Steve's face was going redder every second. When he get's frustrated or angry, his round head turns slightly brighter and when he had his ponytail, it used to shake about the place like a nervous rattlesnake. A greasy, greying rattlesnake.
He was furious because Alex hadn't yet arrived. After a two week holiday with Fran, he was due back at 12 noon. At three minutes past, Steve began to sweat and moan at the same time. It wasn't because we were one man down on the car park on a busy Saturday afternoon, it was because Alex's return meant he could clock off early, pick up Mary in his skoda and drive to Birmingham.
'What's in Birmingham, anyway?'
'What's in Birmingham?' Steve questioned my question.
'Yeah.' I shrugged.
'Only the best World Of Warcraft exhibition in England.'
I stared blankly.
'OK, second best. There's a a bigger one in Grimsby.'
'Ah, right.'
'I'm going to text him.' Steve said, skuffling about in his coat.
'Again?'
'Yeah, we'll go and see Darren, too.'
Darren's office never changes. The same four walls with odd pictures in it. Primary colours with words like 'Teamwork' and 'Communication'. One more of those kind of words and I would swear he was in a cult. He was at busy work, obviously. Sharon told us that he was our manager when he first starting turning up in a shirt and tie, but we hardly see him any more. Just once a month to hand out the rotas. They never change either.
'Guys, take a seat. I'll be with you in a second.'
'Alex isn't in yet.' Steve blurted, not giving Darren his second.
'What time's he due in?'
'Six minutes ago.' Steve replied quickly.
Darren didn't know whether to laugh or kick him out.
'He might be running late.' Darren shrugged, looking back down at his papers.
'I've text him twice. No reply.'
'He'll be on his way.'
'The second one was in capital letters.'
That's going too far, if you ask me. No man deserves capital letters. No one texts like that, apart from my Grandad who doesn't really know how to use his phone. We all know the rule. 'No caps unless it's an emergency.'
'I consider it an emergency.' Steve added. 'He's late for work. Plus I've arranged for me to go early, remember?'
'Oh, yes. The War Of The Worlds thing.'
'World Of Warcraft.' Steve stared him down.
'Same thing.'
'No. Plus, Mary's coming with me. Need to pick her up, so...'
Darren's eyes lit up, like he'd seen something fascinating on his desk or he'd remembered something very important.
'Oh yes, Mary.' Darren put down his pen. 'I've been meaning to speak to you about that. I've spoken to her over the phone this morning...about her back.'
'Yeah, she's getting better. Thanks for asking.'
'I did ask.' Darren nodded.
'She's doing a few shifts on checkouts until it's better.'
'Yes, but one thing I haven't told you...told you both, actually.' Darren smiled shyly. 'I am now in charge of the checkouts. I am the new checkout manager.'
'What about Frances?' I asked.
'Pregnant.'
'So, you're the manager whilst Frances is on maternity leave?'
Darren paused and felt the sting in my sentence.
'That's correct.'
I don't blame him. 'Checkout Manager' sounds a lot better than 'Temporary Checkout Manager.' 'Temporary' is always a negative word. 'Temporary Traffic Lights', 'Temporary Blindness'.
'Congratulations!' I smiled.
Eight months ago, Darren was scooping dog shit out of a shopping basket. He's come a long way.
'Oh, I get it!' Steve stood up quickly. 'I see what this is all about. You don't want Mary on your patch!'
'No.' Darren tried.
'You're just like all the rest of them. Stuck is this size zero shit! Not the right image for you, is she? You're all the same....
'Steve...'
'Mary's parents...the wrestling fans...the woman in the clothes shop...'
'No, Steve. Sit down.'
Steve sat down. He was up for protesting, but he was betting on a bit in age.
'Quite the opposite.' Darren said softly. 'I've asked Mary to be part of the checkout team. Permanently.'
Permanently is a better word. 'Permanently Employed.'
Steve laughed. Partly because he was tickled by Darren's ridiculousness and partly because out of offence.
'Good luck with that.' Steve crossed his arms. 'Trying to poach one of my men...'
'Women.'
'Same thing.'
'I've already poached her.'
Oo err missus?
'What?'
Steve's chewing gum nearly fell out of his mouth.
'She said yes. She's part of my team.'
'But...she can't...you can't...you need my permission as head porter.'
'I really don't.' Darren stayed firm.
'But...'
Steve's head nearly imploded, only to be interrupted by Alex, bouncing into the room.
'Sorry I'm late, Darren. Bus was running late.' He panted.
'No problem.'
'Steve, you texted me.'
'Because you were late.' I spoke for Steve.
'In capital letters?' Alex questioned him. 'I thought it was an emergency.'
See, I told you.
'Well, you're free to go, lads.' Darren announced.
Steve's stare moved from Darren to out of the window behind him, glaring into nothingness with a look of confusion and despair.
'Steve?'
'Yeah.' Steve snapped out of it and headed for the door.
'Enjoy your World War games.'
Steve stopped at the door, looked down and took a heavy breath.
'This isn't over!' Steve spat, with his back turned to Darren.
A split second later he was off, led by a few moments of silence, filled by Alex's panting and confusion. I had to fill the air with something.
'Congratulations again, Darren.'
'Thanks, Dylan. I'm still in charge of you lot.'
I smiled warmly and headed for the door.
'I'm sure Steve will be delighted.'
Like Steve said, this wasn't over.
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