The Overnight Part 17

"Jill? You're the one it seems to be an issue for."

"He rang in to say he was lost in the fog, and now are you saying his mobile's dead, Woody?"

"Someone ought to phone the police, shouldn't they, Jill? We don't know what could have happened to him."

"I would feel happier."

"Hey, getting your shelves right should do that for you. I thought you Brits were supposed to have your emotions under control. I wouldn't have expected you to want to send the cops to track down some guy who's just gotten turned around in the fog."

"Some guy," Agnes repeats. "That's all he means to you. That's how much the shop cares for the staff."

She's confronting him with a stare, and Jill has produced a somewhat sadder toned-down version. He's about to inform them that it depends how much the staff care about the store when the phones intervene. "Hey, maybe that's him now," Woody says as he makes for the nearest. "Maybe you summoned him."

Grasping the phone gives him back to himself. "Texts at Fenny Meadows," he takes pleasure in announcing. Woody speaking." 216 "Thought for a moment there you were in Yankee land."

Is he meant to know the caller? The man sounds as if he expects to be recognised. "I'm where I'm supposed to be," Woody tells him. "I'm the manager."

"Brought you over to take charge, did they?" The man's local accent is growing flatter than ever, or his voice is. "Let's hope you can."

Woody is close to wondering aloud whether this is someone else who wants to undermine the store or him. Instead he says "May I help you?"

"Me, no, I shouldn't think. More like it's the other way round."

"Go ahead. We can always use input from our customers."

"I'm a bit more than one of them. You thought so, any rate," the man says with a pride that sounds ashamed to own up to itself. "You invited me there, or one of your crew did. Sorry I turned you down, but I'm glad."

"Should I know why? I believe I've read something of yours."

"That wouldn't tell you." Apparently he doesn't intend to either, since he asks "Is the feller there that was putting notices about? He stuck one on my car and dumped the rest in all the shops by you, as if that's going to do any good."

"Why shouldn't it?"

"Show a bit of sense, lad. Have you looked around you lately? I'd be surprised if you've got any customers at all."

"That's because the expressway's blocked just now."

"I forgot I shouldn't be expecting sense." Before Woody can deal with this, Bottomley--that's his name, Woody has remembered--says "Any road, is he available?"

Woody is gazing straight at Angus, but there's no question of letting him or any of the staff hear from the writer. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave a message."

"Tell him I must have sounded rude."

"I'm sure he'll know that without being told."

"Clever," says Bottomley in a tone that means the opposite. "What I'm driving at, I should have made myself 217 clearer while I had the chance. That place was getting to me, and that's the truth."

"You must have to imagine all sorts of stuff to be a writer."

"That's the last spot I'd imagine anything. It's not the sort of book I wrote about it, is it?"

"I couldn't honestly say."

"There's plenty more like you. You're in the vast majority, no arguing with that." His pride has sunk to the level of resentment, and Woody is hoping his indifference has brought the call to an end until Bottomley says "I wanted the lad with the notices to know I wasn't trying to insult him."

It's only because Woody needs to learn all he can about the incident before confronting Angus that he asks "Why should he have thought you were?"

"I didn't mean he wasn't up to the job. I was saying just the contrary. You'll have got even more qualifications, won't you?"

Woody can't see the point of the question but is provoked to retort "A bunch."

"And you never noticed the mistake either."

Woody's furious to seem to be confirming this by saying "Which mistake?"

"Good G.o.d, have you not still? It's got to be worse than I reckoned. You didn't know there was a word wrong on your notices."

"Of course we did. We fixed it."

''Not on the ones you left round that place."

"Yes, those. There was a rogue apostrophe we got rid of."

"Lots of them about these days, but it wasn't one of those. I'm talking about how you said there was a readin group."

"Reading, you mean."

"You did, but it's not what your notices said." Woody s.n.a.t.c.hes one off the stack beside the phone and narrows his eyes at it. For a moment he's unable to locate 218 the word--he could imagine he has forgotten how to read--and then the misprint swells into his vision as though he has rescued it from being submerged. His rage seems to make the floor quiver underfoot; no doubt that's how it feels to be so undermined. His fist is crumpling the leaflet into a hard spiky lump when Bottomley comments "Sounds like you've got it now."

"It'll be dealt with," Woody promises through his fiercest smile.

"How are you going to do that? If you're blaming anybody you've missed the point."

Woody knows he's going to dislike the answer but can't refrain from saying "Who else would you suggest I blame?"

"Try where you are."

"If you've any complaints about my store I'm listening."

"Not the shop." Bottomley fills a pause with a clink of gla.s.s and a generous amount of pouring before he says "That's another thing I could have been clearer about. He may have thought I meant the shop as well."

"I wasn't told you said anything about it."

"I expect he didn't think it was worth mentioning. He'd have thought I was asking where it got its name."

"Pretty obvious, I'd say."

"That would be, right enough, but I meant your business park."

Why should Woody care? The man's drunk and embittered and most unlikely to tell him anything he would like to hear. It's only in order to speed the conversation to its end that he says "What about it?"

"Haven't you Yanks got the word over there?"

"We have a whole bunch you don't. Which in particular?"

"You're losing it now. You're getting disputatious. You're starting to sound like your lad that couldn't see the mistake he was spreading about."

Woody flings the wad of paper into the nearest bin so as to stop bruising his palm. "Have you finished trying to be clearer?" 219 "Fair comment. I'm behaving like I'm there myself. Must be the drink." Nevertheless Woody hears him take one before asking "Would you call it fenny in the States?"

