The Woman At Checkout 9

A story to touch your heart

The dark-eyed cashier had sadness stamped through her like a barcode. Her melancholic air drew me to her checkout like a magnet.

“You want to get the coloured kitchen towel; they’re on offer. And these cabbages – they’re buy one, get one free. Nip and get another. You don’t want to miss out,” she’d urged that first day, standing tall – regal – at her till.

As obedient as a puppy, I’d dashed down the aisles in search of these bargains, her words ringing in my ears.

Scanning my shopping, she flicked a curl of dark hair from her eye, smiling as she chatted; a Benson and Hedges laugh punctuating her words when she told me how much I’d saved. Naturally I love a bargain but my joy that day came from the pleasure it gave her, knowing she’d saved me some money. Bev, proclaimed her name badge. Although I already knew that… Afterwards, I shopped there often, using Bev’s till if she was working. I looked forward to our chats. I’d recently moved to the area and hadn’t yet found a job. I made countless applications but most firms didn’t even bother to reply. If I was offered an occasional interview it felt like progress.

After years of studying, failure sat on my shoulders like a lead weight.

Sometimes I’d look at Bev, envying her. She worked; she belonged; she’d a place to go each day, even if she moaned about it sometimes.

“Have you worked here long?” I asked once.

“Too bloomin’ long!” she’d laughed, sweeping my bag of Pink Lady apples across the scanner.

WassheRomany? I wondered. She’d that exotic look, I supposed. And her fingers – nude of rings – did that mean…? I’d so many questions. Sometimes I almost asked, the words bubbling inside me like water boiling in a kettle.

“What’s painted sadness in your eyes?” I wanted to whisper.

Then one wet Monday I was finally offered a job. I longed to share my good news but Bev wasn’t working that day. Lost, I wandered the aisles with my invented need for sugar, flour, bleach…

She wasn’t there the next day, either. Was she on holiday? Had she changed her hours? Or was she off sick?

Never keen to push myself forward I hesitated but I was burning to know what had happened to her. It mattered so much to me.

“No, no holiday,” gossiped the new checkout lady with her halo of dyed hair. “She’s in the KA.” “KA?” I echoed, puzzled. “King Alfred Hospital. Had a funny turn. They think it’s her heart, poor Bev.” I felt emotionally winded. “But she’s… not old.”