Moderate Violence (11 page)

The prospect of this didn’t seem to impress Ed much. But
the dance floor was too crowded for anyone to show off anyway. If Pascale was disappointed,
she didn’t show it. She tossed her hair and writhed about, reminding Jo of a
champagne-sodden Tess on Trevor’s fortieth birthday. Ed did his usual half
dancing, half standing still. Jo hoped that no one would notice her watching
him.

“Aren’t you two dancing?” asked Holly over her shoulder
as she and Tom passed on their way to the dance floor.

Stuart and Jo looked at each other. “Oh, OK,” said Jo.

It was hard to dance in such a crowd. Jo’s tiara
loosened itself and her hair started to escape its pins. She feared for her
bare toes among the boots and spiky heels. Then someone fell against her and
almost knocked her over. She felt Stuart grab her round the waist, but when she
righted herself it was Ed who appeared in front of her, smiling through his
sweat-smeared make up. “We said we’d have a dance, didn’t we?”

“
You
did,” corrected Jo. She had to shout to make him hear her. Her voice squeaked
against the booming music. “Watch out for Pascale!”

“Oh, Pascale…” he said, rolling his eyes. “Look at her,
she’s all over Grant Cox.”

Jo looked. Between the heads bobbing around her she
recognized Pascale’s silver-sprayed hair and Grant’s cornrows. “She’s such a
groupie,” said Ed, “and he’s only the DJ’s
brother
!”

Jo giggled. “Didn’t she want you two to stick together
because of your costumes?”

“That only applies if
I
want to go off somewhere.” He was smiling, and looking at Jo
approvingly. “You’re taller than I thought, you know.”

“Got heels on,” she gasped as someone’s elbow landed
between her shoulder blades.

“Come here,” said Ed. He took both her hands and pulled
her towards him. “Can’t have you getting knocked over.”

They couldn’t really dance much. Jo was very aware of
Ed’s arms around her, and the texture of the silver lamé jacket he wore. She
locked her hands behind his neck, feeling the little ring of bone sticking out
at the top of his spine. She tried to remember what that ring of bone was
called. They’d learnt it in Biology. Axel? Axis? Atlas?

Ed’s belt buckle – God, don’t think about it – was digging
into her stomach. She adjusted her position, but he moved too. He must have
thought Jo’s little wriggle was encouragement. She took her arms away from his
neck and pushed her hands against his chest, trying to make a space between
them. “I feel a bit crowded,” she said.

He relaxed his hold on her. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no, don’t be!”

They swayed about in silence for a minute. Jo closed
her eyes, trying to imagine she was dancing with someone who wasn’t Pascale’s
boyfriend. It didn’t work, because she couldn’t conquer the guilt.

The music never ended. That was the problem with DJs –
they just segued one track into another to keep the dancing going. But how did
you ever get an opportunity to stand still, especially in such a crowd? Jo
wondered inanely if she and Ed would have to dance together for the rest of
their lives.

“Better?” shouted Ed in her ear.

She nodded, and they went on dancing. She could feel
Ed’s hipbones, and his spine through his jacket and shirt. Even though he’d
loosened his embrace, the side of his face was sweating silver greasepaint into
her hair. She turned so that her forehead touched his sticky cheek. She
realized that he was taller than Toby, because when she embraced Toby their
foreheads touched. And she was wearing high heels, too. He must be
a lot
taller than Toby.

Pascale’s voice entered Jo’s meandering thoughts, as
piercing as a police siren. “Ed Samuels!” She emerged from the crowd of
dancers, her silver make-up shining surreally under the lights. “Are you going
to dance with me or not?”

“What about laughing-boy over there?” asked Ed in his
geezer voice.

“Who? Grant Cox?” Pascale seemed unwilling to notice
that Ed still had his arms around Jo. Standing on tiptoe, she grabbed his
shoulder and kissed him on the mouth. “Oh, Ed! You are funny!”

Jo had no choice but to squirm out of Ed’s arms. “See
you later,” she said to no one in particular. By the time she sat down, Ed and
Pascale were snogging energetically. Stuart, Holly and Tom had vanished.

Jo tried to shake off the memory of the dance. So far
in their relationship Toby had always touched her tentatively, as if he were
hardly doing it at all, but Ed’s touch was really
there
. Being close to him didn’t seem the same as being
close to Toby at all. But why was she comparing them? She’d even compared their
heights, as if she were shopping for a date on the Internet.

She took a gulp of diluted apple juice, wondering
vaguely what Toby was doing tonight. Not something he’d tell her about, that
was for sure. She took another gulp, thinking about what was hidden by the
plaster on her arm. The truth was, she was as devious, secretive and – what was
that word she and Holly had been so struck by when they’d studied
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
? They’d slipped it
into every conversation for about a week. Mendacious. It meant that you lied. It
was a great word, definitely. And Jo was as mendacious as Toby.

* * * * * *

Fridays were always busy at Rose and Reed. This
particular Friday, Gordon had also called a staff meeting after closing time. And
it was a hot day. When the shop closed Jo was exhausted, and longed to go home.
But Gordon sent Sophie, a part-timer even newer than Jo, out for sandwiches,
Eloise brewed a pot of coffee and they all crowded into Gordon’s office.

“Why are we in here?” muttered Jo to Eloise. “Can’t we
have a staff meeting in a café or something?”

Eloise stopped licking mayonnaise off her fingers and
gave Jo a surprised look. “But we need a TV, don’t we? Gordon’s got the
recording.”

“What recording?”