"I don't believe so, not where I come from. Why?"

"If it was a marsh."

"But it isn't."

The writer is silent long enough that Woody expects him to say more than "It was."

"When?"

"After they built a village there in the sixteen hundreds. If you believe the tales, after they did in the fourteen hundreds too."

In case he needs to be prepared to counter any of them Woody has to ask "What tales?"

"The one you can be sure of is how the second lot went mad. Supposed to have been from drinking bad water. By the time they'd finished fighting or whatever they did to one another there wasn't even a child left alive."

That's in his book, but Woody had almost succeeded in putting it out of his mind. He would wonder aloud if the story has been published anywhere else, except that there's something he doesn't understand. "So what are you saying happened to the first village?"

"Sank, and the other one too."

"You mean the land had to be drained. Why would they go to all that trouble to build a village in the middle of nowhere much?"

"They didn't have to. The land changed by itself."

"Hold on. I know it didn't have to be drained to build the retail park. You aren't telling me it drained itself twice."

"At least."

Is that in his book as well? It adds no credibility, and Woody is about to make this plain when Bottomley says You got one thing right. It was nowhere much at all, so you'd wonder what led anyone to build on it."

'As far as the stores are concerned it's the expressway, obviously." 220 "That wouldn't be enough."

Not enough to justify the retail park? Woody can't see what else he could mean. The writer mustn't know much about business; maybe that's why his books have failed to sell. The fog can scarcely persist all year round, and once it lifts, the stores will come into their own--Texts will, anyway. Woody a.s.sumes the man is sinking deeper into the effects of his drink; he hasn't said anything that Woody needs to keep in mind or put in anyone else's. When Woody says "So are you through giving me your message?" he's smiling mostly at the joke.

"Seems like I've got to be. Did my best." Woody hears the phone fall away from the writer's mouth to be replaced by a gla.s.s that immediately sounds emptier, and then Bottomley's voice fumbles its way back to the receiver. "Here's a thought," he insists. "Here's a good one. Try telling the feller I met and the rest of them when you're clear of that place. See what they think then."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Think about it when you're somewhere else."

This has to be the worst sort of undermining, so indefinite that it's almost too insidious to be fought off. "Here's just fine for everyone," Woody says and cuts him off.

He's about to start dealing with the people Bottomley exposed when Agnes straightens up with a book. More than ever he's reminded of an animal feeding, not least by her sullen almost bovine expression. "That wasn't Gavin," she says.

"Hey, you noticed."

"I thought we were going to try and make sure he's safe."

"No need to think except about your stock." This doesn't seem to please her, but he doesn't see why he should. "I won't be phoning from down here," he says for her to interpret how she chooses. He's on his way to order Angus upstairs when the phones rouse themselves again. 221 Is the outside world determined to interrupt their work? The mouthpiece of the phone is clammy with a lingering trace of his breath. "Yes?" he says, sharp as a knife with a hiss for a point.

"Is that the bookshop?"

"It is, ma'am." He softens his voice and his smile, because she sounds like an eager customer. "Woody speaking. How may I be of a.s.sistance?"

"Is our daughter there? Is she all right?"

"Everybody here is all right. Who did you want to talk to?"

"She likes to be called Anyes."

"It wasn't your idea, then. Kind of rebellious, huh." Why is he not surprised that the latest unnecessary intrusion has to do with Agnes? "Anyway, yes, she's here and as okay as ever."

"She wasn't involved in the dreadful accident on the motorway, then. We've only just heard about it. We thought she might have rung to say she was safe."

"That wouldn't be possible, sorry."

"Why not?"

The woman's voice is exposing its nerves while Agnes frowns at him as though she hears her mother. He does his best not to use words Agnes can fasten on. "Store policy. Nothing out unless it's for business."

"Don't you think that's a little too inflexible? It's like shutting everybody up in there."

He sees where Agnes has learned her att.i.tude. "Not my nile, ma'am," he restricts himself to saying. "Applies to me just as much."

"Then you're agreeing with me, aren't you? You ought to be able to do something as the manager. I'll have a word with Agnes if I may."

"Can't do, I'm afraid."

"What have you got against that? You just said--was "Busy. Will be all night. The whole store to prepare for 222 an occasion, and people that ought to be helping aren't. Don't worry, you can trust me. Everyone's safe while I'm in charge."

Neither this nor his smile seems to reach the woman, who says "I'd still like to speak to my daughter."

"As I said, not possible. Please don't try again. I'll be taking all the calls."

He feels more overheard than ever. He feels as if by lowering his voice he has drawn an audience closer, one he can't even see. Agnes scowls sidelong at him as she stoops as little as she has to for a book. When her mother emits a gasp of outrage or incredulity he dispenses with the phone. "I want to see you in my office now, Angus," he shouts as the exit to the staffroom gives way to his badge.

He can see Agnes from the office too. As he watches sluggish downcast stunted Angus cross the floor he observes her resting a hand on the phone at the counter. He sends his voice down to her and the rest of the staff. "Let's keep our minds on why we're here tonight, shall we? Talk to me if you have to talk to someone. Right now we don't need anyone except who's here."

He's gratified to see Agnes s.n.a.t.c.h her hand away as if the phone itself has accused her. When she glares about the ceiling he feels the corners of his mouth lift, inverting the expression she takes to her shelves. He would invite her to find a smile if he hadn't to deal with Angus, who ventures into the office with a very tentative grin. It wavers between lessening and turning puzzled as Woody says "You don't believe in sharing your encounters with the store, then."