you so up-tight about?’
‘Nothing. I’m all right.’
Ben said, ‘Look, Jackie, you’ve been burning the midnight oil on this job for too long, why don’t we—’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Take a look in the mirror, Jackie. Those bags under your eyes … we could carry groceries home in them.’
Jackie knew Ben was trying to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. And maybe that was it. Maybe she was overtired. But this was the biggest contract yet. Everything must work; everything must be one hundred and one per cent before the supermarket reopened.
Ben realized he’d penetrated her shell. ‘Let’s call it a day. I’ll fix us all a big cold salad while you unwind with a gin and tonic. Sound good to you?’
Jackie sighed. ‘It does sound good to me. In fact it sounds damn wonderful. Call security and get them to open the door.’ She touched icons on the computer screen that would activate the automatic system. Now any intruders (and any guards tempted to lightfinger a bottle of Scotch) would be caught on video. ‘Done,’ she announced. ‘Let’s get some fresh air.’
The pod exited directly into the supermarket parking-lot. All part of the new thinking in security. To avoid ‘contamination’ by supermarket employees, CCTV operatives sealed themselves in their sterile pod at the start of their shift and exited by a separate door at the end of it. No fraternization; no social intercourse: no colluding.
Jackie’s business machine was fuelled by hi-octane paranoia – supermarket owners don’t trust customers; supermarket managers don’t trust their staff; security guards on the day shift don’t trust those on nights: so Jackie Vorliss wins an heiress’s ransom to staunch that cash bleed-out.
Sun scoured the car-park. Its new blacktop filled the air with tarry fumes so thick you could almost cut slices with a knife. Jackie’s white BMW sat out there as lonely as a skull on a desert plain.
Ben and Caitlin flinched before the onslaught of summer heat. But at that moment Jackie felt a freezing sensation run up through her bones to the back of her neck. Suddenly she was no longer in the parking-lot with her daughter and boyfriend. She was thirteen years old. Standing in the warehouse back in a cold northern town where winter gales from the sea cut like a blade. That’s where she’d seen that sinister horse’s head before. It had risen from the floor, a mass of veined black with monstrous eyes. Seconds later Melody Tranter had burst against the warehouse wall. Coroner photographs recorded the rare butterfly pattern left there in luscious crimson daubs.
Yes, I remember you … Jackie Vorliss walked in her own envelope of mid-winter air on that blazing August day. She raised the image in her mind: the horse’s head of shadows, Bible black, all veined and somehow engorged with sinister promise. Yes, I remember you.
That evening, Caitlin and Ben treated her like an invalid. Dressed in her bathrobe, Jackie was made to sit in the cool of the air-conditioned lounge while she sipped a gin and tonic over boulders of ice. She could smell the garlic they crushed for the salad dressing floating from the kitchen. Their voices came ghosting into the lounge, too.
Ben said, ‘I haven’t see her like this before.’
Caitlin replied, ‘It’s that supermarket job. It’s got too big for her.’
‘She hasn’t been sleeping well either.’
‘I’m worried, Ben. It’s like she’s not really here.’
‘If she’s not any better in the morning I’ll get her to see a doctor.’
‘You mean you’ll try. She’s a walking-talking definition of stubborn .’
Although Jackie heard them it seemed it didn’t relate to her and really they were talking about a stranger. Meanwhile, her past had begun to exert its own gravitational pull, tugging her from the four-bedroom house with its serene pool lying in the grove of trees. In a strange, dislocated way she seemed to look down through the eyes of a hovering bird
‘Nothing. I’m all right.’
Ben said, ‘Look, Jackie, you’ve been burning the midnight oil on this job for too long, why don’t we—’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Take a look in the mirror, Jackie. Those bags under your eyes … we could carry groceries home in them.’
Jackie knew Ben was trying to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. And maybe that was it. Maybe she was overtired. But this was the biggest contract yet. Everything must work; everything must be one hundred and one per cent before the supermarket reopened.
Ben realized he’d penetrated her shell. ‘Let’s call it a day. I’ll fix us all a big cold salad while you unwind with a gin and tonic. Sound good to you?’
Jackie sighed. ‘It does sound good to me. In fact it sounds damn wonderful. Call security and get them to open the door.’ She touched icons on the computer screen that would activate the automatic system. Now any intruders (and any guards tempted to lightfinger a bottle of Scotch) would be caught on video. ‘Done,’ she announced. ‘Let’s get some fresh air.’
The pod exited directly into the supermarket parking-lot. All part of the new thinking in security. To avoid ‘contamination’ by supermarket employees, CCTV operatives sealed themselves in their sterile pod at the start of their shift and exited by a separate door at the end of it. No fraternization; no social intercourse: no colluding.
Jackie’s business machine was fuelled by hi-octane paranoia – supermarket owners don’t trust customers; supermarket managers don’t trust their staff; security guards on the day shift don’t trust those on nights: so Jackie Vorliss wins an heiress’s ransom to staunch that cash bleed-out.
Sun scoured the car-park. Its new blacktop filled the air with tarry fumes so thick you could almost cut slices with a knife. Jackie’s white BMW sat out there as lonely as a skull on a desert plain.
Ben and Caitlin flinched before the onslaught of summer heat. But at that moment Jackie felt a freezing sensation run up through her bones to the back of her neck. Suddenly she was no longer in the parking-lot with her daughter and boyfriend. She was thirteen years old. Standing in the warehouse back in a cold northern town where winter gales from the sea cut like a blade. That’s where she’d seen that sinister horse’s head before. It had risen from the floor, a mass of veined black with monstrous eyes. Seconds later Melody Tranter had burst against the warehouse wall. Coroner photographs recorded the rare butterfly pattern left there in luscious crimson daubs.
Yes, I remember you … Jackie Vorliss walked in her own envelope of mid-winter air on that blazing August day. She raised the image in her mind: the horse’s head of shadows, Bible black, all veined and somehow engorged with sinister promise. Yes, I remember you.
That evening, Caitlin and Ben treated her like an invalid. Dressed in her bathrobe, Jackie was made to sit in the cool of the air-conditioned lounge while she sipped a gin and tonic over boulders of ice. She could smell the garlic they crushed for the salad dressing floating from the kitchen. Their voices came ghosting into the lounge, too.
Ben said, ‘I haven’t see her like this before.’
Caitlin replied, ‘It’s that supermarket job. It’s got too big for her.’
‘She hasn’t been sleeping well either.’
‘I’m worried, Ben. It’s like she’s not really here.’
‘If she’s not any better in the morning I’ll get her to see a doctor.’
‘You mean you’ll try. She’s a walking-talking definition of stubborn .’
Although Jackie heard them it seemed it didn’t relate to her and really they were talking about a stranger. Meanwhile, her past had begun to exert its own gravitational pull, tugging her from the four-bedroom house with its serene pool lying in the grove of trees. In a strange, dislocated way she seemed to look down through the eyes of a hovering bird
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