearing the money to shreds before storming out.
Emilys stomach lurched. What had she done? Still he deserved it.
“Excuse me?” The familiar customer was back. “I bought a pizza earlier”
“I remember,” she said warily. “No change.”
“Thats not it I lost my wallet getting into my car. Proper scatterbrain.”
“Was there much in it?” she asked, thinking of Jack.
“Not about the money. I scribbled an important number on a note. If anyone finds it, they can keep the cashjust send me the digits. Heres my card.”
“Alright,” she muttered.
For the rest of her shift, Emily brooded. Finally, she grabbed a bag and dashed to the bin, dumping the contents inside.
Back home, gloved hands sifted through torn bits of paper. *Stupid joke,* she scolded herself.
*And himwhat an idiot. Probably some girls number.* Her eyes burned with envy. The digits were there, split across two shreds.
*How do I give it to him? Cant call from my phonewhat if he rings back? What do I say? Mention the fake money?*
She pulled out his business card: *Alexander Wright, work and mobile numbers.* She had to callbut not from her own. Maybe ask old Mrs. Wilkins next door? But if Alexander called back and the old dear babbled nonsense, hed think *she* stole the money.
An idea struck: the caretaker. Hed never recognise her voice. But if he *did* best make sure he couldnt.
Minutes later, a bundled-up figure waddled outcoat, scarf, even a ridiculous woolly hat. No one would ID *that* mess. She zigzagged through streets, heart pounding, before spotting her target: a bored-looking bloke by a phone box.
“Need to make a callbatterys dead,” she mumbled, flashing a fiver. The caretaker handed over his mobile. Her fingers flew over the keys: *Number sent.*
Relief flooded her. “Ta,” she muttered, vanishing into the night.
Alexander couldnt sleep. Not over the moneybut the reunion replaying in his mind. That afternoon, heading for coffee, a voice had shouted, “Oi, Alex!” A packed bus door slid openVictor, his old uni mate, grinning. “Off to the stationring me!” Numbers were yelled. No phone? No problem. Hed scribbled them on a fifty.
Now, distraction came in blue eyes and chestnut wavesEmily, the checkout girl. A month of shy smiles, and still he hadnt asked her out.
*Ding.* A text. Just digits. Thenrecognition. *Victors number!* If the note was found, the cash was too. He fired back: *Cheers. Keep the moneymy treat.*
A gruff voice answered, “Treat? Im caretaker. No understand.” *Click.*
No matter. Tomorrow, hed tell Emily. Shed looked so sad earliermaybe she needed cheering up.
With that thought, he slept, smiling.
Emily cried half the nightfor her mess of a life, for stupid Jack, for Alexander, so close yet so far.
Next evening, Alexander bounded to her till. “Emily! Brilliant newssomeone sent the lost number! I reached my mate” He stopped. “Wait howd they get *my* number? I only gave my card to you.”
Her throat closed.
“So *you* found the money and texted me?”
Without waiting, he turned on his heel.
*He thinks Im a thief. Its over.* Panic sent her flying after him. “Alexander, WAIT!”
Shoppers gawked as she caught him, words tumbling out, then yanked her bag opentwo red fragments, Victors number scrawled across them.
Alexander stared. Thenlaughter. Bright, disbelieving.
Weeks later, the Wrights wedding was in full swing, Emily caught between giggles and happy tears. Even Jack managed to enjoy the free bar.
