Lifted (10 page)

When Ruby had stopped crying quite so violently, the guard led her through a door at the back of the store, down a long corridor, past rooms that she had no idea existed. Some of them were full of clothes and boxes, others looked like offices. There was even a little kitchen area and a toilet. A few metres along, he stopped and knocked on a door, and then someone came out of one of the offices to meet them. She was a tall woman, with blond, curly hair and thin lips, and she was wearing one of the outfits Ruby had seen in the shop window. It didn’t look as good on her as on the mannequin.

‘I’m Lisa Farnworth, the manager,’ she said, coldly. She looked Ruby up and down, taking in her school uniform and her bag and the streaks of mascara on her cheeks. ‘Follow me.’ She led Ruby, with the security guard walking behind, into another office at the end of the corridor, and shut the door behind them.

The office was dark and cold and it had no windows on to the street. There was nothing but a desk, two chairs and a filing cabinet. It felt like a prison cell, or, at least, what Ruby assumed a prison cell would be like; she’d never seen one except on TV. Maybe that was the point, maybe it was meant to scare her – a taste of things to come if she didn’t reform. Ruby sat as she was instructed to do, sobbing quietly to herself, while the shop manager talked to the security guard, once breaking off to make a phone call. The discussion
seemed to go on for hours. As hard as she strained her ears, Ruby couldn’t make out what they were saying about her. Certain words rang out: ‘young’, ‘amateur’, ‘attention’, but without the other words in between they were meaningless. Ruby felt sick, as though she was waiting to be executed. She wondered if this was how Anne Boleyn had felt before she had her head chopped off. She’d always liked Anne best out of Henry VIII’s wives; she sounded like she’d have been a good laugh, before she lost her head, that is.

The discussion was over, at last. ‘We’ve decided we’re not going to call the police this time,’ said the manager. ‘But we would like to speak to one of your parents.’

Ruby let out another sob. That was almost worse than facing the police. For a split second, she was nine years old again, standing in the newsagent’s, her whole being crushed under the weight of her parents’ disapproval. She bowed her head. Through strands of hair she could see a long scratch on the desk in front of her. She guessed it had probably been made by some other poor shoplifter, someone else whose parents had been called to share in their humiliation.

‘So could we have your parents’ number, please?’

‘They’re divorced,’ said Ruby, still staring at the desk. ‘They don’t live together.’

‘Well, would you prefer us to call your mum or your dad?’

‘Um … I don’t know …’ Mum would be
devastated, Ruby thought. First she would apologise to the store in such a heartfelt fashion anyone would think she was the one who’d stolen from them. Then she would take Ruby home and they would sit in the car in stony silence all the way. At home, the tension would be unbearable. For days, Mum would appear to be on the verge of tears and she would find it impossible to relax and talk to Ruby, so they’d just have clipped conversations about putting out the rubbish and making sure the heating was turned off. Worse, there would be long, whispered phonecalls, in which Mum and Dad would blame each other for Ruby’s problem and discuss what they should do about her. There would be more arguments, and they might even decide to take her out of school and send her to the private school Dad preferred, after all. Without any notice. Right now, in the middle of her GCSEs. It didn’t bear thinking about.

If, on the other hand, they called Dad, he would be shocked and angry at first, but once he saw Ruby’s tears he would melt for sure, and he would soon forgive her. She’d tell him how stupid she had been and blame peer pressure and exam worries, and he would promise not to tell Mum and swear to sort it all out by himself. He would probably even enjoy keeping it secret from Mum.

‘Well?’ said the manager, impatiently.

‘My dad,’ muttered Ruby. ‘But can I speak to him first, please?’

The manager nodded.

Ruby knew her dad’s number was on her speed dial, but her brain was foggy and she couldn’t remember whether it was at position three or four. Instead, fumbling, she scrolled through her address book and found his entry. She felt sick as she dialled, and relieved when the voicemail clicked in. She hesitated before putting the phone down, leaving him a few seconds of breathy silence. If he asked, she could always pretend she’d called him by accident; her phone was always doing that in her bag. Now what?