“Oh sweetie, did no one tell you?” Eliose took a bite
of her sandwich. “We’ve had a visit from the mystery shopper.”

“What mystery shopper?” Jo was beginning to feel very
stupid.

“It’s how Head Office checks up on the branches,”
explained Eloise, “to see if the employees are up to scratch. Gordon wouldn’t
have been told about it – they just send this ordinary-looking person with a
concealed camera to film what the assistant who serves them does. Or doesn’t
do, more like.”

 Jo began to understand. “So is Gordon going to show
the film this person took of one of us?”

Eloise nodded, her mouth full of sandwich.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Jo’s heart jumped about in her
chest. “Come on, Eloise, tell me.”

Eloise raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Then
Gordon came in with his sandwiches in one hand and a DVD in the other, followed
by Toby with a box of strawberries, a pile of plastic sundae dishes and a
packet of plastic spoons. He filled two dishes and brought them to where Jo
sat.

“Thanks.” She took the strawberries, but she didn’t
start to eat them. Her stomach felt clenched up. “Did you know we’ve got to
watch a mystery shopper film?”

He shrugged, propping himself against the windowsill as
there was nowhere left to sit. “Something like that.”

“I bet it’s me,” said Jo.

“Why? It might be me, or Sandy, or anyone. Maybe even
Gordon himself. Relax.”

Jo couldn’t relax. She hardly listened to Gordon’s
preamble. Her eyes were fixed on the DVD lying on his desk. When he put it into
the player a rustle of expectation went round the room. Everyone thinks it’s
them, thought Jo.

The TV screen leapt into life. There was the ground
floor of the shop. There was Tasha at the cash register. And there was Jo,
standing by the door, looking bored. The person with the hidden camera
approached her and asked if she could show her dresses suitable for wearing to
the office, in a 12 or a 14, long sleeves please.

Jo, who had gone very hot, remembered the woman. About
thirty, with an educated voice and bobbed hair, she’d come in only about a week
after Jo had started to work at Rose and Reed.

The mystery shopper trailed around after Jo, filming
her haphazard selection of four dresses. The woman picked out the only one they
didn’t have in a 12 or a 14.

“Will you be getting any more of these in?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Jo’s recorded voice sounded like a
little girl’s. Everyone laughed. Toby put his strawberries down on the
windowsill and nudged Jo’s back with his knee. Jo had stopped
looking
at the recording, but she couldn’t
escape
hearing
it.

“Well, could you get one from another branch?” asked
the mystery shopper.

“I don’t know,” said the little girl’s voice quietly.

“Or could I get it mail order? You have a catalogue
service, don’t you? What would I have to pay for delivery?”

“I don’t know,” said the even quieter little girl. “But
if you’d like to wait a moment, I could ask.”

“No, I think I’d better leave it.” The mystery shopper
thrust the dress into Jo’s arms, which were already full of the rejected
dresses. “But I also need a jacket. Could you show me some?”

Again the camera followed Jo’s back view as she led the
woman to the Formalwear section. Jo took a brief look at the screen. Her hair
looked its usual limp self, and it had separated at the back like it always did
by the afternoon. She looked away.

She didn’t do much better with the jackets. The woman
wanted the sleeves altered, and Jo didn’t know what whether, or how, this was
possible. After the woman told Jo she didn’t want to buy anything there was no
more dialogue. Wondering if the film had finished, Jo took another peep at the
screen. It hadn’t. Because she had forgotten to put back her armful of dresses
before she attended to the search for a jacket, she had left them draped over a
rack of suits. The last thing the camera recorded was Jo scooping them off,
catching one of the hangers in the collar of a suit jacket, and dropping all
four dresses on the floor in her scramble to extricate it.

The film ended. Gordon stood by the TV, his hands in
the pockets of his trousers, surveying his employees. “I think you’ll all agree
that wasn’t good.”

He waited while people murmured and looked at the
carpet. Suddenly ravenous, Jo filled her mouth with strawberries.

“What do we learn from this unedifying sight?” asked
Gordon.

He wasn’t looking particularly at Jo, but she knew the
question was for her. She was about to apologize for getting him into trouble
with Head Office, but before she could speak, Toby pushed himself off the
windowsill. “What’s the point of this, Gordon?” he asked aggressively. He took
the disc out of the player and held it up. “You know what I’m going to do? I’m
going to throw this piece of garbage away.”

He threw it into the waste bin under Gordon’s desk,
where it clanged satisfyingly. Taking no notice of Gordon or anyone else, Toby
gently removed Jo’s strawberry bowl from her lap and set it on the window sill
beside his own. Then he put his arm under her shoulder blades and pulled her
up. “I’m taking Jo home now.”

Eloise looked stricken. “It’s my fault, Toby. I
obviously didn’t tell Jo everything she needed to know.”

“But that’s exactly why this exercise is useful,”
Gordon told her. “We
all
learn
from it.”

“But it’s not fair!” protested Toby. “If they filmed Jo
today she’d be miles better. Why humiliate her?”

“It’s not humiliation, it’s staff improvement,”
insisted Gordon grimly.

“It’s bollocks,” said Toby. He still had his arm around
Jo. “And if you try and do it to me, I’ll tell you to stuff your job.”

“Toby,” began Jo, “you really don’t need to – ”

“And
you
can shut up, too.”

Jo didn’t mind him being rude to her in front of
everybody. In fact she was proud of it. It showed they were a proper couple. He’d
stood up for her by putting his own job on the line and saying what everyone
was secretly thinking. She wished there was a ‘Strong heroism’ label she could
slap on his forehead, right there in front of everyone.