Late Night at the Supermarket
One evening, long after most sensible people had gone home, the fluorescent lights of the local Tesco buzzed overhead. Emily sat at the checkout, blinking back tears, utterly drained by exhaustion, frustration, and loneliness. The sleepless night hadnt helped. Her neighbour, Keitha man whose relationship with alcohol was more committed than most marriageshad been at it again, hosting a raucous gathering with his drinking buddies. Even the police had given up trying to quiet them.
Emily wiped her eyes and glanced around. Just then, a handsome young man in a stylish coat approached her till. For the past month, this tall, dark-haired bloke had been turning up at her checkout to pay for his meal dealalways a pizza and an innocent-looking fruit juice. “Probably a loner,” she thought. “Some girls going to be very lucky with this one.”
The customer, pizza in hand, flashed her a grin and handed over a crisp fifty-pound note, then hesitated. “Hang on, let me grab some changedont want to trouble you.” He paid and sauntered off.
There was an hour left before closing. The few shoppers still milling about tossed items into their trolleys with the enthusiasm of people whod rather be anywhere else. Emily yawned, silently cursing Keith, who chose that exact moment to stumble in, dishevelled and sporting a fresh bruise, clutching two bottles of premium vodka. With a smirk, he slapped down another fiftybrand new this time. “Another all-nighter, then,” Emily thought irritably.
“Keith, did you rob someone?” Her neighbours eyes darted between his bruises like a guilty cartoon character. “Why dyou think I nicked it?”
Out of habit, Emily held the note up to the light, ran her fingers over itthen froze. “Wait, Keith, somethings off We need to check this.” She fed it into the counterfeit detector and whispered, “Whered you get this? Its fake!”
Keith went statue-still, clutching the vodka like it was his last lifeline, mentally rifling through half-remembered prayers. Suddenly, he slammed the bottles onto the counter. “Check these too,” he said hopefully, shoving two more fifties at her. “Theyre fake as well. Ill have to call the police!”
“Emily, I swear, I found em outside the shopsomeone dropped their wallet, I just took the cash. Dont report me!” the drunk pleaded.
Emily savoured his panic, ready to admit it was a prankthe notes were real. But Keith, now £15,000 lighter, bolted to the bin outside to “destroy the evidence.” With smug satisfaction, he tore the bills to shreds and vanished.
Emily blinked. What had she just done? Then again hed earned it.
“Excuse me,” said the familiar customer, reappearing. “I bought a pizza earlier”
“I remember,” Emily said warily. “No change.”
“Not thatI lost my wallet getting into my car. Total airhead move.”
“Was there much in it?” she asked, thinking of Keith.
“The moneys whatever. But I scribbled an important phone number on a note. If someone finds it, they can keep the cashjust copy the number for me. Heres my card.”
“Right,” Emily nodded.
Her mood soured. For the rest of her shift, she agonised over how to help the pizza enthusiast. Finally, she grabbed a bin bag and raced outside to dumpster-dive.
Back home, gloved up, she sifted through shredded banknotes, cursing her own stupid joke.
“And him, such a scatterbrain Bet its some girls number,” Emily thought bitterly, eyes stinging. The digits were salvaged from two scraps.
“But how to give it to him? Cant call from my phonehe might ring back. What do I say? Oh, by the way, about those counterfeit notes?”
She pulled out the business card: Alexander Carter, work and personal numbers. Shed have to callbut from a different number. Maybe borrow the elderly neighbours phone? But if Alexander called back and the old dear got confused, shed remember Emily had been there. What would he think then? That shed kept the cash but sent the number anyway?
Then it hit her: the buildings caretaker. Unlikely to recognise her later. And if he did best make sure he couldnt. Emily bundled up and waddled out
Moments later, a suspiciously round figure shuffled from the flats, wrapped in enough layers to survive a polar expedition. A woolly hat, two scarves, a puffy jacketif anyone tried sketching this “discreet” outfit, theyd end up with a snowman. The figure zigzagged away, then spotted the perfect patsy: a bored-looking bloke at the corner shop.
Approaching the caretaker, Emily mumbled, “Need to make a callphones dead.” She flashed a fiver. He handed over his mobile. She fired off the mystery number to Alexander, muttered thanks, and fled.
Alexander couldnt sleep. He wasnt fussed about the moneyjust replaying the days chance encounter. Heading to a café, hed heard, “Oi, Al!” From a packed bus, his old mate Dave had yelled, “Off to the stationring me!” Scrambling for his phone (left at work), hed jotted the number on a fifty. Now, thanks to some kind stranger, he could finally call.
His thoughts drifted to Emilythe checkout girl with wavy hair and eyes like a clear sky. Hed been meaning to ask her out.
Just then, his phone buzzed. Unknown number. Just digits. Then it clicked: Daves number! The money mustve been found too. He hit call.
“Cheers, mate. Keep the cashconsider it a gift.”
“GIFT? Me no understand. I caretaker,” came the gruff reply before the line went dead.
Whoever sent it, tomorrow hed tell Emily. Shed looked so down yesterdaymaybe she needed cheering up. Smiling, he drifted off.
Emily spent half the night cryingover her mess of a life, poor Keith, and unattainable Alexander, that lovely idiot.
The next evening, Alexander bounded to her till. “Emily, brilliant news! Someone sent the lost numberI reached my mate!” He paused. “Wait howd they get my number? I only gave my card to you.”
Emily went scarlet.
“So you found the money and sent it?”
Before she could speak, he marched off.
“Its over! He thinks Im a thief!” Panicked, she grabbed her bag and sprinted after him. “ALEXANDER, WAIT!”
Shoppers gawked as she caught up, babbling, then yanked two shredded fifty scraps from her bag.
Alexander stared at the number scrawled in his own handwriting
Soon, laughter echoed through the aisles.
Weeks later, the Carters celebrated their wedding, where Emily alternated between giggles and happy tears. Even Keith enjoyed the open bar.
