Late evening in a city supermarket. Emma sat at the checkout, quietly shedding tears of exhaustion, frustration, and loneliness. A sleepless night had taken its toll on her. Her neighbor, Gary, a notorious drunkard, had been having another loud night with his drinking buddies next door. Even the local police officer couldn’t knock some sense into him.
Emma wiped her tears and scanned the room. Approaching her was a charming young man in a stylish coat. For about a month now, this tall brunet always approached her register, buying pizza and juice. “Probably single,” she thought. “Some lucky woman will end up with this handsome guy.”
Once again, the customer came up with a pizza, smiled sweetly, and handed over fifty pounds but reconsidered, saying, “Let me find the right change so I don’t trouble you.” He paid and left.
There was an hour left before the supermarket closed. Sparse shoppers lazily placed their items in carts. Emma yawned involuntarily and thought darkly of Gary. And there he came, unkempt and bruised. The booze-loving Gary dashed into the store and soon stood at the counter with two bottles of expensive whiskey. Grinning, he handed over a crisp fifty-pound note. “The party next door will continue till morning,” Emma thought angrily.
“Gary, did you rob someone?!” His crafty eyes darted between his bruises. “Why would you say that right away?” Emma instinctively held the note up to the light, ran her fingers over it, and suddenly said, “Hold on, Gary, something feels off… Need to check.” She inserted the note into the money detector and whispered, “Where did you get this?! The note’s a fake!”
Gary froze like a passport photo, clutching the bottles tightly, as if saying goodbye to his youth and recollecting a forgotten prayer. Suddenly, he placed the alcohol back on the counter. “Check these,” he said, hopefully handing over two more fifty-pound notes. “These are fake too. I have to report this to the police!”
“Emma, I swear I found it near the shop, dumped the wallet, and took the money. Don’t hand me over,” he whined pathetically. Emma basked in his fear and was about to confess she was joking and the money was real, when Gary grabbed the money and hurried to the bin to destroy the evidence. He gleefully tore the notes to shreds and darted outside.
Emma didn’t expect him to react so swiftly. What had she done?! But he had it coming! “Excuse me,” approached a familiar customer. “I recently bought a pizza here…” “I remember,” she responded cautiously, “no change needed.” “It’s about something else… I got to my car and realized I lost my wallet. Such a scatterbrain,” he admitted. “Was there much money?” Emma inquired, remembering Gary. “It’s not about the money; I scribbled an important phone number on one of the notes in a hurry today. Could you, if someone returns it, give them the cash but jot down the number for me? Here’s my business card.” “Okay,” Emma nodded.
Her mood was dismal. Throughout her shift, she pondered how to help the pizza-loving stranger. Finally, she grabbed a bag and rushed to the bin, emptying its contents. At home, donning gloves, she started piecing together the torn fragments, cursing herself for the silly prank. “And he sure is a scatterbrain… Probably a woman’s number,” she thought enviously, as tears welled up. She found the number on two scraps.
“How do I pass it on now? I can’t use my phone; he might call back. And what would I say then? About the fakes?” She pulled out the business card— Alex Charles Wilson, the firm’s and his personal number. She should call him, but from a different number, or perhaps just send an SMS. Maybe she could ask her elderly neighbor for her phone? But what if Alex called her back and she couldn’t communicate properly, only to recall that Emma had visited? What would he think then? That I’m the cashier Emma, found the money, kept it, yet still passed the number?”
Suddenly, it struck her that she could ask the janitor for a phone; he likely wouldn’t be able to describe her. And if he could… She needed to ensure he couldn’t. Emma dashed to her wardrobe…
Soon, from the building emerged a rotund figure: draped in a coat, fur shawl, two scarves, with a face tucked under a woolly hat and topped with a cap. Let’s see anyone try to create a sketch of this whimsical creature. The figure rolled away, leaving behind a confusing trail, listening for sounds—scrape-scrape… There, the witness—a discreet man of South Asian descent—a perfect choice.
Approaching the janitor, Emma muffled her voice, “Mate… lend me your phone, thanks.” The janitor stared, immobilized by the bundle of clothes. She clarified, “My battery’s dead. Need to make a call,” and flashed a twenty-pound note. He silently handed over his phone. Emma swiftly sent Alex the mysterious woman’s number. Phew! A weight lifted off her shoulders. “Thanks—cheers—grapes—lemons,” she thanked incoherently and hurried home.
*
Alex couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t worried about the money but recalled the encounter earlier in the day. On his way to a café, he heard, “Alex!” From the open door of a packed bus, a familiar face, his friend Victor, appeared. They hadn’t seen each other in five years. “Heading to the station. Catch up later. Call me!” Victor shouted out numbers. With his phone left behind in the office, Alex jotted the number on a banknote, looking forward to calling Victor from his bachelor pad later. But it didn’t work out.
To distract himself, he switched to more pleasant thoughts. Cashier Emma—she’s been on his mind for a month. Her wavy hair, sky-colored eyes, and welcoming smile… It was time to get to know her better. Loneliness had worn thin.
Unexpectedly, a message alert chimed. The screen revealed only a number. Whose? Suddenly, it dawned on him—it was Victor’s. Morning was the time to call back. With the number found, surely the money was too. It was urgent to thank the sender immediately.
“Hello. Thank you. Keep the money, consider it a gift.” A male voice with an accent responded, “GIFT?.. My no understand. Janitor. Thanks.” And disconnected immediately. No matter who sent it. Tomorrow, he would share the news with Emma. She seemed so disheartened yesterday, genuinely sympathized. With the thought of having a way to start a conversation, Alex drifted off with a smile.
*
The next evening, a cheerful Alex approached the counter. “Emma, all sorted. Someone sent me the number I had lost; I called my friend…” he began, then paused. “Wait a minute… how did they get my number? I only gave the card to you.” Emma remained silent, unable to say a word. “So it was you who found the money and sent the number?”
Without waiting for a response, Alex started heading for the exit. “That’s it! He thinks I’m a thief. It’s over!” Emma despaired, grabbing her purse and running after him, tears flowing. “Alex, wait!!!”
Customers watched as she caught up to him, speaking rapidly, then opened her purse and extended her hand. Alex gazed at two pieces of a red banknote with Victor’s number written on it…
Minutes later, laughter erupted from their direction.
*
Soon after, the Wilsons celebrated their wedding. Emma once again cried and laughed but this time out of sheer joy. Even Gary got a little something…