‘Erm, straight to message,’ she explained. ‘Can I try another number for him?’ She was lying. She didn’t have another number (in truth, she did, but Dad was never at his house, so it wasn’t even worth trying him on that), but she did have an idea that could potentially get her out of this mess without consequence.

She called the number. It rang four times, five times. Please pick up, she thought. Please be at home. Please don’t let anyone else answer.

‘Hello,’ said Noah.

‘Hi,
Dad
.’

Noah was momentarily bewildered. It sounded like Ruby’s voice, but why was she calling his house? And why was she calling him Dad? Had she dialled the wrong number? Thinking about it, the way she’d said ‘Dad’ was weird, as if she was trying to convey a secret message.

‘I’m in a bit of trouble in a shop and there’s someone who wants to talk to you.’

He heard her sniff. Had she been crying? ‘Oh right, er … oh God, are you OK?’ he said, perplexed and concerned. ‘Um, do they, will they, um … you want me to … OK.’ He felt his heart rate increase rapidly as he understood what she wanted him to do for her. Could he pull this off? He tried to remember how his dad sounded
when he was talking to someone official about something important. If he could mimic his tone, the shape of his mouth, his expression, he might be able to do it.

‘Mr Collins?’ There was a strange woman’s voice on the line now. Stern and a bit scary.

‘Yes, this is Mr Collins. James Collins,’ he said, in as low a baritone as he could muster. His voice came out so deep and so croaky that he sounded like one of those old Mafia bosses in gangster films. ‘What seems to be the problem?’

‘I’m Lisa Farnworth, the manager of Zenda clothes store. We have your daughter Ruby here. I’m afraid to tell you she’s been caught shoplifting.’

Oh shit, thought Noah, she’s gone and got herself caught. He felt angry with Ruby and scared for her, but also not all that surprised. He checked himself. How would a dad react? Would he be shocked? Or would he try to keep calm and in control? Noah was clueless. ‘I see,’ he said, gravely. ‘That’s terrible. I’m appalled. Her … I’ve taught her better than that. She’s never done anything like this before. I must apologise. What exactly did she take?’ He cringed at his question. He wanted to know, but would that really be important to her dad? At this point?

The shop manager didn’t appear to think it was an odd question. ‘One of our security guards followed her from the store and found that she’d hidden two blouses in her bag. She had also removed the tags from said items. I’m afraid there’s no doubt that she intended to steal them.’

‘I see,’ said Noah. ‘And have the police been called?’

‘Not yet, sir. Given that your daughter is a minor and that we believe this to be her first such offence, we thought we would speak to you and leave it to you to punish her in a way you see fit. She will, of course, be banned from all our stores for a period of a year. And we will expect payment for the goods, as they are no longer in sellable condition …’

Noah sighed. Stupid, stupid Ruby, he thought. He’d never heard of Zenda and couldn’t picture what she might have stolen, or estimate how much it had cost. Girls’ shops, their shopping habits and and their clothes were a mystery to him. He owned two pairs of trousers, some jeans, a few tops and a coat (plus his school uniform), and that was plenty. He only had one body to dress, after all. He couldn’t understand why girls wanted new clothes every week, why they loved wasting hours trying them on and swapping them with their friends.

‘… I hope she realises just how lucky she is,’ the woman was saying. ‘And that she’s learned her lesson.’

‘Oh yes, Ms Farnworth. I’m sure she has.’ Noah hoped the conversation wouldn’t continue for much longer. He couldn’t maintain the croak; soon he’d have no voice left at all.

‘So if we could just have the payment, please. It’s a total of one hundred and sixty-nine pounds and ninety-eight pence.’

Noah gulped. For two blouses? What were they
made out of, gold? He didn’t have instant access to that kind of money. He probably had that much in his savings account, but you had to give notice to get it out, and he couldn’t do it without his parents’ permission.

‘So how would you like to pay? We can take a credit card, or you could come in and give us the cash when you pick your daughter up.’

The second option was clearly not viable. But neither was the first. He didn’t have a credit card – he was fifteen years old. He started to panic. If he let Ruby down now he would be getting her, not to mention himself, into even more trouble. The police would probably be called after all. He had to think of something.

