5

5

Marcus

"Will this be a problem for the store?" I whispered, on my knees beside Pips as we finished mopping. I glanced secretly at Tamara, who was currently running interference with a couple of customers demanding access to the tins of sardines. And right now , they insisted.

"What?" Pips frowned. "It's just a spillage. We get them every day."

"No, because there's been an accident to a member of staff. Though Tamara is being generous, giving Mr G a week off."

"Oh hell, Mr G doesn't work here," Pips said.

"What? But he's wearing a YBB uniform. And his wife—"

"Oh, yeah. Mrs G does. Mr G just comes in and potters around, helping out here and there. Mainly mis-shelving stuff we have to rearrange later. And yeah, I know it looks odd," he hurried on, obviously seeing my eyebrows rise. "He likes the uniform, says it keeps him clean and tidy and is easy to wash. There speaks a man who's never worn silk underwear, right?"

I swallowed hard again, but this time at the thought of Pips in silk briefs. Pips, showing me his silk briefs. Oh my God . I took a quick, restoring breath. "What about the health and safety issue? And there's the matter of public liability…"

"Not that it's any concern of yours," Pips said rather snippily, "but we all keep an eye on him. And he causes less disruption than some of the more badly-behaved customers who pick stuff and squeeze it out of shape, or dump an unwanted cabbage on top of the croissants." His voice was tight and climbing higher. "Or ram their trolleys into the freezer cabinet and leave the door open, so all the ice cream goes soft and leaks out in a pool of sticky, smelly, mushy—"

I put my hand gently on Pips' arm. "It's okay, I get the picture. You're just worried about Mr G. I understand."

Pips gave a heartfelt sigh, sat back on his heels, and glanced ruefully at me. "Way to make a good first impression, right? Getting in such a bloody state. I'll understand if you didn't want to go for a drink with me after all."

I smiled. I might have blushed. "Well, I'm still here."

"You sweetheart." His expression was surprised but also grateful. "I'll meet you at the staff room—"

"Pips!" came Tamara's voice, much nearer than before.

Hell's bells . We both stood, with a glance over to where Lina and Shanaz were helping wipe down the remnants of soup on Mr G's cardigan, while Mrs G hissed disappointment in her husband's ear.

"It wasn't Mr G's fault," Pips said mulishly. "Too many people in one place, and that table isn't the most stable thing. As I said in the staff meeting about this crappy Demo business—"

Tamara held up her hand, silencing him. I suspected that didn't often work, but we were all worn a bit ragged this morning.

"Whatever," she said. "We are not in the business of providing entertainment for elderly citizens who can't find anything decent on the TV during the day. Let alone feeding them on a regular basis."

"He's hardly any trouble," Pips interrupted. "Usually."

"And he helps with stocking the shelves," I chipped in.

Pips groaned softly. Maybe that hadn't been the best defence to offer.

"It was a genuine accident," I added quickly.

It seemed Tamara acknowledged me for the first time. Her eyebrows vanished up under her bright red fringe.

"Marcus, what are you doing here? Heavens. I understand that this doesn't look good to an outside view—"

You're telling me , I thought, but I bit that back.

"But I hope that this store's previously excellent reputation will allow your department to view this, erm, event with the appropriate perspective."

"His department?" Pips whirled around to stare at me. "What does she mean?"

"Please allow for the fact this is only the first day of implementation of your excellent and innovative campaign," Tamara continued.

Oh, shit .

"Aren't you a new temp?" Pips demanded. "Where the fuck do you work?"

"Language in the store, Pips!" Tamara looked horrified.

I caught Pips' glare and shrugged; I couldn't really do anything else. "Head Office. Marketing."

"The Demo Day initiative. It's yours." Pips made it sound more of an accusation than a question.

"Yes. Well, my department's."

"But they told me it was largely your inspiration!" Tamara gushed.

I was definitely flushed now, though not from pride. But there was no point in denying it. "Yes."

"And Marcus is here as part of his training to gain a rounded view of life on the shopfloor, and to gather staff feedback on this, erm, excellent, innovative, erm, campaign—" Tamara stumbled for a moment, flustered. I suspected she could hear the weak repetition herself. My boss had already briefed me there might be resistance at some of the smaller stores.

All the time, Pips had eyes only for me. "You're the Head Office Tsar. The despotic decree maker. One of the fat cat tossers who've never worked an honest day on the shop floor."

Not really , I thought, but all I could do was nod. "Pips, it doesn't matter."

"Oh, but it does!" Tamara crowed. She glanced quickly between my bleak look and Pips' wild-eyed one, perhaps wondering what the hell Pips had actually said to me. "It's important we can show our commitment and enthusiasm for the campaign and make sure of Head Office's continued support!"

And, to my despair, Pips turned tail and ran from the aisle.