I physically cannot let her go in there with my jeans.
“Actually,” I hear myself saying, “you’re only allowed three items.”
“Really?” she says in surprise. “But. .” She gestures to the tokens.
“I know,” I say. “But they’ve just changed the rules. Sorry about that.” And I flash her a quick smile.
“Oh, OK,” says the girl. “Well, I’ll leave out—”
“These,” I say, and grab the zebra-print jeans.
“No,” she says. “Actually, I think I’ll—”
“We have to take the top item,” I explain hurriedly. “Sorry about that.”
Thank God for bossy shop assistants and stupid pointless rules. People are so used to them that this girl doesn’t even question me. She just rolls her eyes, grabs the Three token, and pushes her way past into the fitting room, leaving me holding the precious jeans.
OK, now what? From inside the girl’s cubicle, I can hear zips being undone and hangers being clattered. She won’t take long to try on those three things. And then she’ll be out, wanting the zebra-print jeans. Oh God. What can I do? For a few moments I’m frozen with indecision. Then the sound of a cubicle curtain being rattled back jolts me into action. It’s not her — but it could have been. Quickly I stuff the zebra-print jeans out of sight behind the curtain and stand up again, a bright smile on my face.
Please let the girl find something else she likes, I pray feverishly. Please let her forget all about the jeans. Maybe she’s not even that keen on them. Maybe she picked them up on impulse. She didn’t really look like a jeans person to me.
A moment later, Danielle comes striding up, a clipboard in her hands.
“All right?” she says. “Coping, are you?”
“I’m doing fine,” I say. “Really enjoying it.”
“I’m just rostering in breaks,” she says. “If you could manage to last until three, you can have an hour then.”
“Fine,” I say in my positive, employee-of-the-month voice, even though I’m thinking Three? I’ll be starving!
“Good,” she says, and moves off into the corner to write on her piece of paper, just as a voice says,
“Hi. Can I have those jeans now?”
It’s the girl, back again. How can she have tried on all those other things so quickly? Is she Houdini?
“Hi!” I say, ignoring the last bit of what she said. “Any good? That black skirt’s really nice. I think it would really suit you. The way the splits go at the—”
“Not really,” she says, interrupting me, and shoves the lot back at me, all mussed up and off their hangers. “It was really the jeans I wanted. Can I have them?”
I stare at her desperately. I can’t relinquish my treasured jeans. I just know this girl wouldn’t love them like I would. She’d probably wear them once and chuck them out — or never wear them at all! And I saw them first.
“What jeans were they?” I say, wrinkling my brow sympathetically. “Blue ones? You can get them over there, next to the—”
“No!” says the girl impatiently. “The zebra-print jeans I had a minute ago.”
“Oh,” I say vaguely. “Oh yes. I’m not sure where they went. Maybe someone else took them.”
“Oh for God’s sake!” she says, looking at me as if I’m an imbecile. “This is ridiculous! I gave them to you about thirty seconds ago! How can you have lost them?”
Shit. She’s really angry. Her voice is getting quite loud, and people are starting to look. Oh, why couldn’t she have liked the black skirt instead?
“Is there a problem?” chimes in a syrupy voice, and I look up in horror. Danielle’s coming over toward us, a sweet-but-menacing look on her face. OK, keep calm, I tell myself firmly. No one can prove anything either way.
“I gave this assistant a pair of jeans to look after because I had four items, which is apparently too many,” the girl begins explaining.
“Four items?” says Danielle. “But you’re allowed four items in the fitting room.” And she turns to look at me with an expression which isn’t very friendly.
“Are you?” I say innocently. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I thought it was three. I’m new,” I add apologetically.
“I thought it was four!” says the girl. “I mean, you’ve got tokens with bloody ‘Four’ written on them!” She gives an impatient sigh. “So anyway, I gave her the jeans, and tried on the other things — and then I came out for the jeans, and they’ve gone.”
“Gone?” says Danielle sharply. “Gone where?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, trying to look as baffled as the next person. “Maybe another customer took them.”
“But you were holding them!” says the girl. “So what — did someone just come up to you and whip them out of your fingers?”
I flinch at the tone of her voice. I would never speak to a shop assistant like that, even if I was cross. Anyway, how can she be so obsessed with a pair of jeans?
“Maybe you could get another pair from the rack,” I say, trying to sound helpful. “Or some capri pants? I bet you’d look really nice in—”
“There isn’t another pair,” she says icily. “They were from the reduced rack. And I don’t like capri pants.”
“Rebecca, think!” says Danielle. “Did you put the jeans down somewhere?”