Woman Walks into a Bar Read Free

without killing it. Even though you just have to put the bar code under a red light and the till reads it for you. It’s not because I don’t know how they work, I do. But I always seem to make electric things go wrong. I only have to look at them.
    Whenever I’m on a till, it always gets jammed or broken within about ten minutes. It’s always on a Saturday morning. There’s always a huge queue and it’s always some obnoxious woman I’m holding up, tapping her credit card like fury on the counter because she’ll be a few minutes late picking her kid up from ballet in her car, which is the size of a bus. And when people start to look at me like I’m stupid, I start feeling stupid and all of the things I know I should do to put the till right go out of my head. I look at it but it’s like I’m looking at something I have never seen before in my life. It makes no sense to me. So then I have to flash my light until the checkout captain comes over and presses two buttons to make it work again. And then I get sent on a break, and when I come back I’m back on fresh fish.
    So I only ever get out on the till when there’s been flu going around or on Valentine’s Day when no one else wants to work in the evening.
    Joy treats her job like a laugh, Marie treats it like a career path, and I treat it exactly like what it is. A way to support myself and Beth. A way to get her the latest pair of trainers or games for the Xbox my brother bought her, without having to answer to anyone but myself.
    I’m luckier than some. Mum and Dad do pretty well—Dad’s garage makes good money. I know he’d help us more with money if I let him. He tells me so every time we go round there for fish and chips on a Wednesday night. And I know Beth thinks I should let him, that a bit more cash would be a quicker route to whatever skirt, top, or DVD she wants—but I won’t let him.
    When Adam left I had to pick myself up and get on with things. I had to look after myself and my daughter. I had to do it for myself to prove that I could be strong. And sometimes it’s hard, but I want to do it by myself, and whenever I look around at everything we’ve got, I know that it’s almost all because of me and I’m really proud.

Four
    â€œDon’t get me moved off fresh fish,” I said to Marie. “I’m not going to meet this bloke, remember?”
    Marie sighed and picked up her clipboard.
    â€œOh, come on, Sam,” she pleaded. “You’re never going to believe who it is!”
    I blinked at her. That meant I knew whoever it was they were trying to set me up with.
    â€œMarie!” Joy scowled at her. “We’re not telling her who it is, all right?”
    â€œI haven’t told her who it is! All I’ve said is—”
    â€œWhat, I know this person?” I said, looking at Joy.
    â€œYeah,” Joy said, looking a bit awkward.
    â€œI know him and he’s not one of your castoffs?”
    Joy nodded.
    I looked at Marie. “Who is he?” I asked.
    â€œI’m not telling,” Marie said, “but when you see him, you’ll be well glad you went, I promise you . . .”
    A list of all the people I thought it might be flashed through my head in a split second.
    â€œBrian?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” Joy replied.
    â€œMick, Dave, Jules, Ali . . .?”
    Joy and Maria shook their heads on each name and I was glad. I didn’t want it to be any of those names. But if it wasn’t any of them and it was someone that I knew, who did that leave?
    I thought of a name but I didn’t say it out loud.
    There was one person who I’d like to see sitting at the table waiting to buy me a drink at seven that night. But it couldn’t be that person for two reasons. Firstly, neither Joy nor Marie nor anyone on earth except me knew that I liked him. And secondly, he was the bar manager at