Free Inbetween Days by Vikki Wakefield Page A

instead.
    Astrid backed up and regarded me from a safe distance. ‘Alby says he has to let one of us go. But don’t tell him I told you. He’ll want to say something to you himself.’
    So that was it: she was worried about losing her job. I wouldn’t be the one to go—I was indispensable. I minded the shop, and the old man. I was a good girl. These changes had been sneaky acts of sabotage; I had to mark and defend my territory, like the time Trudy and I had to share her room for two months and Trudy divided the room using a strip of tape. The battle lines were drawn. Astrid was flaky, disorganised and occasionally dishonest, with legs up to her armpits and a knack for divining truth, and now I didn’t like her. I didn’t like her at all.
    Jeremiah was still waiting, his pencil poised above the paper.
    ‘I was here first,’ I said. ‘Show me that buttress thing again.’
    After Roly and Jeremiah had gone, Astrid just about took the skin off the floor tiles, scrubbing them with bleach. Big mistake—only the dirt was holding them in place. I watched but didn’t comment. It was the kind of job that only got bigger once you’d started, and it kept her busy while I served the odd customer and catalogued all the things she’d messed with.
    She had hung a male nude calendar in the ladies’ toilet; I gave the boys some dignity by using a permanent marker to draw them tuxedos. I nudged my checkout a few inches closer to its original position. Astrid’s, too. I ripped up the new procedure list and tossed it into the bin where she’d see it. I ate her yoghurt from the staff fridge. We worked without speaking for nearly four hours and neither of us acknowledged the mess of toilet paper, still lying where it had fallen. The stench of bleach had almost covered up the new coconut smell, but I found myself inhaling over a crate of oozing peaches.
    In the afternoon, Alby came down and asked me to look after Mr Broadbent while he ran some errands. I didn’t mention what Astrid had said. I didn’t ask for the last week’s pay either, although I’d noticed Astrid had paid her staff account in full.
    Alby stared at the toilet paper. ‘You need to clean that up. It’s not safe.’
    Astrid threw me the darkest look but nodded sweetly. ‘I told her, but there’s no telling some people. I’ll do it. Again .’ She walked off, hips swaying, skirt short.
    Alby watched. ‘You’re a good girl, Astrid.’
    A full-body tremble started somewhere in my knees.
    ‘I have a boyfriend,’ I told Mr Broadbent.
    He was wearing loose cotton pyjamas, worn through at the elbows, and sat slumped in an armchair that looked like a distended organ growing out of his bony back. I’d played classical music on the radio for a while but he didn’t seem to be listening. I switched the channel back to rock.
    ‘He’s older. Not old-old, but, you know. I’ll be eighteen in less than a year and then it won’t matter.’
    He didn’t blink. I pushed pieces of sandwich between his lips and he gummed them, slowly and carefully.
    ‘Astrid is swinging her hips for Alby so she can stay. That’s so cheap, don’t you think? Trudy was right about her—she’s only out for herself.’
    His expression didn’t change. He didn’t understand what I was saying anyway—even better, he didn’t talk back. I had a lot to say and no one to tell, so it was perfect.
    ‘Trudy treats me like a child when it suits her and a grown-up when she needs money. I’m too young to drink with her and Mads and I can’t have my boyfriend stay over, but I’m old enough to split rent. Double standards, hey?’
    He must have stopped chewing some time ago but I hadn’t been paying attention. One of his cheeks ballooned. I held the plate up to his mouth and he obligingly spat out a wad of soggy bread.
    I lowered my voice. ‘There’s a man up in the forest. His name is Pope. I don’t know why he’s there and it’s probably none of my business, but…what if it’s