19

  Anthea began the first day of – what really felt like – her new life with some reticence. Humphrey had promised her an impressive collection of customers, which was intimidating enough. But he’d also forced her to make a solemn pact with herself, right from the off.

  If – on any day – she did not feel up to the task of intimidating and bullying her customers in a professional and exemplary manner, well, she may as well just stay at home.

  There was to be no more pretence.

  She could not, under any circumstances, even consider turning up at work until she could look at herself, in a mirror – right, like that was ever going to happen – and know in her heart – if she did, in fact, even possess one – that she was totally committed to her role; that she was confident she could pull off being abusive, obnoxious and rude.

  Anything else just wouldn’t be fair to her customers.

  Anything else just wouldn’t be fair to her.

  It was her personal responsibility to herself, more than anything.

  That was where she’d fallen down – so many times – before.

  But that had been before Humphrey.

  He believed in her.

  He even seemed to like her, the poor deluded bastard.

  He was getting too close to her, that was for certain.

  Yet she needed him there, to hold her hand as she took her first steps.

  He would also, of course, be nice and accessible to pin the blame on, if – and when – things went wrong.

  She opened the doors that day to a veritable ‘Who’s Who’ of the local bigwigs.

  It was ridiculous, they would never all be able to fit in there!

  Although, that didn’t look like being much of a problem anyway, since they all appeared to be more preoccupied with mugging for the camera of that doddery old bloke in the tweeds.

  Humphrey was out there too. What kind of example was he setting to the rest of them by hiding out there?

  She was completely alone, drowning in a sea of old cassette tapes and commemorative glassware, while he was steering the crew of her rescue ship in a completely different direction.

  What was the man playing at?

  20

  Humphrey had assessed the potential of the entire situation from every conceivable direction.

  Anthea, for all her aggression – and general serial killer demeanour – was a shy and private soul.

  He’d had to work hard to come up with a way of really playing to her strengths.

  Motivation, that was the first thing.

  A cause.

  Hence, the charity angle. She couldn’t just hide away from the world, not if she was supposed to be raising money for charity.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Which charity, though?

  There were so many.

  To hell with it – what about all of them?

  The local ones: the most honest ones. The ones nobody would otherwise even notice. She could decide as she went along who was the most deserving.

  She could even tailor it all to each customer.

  He had to give her control.

  But only as much as she could cope with.

  How would she ever make a living though, if it was supposed to be a charitable organisation?

  Some charities seemed to be so corrupt that they almost made the local government set-up look streamlined.

  A ten per cent cut?

  No, too greedy.

  Too arbitrary as well.

  Ah-ha!

  How about this for size: a collection tin in the shop, for her.

  Brilliant!

  Anyone who could appreciate altruism in the truest sense – and who could therefore see that her efforts were worth a few bob – could bung it in the tin for her directly.

  Charity in its purest form. Brilliant!

  There could only ever be one customer in that shop at a time, that was vitally important.

  Officially, this was to ensure that Anthea had sufficient capacity to be able to devote her complete attention to each visitor with absolutely no distractions.

  Which was not exactly a lie. She would indeed be giving each and every one of them one hundred per cent of her time.

  It was just that the effects of such an intense devotion might not be quite what they were expecting. Although none of them would be able to say they hadn’t been warned, because Humphrey had taken the precaution of writing, in essence, that very game plan on all promotional flyers, prior to the shop’s door opening.

  Even the door itself proudly displayed what customers – ‘hereafter referred to as “the scum of the earth”’ – could expect to find happening to them.

  After today, she would be viewed as one of life’s ultimate challenges.

  But the pressure would in no way be on her.

  It was genius – really – and he sincerely hoped she’d be in the mood to show her undying gratitude – in some way – long before the day was out.

  He adjusted his Snoopy, grabbed hold of his Woodstock and motioned for his photographer to enter the lion’s den.

  Then he shut the door – firmly – behind him.

  21

  Anthea took one look at that camera and almost keeled over with the shock.

  There was no way on God’s earth she was having her picture taken.

  Bloody hell, she had enough of a problem with mirrors!

  However horrific the images beamed back from a mirror might have been, at least the only record of them existed in a locked vault up in Anthea’s subconscious.

  Photographs though, were quite another story.

  She was right on the cusp of removing the man’s film – and/or testicles – when Humphrey opened the door again, allowing the entrance of both himself and the mayor.

  Crucially, he then locked the shop door.

  From the inside.

  It was Humphrey who massaged the mayor’s ego. It was Humphrey who cheerfully posed for pictures alongside the mayor and who engaged him in pointless, sport-related small-talk while the photographer sorted out his apertures.

  Anthea – meanwhile – had been assessing the chap from a comfortable distance.

  He seemed charming enough and he was making all the right sort of noises about purchasing that hand-knitted life-sized Lassie.

  Yet, there was something not quite right about the entire situation.

  Humphrey had taken over!

  This was supposed to be her day, not his.

  Fine, if he wanted to pose for pictures then she obviously had no complaints there. But the mayor hadn’t even bothered to wish her a good morning.

  That was remarkably rude really, by anyone’s standards.

  Humphrey kept looking at her as well, what was that all about? Surely he wasn’t trying to get her involved in their conversation?

  He kept saying nice things about her too, which was starting to make her feel exceedingly uncomfortable.

  Anthea had been under the impression that she was to be allowed to ‘be herself’ in this little venture. Whatever had happened to that then? He was making her sound like Mother frigging Teresa!

  She was going to absolutely frigging kill him.

  22

  Humphrey looked at her again.

  Hell’s bells, the woman was obtuse.

  And the mayor was three stops past boring.

  He’d assumed he would be able to provoke Anthea into some sort of personal attack simply by – in some way – extolling her virtues. In fact, his entire game plan had been based upon that very approach.

  It’d been a question of ‘back to basics’ really. When faced with an uncomfortable situation, what would she instinctively want to do?

  Why, have a go at him of course which – obviously – he would allow her to do.

  If everything went according to plan, she would then somehow be able to accumulate enough momentum to take out the mayor, his wife – who was to be the next sacrifice in the queue – and everyone else in turn.

  Her shop would be on the map and she would be infamous.

  Naturally, he would pay for it all later.

  He expected that. She would, however, have to find him first. And he would find a much better hiding place this time than simply standing in a corner, pretending to be a coat-stand.

  He might even find his own momentum and finally ask her out on a date.

  He looked at her again.

  She stared back.

  This just wasn’t working!