Respect (Mandasue Heller) by Mandasue Heller Page A

something but didn’t have the money to pay for it, you took it – simple. And all the better if the shopkeeper was foreign, like Abdul, because that wasn’t really theft in her eyes: it was her right as a British citizen to reclaim what the bastards had been stealing from her country for years.
    She weaved slowly through the other customers now and made her way round to the second aisle, pausing here and there to examine the contents of the freezer cabinets. Picking out a box of fish fingers that she knew she could afford to pay for if challenged, she dropped it into a basket and carried it round into the third aisle, where the alcohol was housed.
    Tracey made her way slowly down this aisle until she reached the section she wanted. Then, keeping her back to the bottles, she leaned forward and peered at the cereal boxes opposite as if trying to decide which she fancied for breakfast tomorrow, whilst surreptitiously reaching behind her to lift what she’d come for. Mission accomplished, she dropped the basket and turned to leave.
    ‘Jeezus!’ she squawked when she bumped straight into Chantelle. ‘You scared the shit out of me!’
    ‘Sorry,’ Chantelle apologised, looking past the woman with hope in her eyes. ‘Where’s my mum?’
    ‘Don’t ask me,’ Tracey muttered, her gaze fixed on the security guard who had just strolled onto the shop floor. The door had been unmanned when she came in, and she’d thought that she would easily get out again. But this complicated things.
    ‘I thought she was with you?’ Chantelle frowned.
    ‘Yeah, she was,’ Tracey said distractedly, her focus on Abdul now as he pointed the guard in her direction.
    ‘Well, she’s not at home, ’cos I’ve just been there,’ said Chantelle. ‘So, where is she?’
    ‘For God’s sake, get off my back!’ Tracey snapped, backing away when the guard turned and started heading their way. ‘It’s got nowt to do with me.’
    ‘Hang about,’ Chantelle called when Tracey suddenly turned and legged it.
    The guard was about to give chase but changed his mind when he spotted Chantelle. Keeping it cool, he sauntered towards her. ‘All right?’
    ‘Fine, thanks,’ Chantelle murmured, going up onto her tiptoes to keep track of the top of Tracey’s head as she dodged through the shoppers in the centre aisle.
    ‘You don’t look it,’ the guard said, adding quietly, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t drop you in it.’
    ‘For what?’ Chantelle snapped her head around and looked at him for the first time. Her cheeks reddened when she saw that it was Anton.
    ‘Abdul saw your mate nick the booze,’ he told her. ‘But I’ll tell him it had nothing to do with you.’
    ‘And you’d be right ,’ said Chantelle, offended that he could even think such a thing. She had never stolen anything in her life, because she had seen her mum get arrested enough times to know that she would rather go without than suffer the shame of being branded a thief.
    Anton’s eyes twinkled with amusement when he heard the indignation in her voice. She was even prettier up close, and she smelled real good.
    ‘Anton!’ Abdul’s voice suddenly boomed out over the tannoy. ‘Get back to work!’
    ‘You work here?’ Chantelle raised an eyebrow in surprise.
    ‘You don’t think I dress like this for fun, do you?’ Anton nodded down at his black trousers and bomber jacket. ‘I’m only here ’cos I’ve got to be,’ he went on, casting a dirty look in his boss’s direction. ‘Probation,’ he added, pride refusing to allow him to let her think that he was the kind of loser who would take a shit job like this of his own accord.
    Chantelle was disappointed. For a moment there she had thought that maybe he wasn’t as bad as people made out. But if he was only working because he had no choice, then he obviously hadn’t changed.
    ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, conscious that she was trapped between him, the shelf, and another shopper’s loaded trolley. ‘Excuse