Fry by Lorna Dounaeva Page B

up and down, seems unable to sit for longer than ten seconds. His partner, meanwhile, lounges back on my sofa, taking in the stack of fashion magazines on the coffee table and the orderly row of shoes, lined against the wall. These are not all my shoes, by the way, just the ones that don’t fit in the shoe cupboard.
    “We never found out for sure,” I say cagily. “It could have been me, but it could equally have been my brother. It was a long time ago and an accident at that. I really can’t see what it has to do with the fire at the caravan park.”
    “Except that it’s another unexplained coincidence,” Penney points out.
    “Look Isabel, we don’t want to do this, but if we find any more of these little ‘coincidences’, I’m going to have to turn you over to my boss, and she’s not into these cosy little home visits, if you get my drift. She’ll want to question you properly.”
    “Down the station,” adds his partner, as if I’m an imbecile.
    “Look, I know this looks bad,” I say, in exasperation, “but there’s really nothing more to tell.”
    “So this is going to be the last time we’ll need to speak to you then?”
    “Yes. Absolutely the last.”
    Next morning, I am awoken by the sound of the phone ringing.
    Groggily, I reach for it.
    “Hello?”
    “Isabel? It’s Sonya. Are you OK?”
    “Yes, fine. Why?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.
    “It’s gone half past nine. Are you still in bed?”
    “Oh, bollocks!” I glance at my bedside clock. “I must have overslept. Sorry, Sonya – I had trouble getting to sleep last night.”
    “You OK?”
    “Yes, fine, just had the police sniffing round again last night.”
    I don’t know why I told her that, Sonya isn’t exactly the soul of discretion.
    “About the fire?”
    “Yeah.”
    “That’s crazy! They should stop wasting your time and catch some real criminals.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “Well, I’m glad you’re all right, anyway. I’ll see you at work then.”
    “Yeah. I’ll be as quick as I can. Sorry about oversleeping.”
    “Not to worry, it’s kind of dead today, anyway.”
    I thought she was just trying to make me feel better, but I get a bit of a shock when I walk through the door of Robertson’s an hour later.
    “Hey, where is everyone?” 
    Stu walks out of his office.
    “Something’s not right,” he says, pointing out the obvious. “Maybe you should go over to Filbert’s, Isabel and see if it’s quiet there too.”
    “I really don’t see how checking out the opposition is going to help,” I object. “Wouldn’t my time be better spent helping with the inventory?” I glance at Sonya for support.
    “No, I think they’re up to something,” Stu insists. “Just go and have a look.”
    “I suppose it can’t hurt,” Sonya agrees.
    I didn’t want Stu to be right, but when I reach Filbert’s, the car park is so packed that I have to drive round in circles for ten minutes before I can get a space. What’s more, their trolley bays are all empty. Meaning either they’ve had a major trolley theft, or every single one of them is in use.
    What’s going on here?
    That’s when I see the sign: ‘Half price Friday! Everything half price!’
    How did I miss this? How did we all miss this?
    Why are they doing this? They must be making a massive loss!
    But look how many people there are! They’ve taken most of our customers and then some! I fight my way into the store and look around. Shelf stackers work furiously to replenish the stock, but they’re no match for the bargain hungry shoppers, some of whom have taken more than one trolley. I’m tempted to do a little shopping myself.
    I follow the crowd towards the checkout. No zombies here. They have fully automated tills, with helpful assistants on hand to advise people on how to use them. All the staff seem ultra smiley and efficient. They must invest a lot more in staff training than we do.
    Hey - I wonder if they pay more than Robertson’s?
    Boldly, I walk