‘Hold on a minute,’ he said, hoping that the manager couldn’t hear the fear in his voice. It was surely now a whole octave higher than before. There was a way he could pay, a credit card he could access, but he’d never intended to use it. He went over to his computer and typed in a series of passwords. ‘Yes, it’s, er …’ He read out the credit card number, the expiry date and then the three-digit security code. He felt nauseous. He’d never done anything like this before, and he was half expecting it not to work.

‘Thank you, Mr Collins,’ said the manager a few moments later. ‘Are you going to come and fetch your daughter now?’

‘Er, no, er, I’m at work, I’m afraid. We only live around the corner. She’ll be fine to come home on her own.’

‘Are you sure, Mr Collins?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘I’d feel happier if you came to pick her up, and if we could talk to you face to face. She is rather distressed.’

‘It’s not possible,’ Noah said, in the strong voice his father used when he was telling his sisters that they couldn’t have a bigger monthly allowance. It was a voice that said: this is the end of the matter.

‘OK, Mr Collins, I trust we won’t ever have reason to speak to you again.’

Me too, thought Noah. ‘Yes, goodbye.’

He wanted the manager to put Ruby back on the phone so he could say, ‘Phew, that was close,’ and ask her exactly what had happened and tell her what he thought, but he knew that couldn’t happen. He’d have to wait until later to get the lowdown from her. He sighed, hung up the phone, and turned back to his computer. The evidence of what he’d done to help Ruby beamed blatantly at him from the screen. Now they were both criminals. He closed the page down quickly and loaded up a computer game.

The manager turned to Ruby. ‘You’re free to go now,’ she said, with an expression that looked like pity. Poor girl, it seemed to say, her parents clearly don’t care about her much; no wonder she’s a thief. It made Ruby feel guilty. ‘Free to go on condition that you do not return to this store, or any other branch for a year.’

‘I promise,’ said Ruby, rubbing her eyes dry with her knuckles, as she got up from her chair. She wondered if they were going to circulate
Wanted
posters of her around the country, to alert the other security guards and shop staff.
Ruby Collins: Wanted Dead or Alive.
Otherwise, how would they be able to stop her? What if she came in disguise? Not that she wanted to come into this shop ever again anyway. Overpriced rubbish. If the blouses had been better made they wouldn’t have torn
so badly when she pulled the security tags off, would they?

The manager showed Ruby to the door and asked the security guard to escort her from the premises. Ruby didn’t know what to say, so she said, ‘Thank you,’ which felt wrong, but would have to do. She almost held out her hand so that manager could shake it, but that would have been weirder still. The security guard walked behind her until she was out on the street, then nodded, turned away and went back into the shop without saying anything.

Ruby had never felt so pleased to be outside. She didn’t feel upset any more, just empty and a bit numb, as if all that crying had used up her emotions. She drank the air into her lungs, silently thanking Noah for helping her get away with it. She couldn’t believe the telephone trick had worked. Noah’s voice might have been deeper than most boys his age (frankly, some of them sounded like they’d been inhaling helium), but he didn’t speak like a middle-aged man, not like her dad, anyway. Maybe it was different on the phone, a bit distorted, or maybe the shop manager had just wanted her money and the problem sorted quickly, and so hadn’t wanted to ask too many questions.

That was another thing: Ruby couldn’t believe that Noah had had to pay for the things she’d stolen, especially since it had been made very clear to her that she wouldn’t be taking them home with her. How had
Noah been able to pay? How come he had a credit card?

She felt guilty; she wouldn’t have asked him to help if she’d known he’d be made to pay. Somehow, she would have to find a way to pay him back. Maybe she could get a Saturday job, if her parents would let her. Her dad always said, ‘If you need money, I’ll give it to you. I don’t want you working for minimum wage when you could be doing your coursework.’ He didn’t understand that she’d quite like to earn her own money, because it would make her feel more grown-up, more independent.

She decided to go straight round to Noah’s to thank him, before she lost her nerve. Her mother would be expecting her home, wondering why she was so late back from school, but if she texted her to say where she was, it shouldn’t be a problem. Mum would probably be pleased; she liked Noah. She’d never met Ross, but he wasn’t the type of boy you introduced your mum to. Not that he’d have wanted to meet her anyway.