Then one morning the grid went up and not only the Cootings Machine but its whole special section had vanished. The Pollution too was gone, the gap of sky had returned and was a brilliant blue, and the Sun poured his nourishment into the store. The taxis were once more moving smoothly, their drivers happy. Even the runners went by with smiles. All the time the Cootings Machine had been there, I’d worried that Josie might have been trying to come back to the store, and had been prevented by the Pollution. But now it was over, and there was such a rise in spirits both inside and outside the store, I felt if there was any day for Josie to come back, it would have to be this one. By mid-afternoon, though, I came to realize how unreasonable an idea this was. I stopped looking for Josie out in the street, and concentrated instead on learning more about the outside.
* * *
—
Two days after the Cootings Machine went away, the girl with the short spiky hair came into the store. I estimated twelve and a half years old. She was dressed that morning like a runner, in a bright green tank top, and her too-thin arms were showing all the way up to the shoulders. She came in with her father, who was in a casual office suit, quite high-ranking, and neither said much at first as they browsed. I could tell immediately the girl was interested in me, even though she only glanced my way quickly before returning front-store. After a minute, though, she came back and pretended to be absorbed by the bracelets in the Glass Display Trolley just in front of where I was standing. Then, glancing around to check that neither her father nor Manager was watching, she put her weight experimentally against the trolley, making it move forward an inch or two on its castors. As she did this, she looked at me with a small smile, as if the moving of the trolley was a special secret between us. She pulled the trolley back to its original position, grinned at me again, and called out, ‘Daddy?’ When the father didn’t reply – he was absorbed by the two AFs sitting on the Glass Table at the back – the girl gave me a last look, then went over to join him. They began a conversation in low whispers, continually glancing my way, so there could be no doubt they were discussing me. Manager, noticing, rose from her desk and came to stand near me, her hands clasped in front of her.
Eventually, after a lot more whispering, the girl came back, striding past Manager, till she was directly facing me. She touched each of my elbows in turn, then took my left hand within her right one, and held me like that, her eyes looking into my face. Her expression was quite stern, but the hand holding mine squeezed gently, and I understood this was intended as another little secret between us. But I didn’t smile at her. I kept my expression blank, throwing my gaze over the girl’s spiky head to the Red Shelves on the wall opposite, and in particular, at the row of ceramic coffee cups displayed upside down along the third tier. The girl squeezed my hand twice more, the second time less gently, but I didn’t lower my gaze to her or smile.
The father, meanwhile, had come nearer, treading softly so as not to disturb what might be a special moment. Manager too had moved closer and was standing just behind the father. I noted all this, but kept my eyes fixed on the Red Shelves and the ceramic coffee cups, and kept my hand, inside hers, slack so that had she let go, mine would have flopped down at my side.
I became increasingly aware of Manager’s gaze on me. Then I heard her say:
‘Klara is excellent. She’s one of our finest. But the young lady might be interested to look at the new B3 models that just came in.’
‘B3s?’ The father sounded excited. ‘You have those already?’
‘We enjoy an exclusive relationship with our suppliers. They’re only just in, and not yet calibrated. But I’d be happy to show them to you.’
The spiky-haired girl squeezed my hand again. ‘But Daddy, I want this one. She’s just right.’
‘But they have the new B3s in, honey. Don’t you want just to look at those? No one you know has one.’
There was a long wait, then the girl released my hand. I let my arm fall and continued to look at the Red Shelves.
‘So what’s the big deal about these new B3s anyway?’ the girl said, moving off towards her father.
I hadn’t been thinking about Rosa while the girl had been holding my hand, but I now became aware of her, standing to my left, watching me with amazement. I wanted to make her look away, but decided to keep gazing at the Red Shelves until the girl, her father and Manager were all safely rear-store. I could hear the father laughing at something Manager had said, then when I finally glanced their way, Manager was opening the Staff Only Door at the very rear of the store.
‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ she was saying. ‘It’s a little untidy in here.’
And the father said, ‘We’re privileged to be allowed back here. Right, honey?’
They went in, the door closed behind them, and I couldn’t hear their words any more, though at one point I heard the spiky-haired girl’s laugh.
The rest of the morning remained busy. Even while Manager was completing the delivery forms with the father for their new B3, more customers came in. So it wasn’t until the afternoon, when there was finally a lull, that Manager came over to me.
‘I was surprised at you this morning, Klara,’ she said. ‘You of all people.’
‘I’m sorry, Manager.’
‘What came over you? It was so unlike you.’
‘I’m very sorry, Manager. I didn’t mean to cause embarrassment. I just thought, for that particular child, I perhaps wouldn’t be the best choice.’
Manager went on looking at me. ‘Perhaps you were correct,’ she said in the end. ‘I believe that girl will be happy with the B3 boy. Even so, Klara, I was very surprised.’
‘I’m very sorry, Manager.’
‘I supported you this time. But I won’t do it again. It’s for the customer to choose the AF, never the other way round.’
‘I understand, Manager.’ Then I said quietly: ‘Thank you, Manager, for what you did today.’
‘That’s all right, Klara. But remember. I shan’t do it again.’
She began to move away, but then turned and came back.
‘It can’t be, can it, Klara? That you believe you’ve made an arrangement?’
I thought Manager was about to reprimand me, the way she’d reprimanded two boy AFs once for laughing at Beggar Man from the window. But Manager placed a hand on my shoulder and said, in a quieter voice than before:
‘Let me tell you something, Klara. Children make promises all the time. They come to the window, they promise all kinds of things. They promise to come back, they ask you not to let anyone else take you away. It happens all the time. But more often than not, the child never comes back. Or worse, the child comes back and ignores the poor AF who’s waited, and instead chooses another. It’s just the way children are. You’ve been watching and learning so much, Klara. Well, here’s another lesson for you. Do you understand?’