It was late evening in the city supermarket. Emma sat at the checkout, quietly shedding tears of exhaustion, hurt feelings, and loneliness. A sleepless night was taking its toll. Her neighbor, Gary, a notorious drunkard, had been raising a racket with his drinking buddies again, and even the local policeman couldn’t reason with him.
Emma wiped her tears and glanced around the store. A charming young man in a stylish coat was approaching her till. For about a month now, this tall brunette had always come to her register to pay for his pizza and juice. “Probably single,” she thought to herself. “Some lucky girl will end up with such a handsome guy.”
The customer came up with his usual pizza, flashed a warm smile, and handed over fifty pounds, but then reconsidered:
“I’ll find the exact change so you don’t have to bother with it.” He paid and left.
There was still an hour until the supermarket closed. The sparse late-night shoppers sluggishly placed items in their carts. Emma yawned involuntarily and thought bitterly about her neighbor Gary. And speak of the devil, there he was, scruffy and bruised. The alcohol enthusiast rushed into the store and soon stood before her with two bottles of expensive whiskey. Smirking, he handed her a crisp fifty-pound note. “The party next door will go on till morning,” Emma fumed.
“Gary, did you rob someone?” His sly little eyes darted between his bruises. “Why would you say that?” Emma instinctively examined the note in the light, felt it with her fingers, and then suddenly… “Wait, Gary, something’s off… I need to check this.” She inserted the money into the note detector and whispered, “Where did you get this?! It’s a fake fifty!”
Gary froze like a passport photo and clutched the bottles to his chest as if saying goodbye to childhood dreams and forgotten prayers. Suddenly, he put the bottles down. “Check these too,” he said, handing her two more fifty-pound notes with a hint of hope.
“These are fake as well. I need to report this to the police!” “Emma, I swear, I found them by the shop. Drop it, please…” he pleaded. The cashier relished his fear and was just about to confess she was joking and the money was real when Gary snatched up the hundred and fifty pounds and darted to the bin to dispose of the evidence. With spite, Gary tore up the money and dashed outside.
Emma was stunned by his quick response. What had she done?! But he brought it on himself! “Excuse me,” a familiar customer approached. “Earlier, I bought pizza here…” “I remember,” Emma responded cautiously, “you paid without wanting change.”
“It’s about something else… Imagine, I got to my car and my wallet was gone. Such a forgetful chap.” “Was there much money?” Emma asked, recalling Gary.
“It’s not about the money, who cares about that. Earlier today, I hastily wrote a very important phone number on one of the notes. If anyone returns the money, could you let them keep it and just write down the number for me? Here’s my card.”
“Alright,” Emma nodded.
Feeling miserable for the rest of her shift, she pondered how she could help the pizza lover. Finally, she grabbed a bag, ran to the bin, and dumped its contents. At home, wearing gloves, she began piecing together the torn fragments, cursing herself for the silly prank.
“And he’s just as forgetful… probably a woman’s phone number,” Emma thought enviously as tears stung her eyes. The number was found on two scraps.
“But how to pass it on? I can’t call from my phone; he might call back. And then what? Talk about fake money?” She looked at the business card—Alex Farrell, with a company and personal number. She could only reach out to him from a different number or just send an SMS. Maybe borrow the phone from her elderly neighbor? But if Alex called back, and she mentioned that Emma had visited, what would he think? Could he think she’s the one who found the money, kept it, and still sent the number?
Suddenly, it struck her that she could borrow the phone from the cleaner; he likely wouldn’t be able to describe her afterward. And if he could… she had to ensure he couldn’t. Emma raced to her closet.
Soon, a comically bundled figure emerged from her building: coat over blanket, two scarves, a woolly hat, and a cap on top. Good luck to anyone trying to identify her. The bundle wandered away from the building, following random paths and listening for sounds… shcrape… shcrape… There it was— the witness—a South Asian cleaner—the perfect disguise.
Approaching him, Emma mumbled in a low voice, “Mate… can I borrow your phone, please?” The cleaner paused, gazing at the bundle of garments. She clarified, “Battery’s dead. Need to call.” She showed him a twenty-pound note. Silently, the cleaner handed over his phone. Emma promptly sent Alex the unknown woman’s number. Phew! She felt relieved.
“Thanks—a lot” she expressed, then hurried home.
Alex couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t thinking about the money, instead recalling the encounter earlier that day when he’s heading to the cafe and heard, “Alex!” There, in the crowded bus’s doorway, was his friend John, a face he hadn’t seen in five years.
“I’m heading to the station! Call me!” His friend shouted out a series of numbers. With his phone forgotten in his office, he jotted the number on a note and anticipated calling John from his single apartment later. But it didn’t go as planned.
To distract himself, he thought of something pleasant. The cashier Emma, she’d occupied his thoughts for a month now. Her wavy hair, eyes like a clear sky, a friendly smile… It was time to get to know her. Loneliness had worn on him.
Suddenly, his phone pinged with a message. The screen showed only a number. Whose could it be? Then it hit him—it was John’s. Come morning, he had to call him. If the number was found, then the money was too. He needed to thank the sender immediately.
“Hello there. Thank you very much. Please keep the money; it’s a token.”
A man’s voice, with an accent, replied, “TOKEN?.. I no understanding. Cleaner here. Thank you.” And he hung up.
But it didn’t matter who sent it. Tomorrow, he’d share the news with Emma. He remembered how she seemed upset, consoling him yesterday.
With the thought of having a reason to talk, Alex drifted off to sleep with a smile. Meanwhile, Emma spent half the night crying over her troubled life, thinking of clueless Gary and now-unattainable Alex.
The next evening, an eager Alex approached the register.
“Emma, everything’s good now. I’ve got the lost number back and called my friend…” he began, suddenly pausing. “Wait… but how did they know my phone number? I only gave my card to you.”
Emma stood silent, unable to speak.
“So, you found the money and… sent the number?” Not waiting for a reply, Alex headed quickly to the exit.
“It’s over! He thinks I’m a thief. This is the end!” Emma panicked, grabbed her bag, and ran after him, tears streaming.
“Alex, wait!!!”
Shoppers watched as she caught up to him, speaking rapidly, then opened her bag and extended her hand. Alex looked at the two torn pieces of the red note, where John’s number was scribbled…
Within minutes, laughter echoed from their direction.
And soon enough, they had a beautiful wedding, where Emma once again laughed and cried, this time from sheer happiness. Gary got a bit of luck too…
