Chapter 7
ALEX
“Excuse me,” a lady tapped me on the shoulder. “Do you know where the lemonade is? The cans, not the bottles.” She waved a hand in front of her face, trying to push her wild grey curls out of her eyes.
I bit back the first answer that came to mind - maybe under the giant sign that says soft drinks . If people just used their eyes…
“All soft drinks are in aisle nine,” I said gently, pointing her in the right direction. Even though I wanted to shake her and tell her to look around, I wasn’t a mean person. Just tired. Stacking shelves for hours and answering the same questions every shift wore down anyone’s patience.
Still… I liked being here. Away from home.
…Away from him.
But even if it was boring, stacking shelves gave me a kind of solitude - a feeling that I was moving forward, even if it was only down an aisle.
A feeling that I could build something for myself, even if it was just a few pounds an hour.
Connor still didn’t know I worked here, and I intended to keep it that way.
If he found out I was making money, he’d never let me keep it.
There had been a few close calls - times I’d seen his car pull into the car park and ducked into the stockroom until he left. But he didn’t usually come to this shop; it was on the other side of town. So most of the time, I was safe.
Still, it didn’t stop my heart from kicking up every time the automatic doors opened.
Most of the customers here were the rich ones anyway - the ones with big houses and nicer cars than I’d ever sit in. They didn’t look twice at me. And honestly, that was perfect.
Rani appeared at the end of the aisle, catching my eye as she hurried over.
She nudged her headset up so she could talk to me.
She was the manager, mid-thirties, very nice, though a bit of an airhead sometimes.
Her cheeks were flushed like she’d been running around nonstop, and strands of her thick dark hair were stuck to her forehead.
It was always busy at this time - people coming in after work - and Mark was late for his shift again.
“How long until you’re done stacking shelves, Alex?” She said, blowing hair from her forehead.
“I’m almost done. Just these left,” I said, holding up the two tins of Heinz beans in my hands.
“Perfect. When you’re finished, can you go help Alfie out back? A delivery just came in.” She pointed to the back room, eyes flicking there momentarily.
I nodded.
“Life saver,” she breathed, already rushing off in the opposite direction.
Placing the last tins of beans on the shelf, I stepped back to make sure every label faced forward, neat and lined up. Satisfied, I grabbed the empty cart and headed into the back, the wheels rattling softly behind me as I pushed through the stockroom door.
Alfie was by the back door - the big garage-style one that rolled upward - and a goods van was already pulling away as I rounded the corner. He had a clipboard in hand, ticking through stock while a couple of the warehouse guys unloaded the last crates beside him.
I still wasn’t entirely sure what Alfie’s actual role was.
He didn’t have a title, not officially, but he always ended up doing the important stuff - checking deliveries, organising shifts, stepping in when Rani was drowning.
She trusted him. Everyone did. He had this way of taking charge without making a big deal out of it.
I’d never asked how old he was. I just guessed he was around my age or maybe a bit older - he couldn’t serve alcohol and cigarettes yet, so he was definitely under eighteen. And I knew he went to Westley, so he was still a student for sure.
“Erm, Rani said you needed a hand,” I said as I slotted the empty crate in with the others and walked over.
Alfie looked up from his clipboard and gave me a bright smile, his teeth painfully white in contrast with his tanned skin - the kind that made it seem like he was genuinely happy to see me.
He’d definitely had a haircut. His usual tight curls were trimmed down, neater, and his stubble looked freshly taken down, too. He looked as put-together as he always did. Smart in his black-and-green supermarket uniform, paired with black Air Force Ones.
He filled the top out well. Broad shoulders, arms that hinted at muscle under the sleeves - the kind of build that made the uniform look intentional. Meanwhile, my shirt was a size small and still hung off me like it belonged to someone else.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I’ve got eggs to go out.” He nodded toward a crate beside him. “But can you check none are cracked first?”
“Sure,” I nodded, shrugging my shoulders.
He dragged a stool over from beside one of the cabinets and tapped the seat next to him, wordlessly telling me to sit. I took it, trying not to look as awkward as I felt.
“Thanks,” I murmured, settling beside him.
I opened the first pack of eggs, checking each one carefully before placing the carton on the crate ready to go out. Then the next. And the next. Falling into a rhythm - open, check, place - while the warehouse guys clattered around us, and Alfie scribbled notes on his clipboard.
“Good day back at school today?” he asked with a smile.
“I guess,” I said with a shrug, still working through the egg cartons. “You?”
“It was alright. You’re at Belrose, right?” He asked, barely looking up from his paper.
“That’s right.” I nodded again.
He looked up at me for a second, light brown eyes twinkling momentarily. “I’m there on Sunday. Got a game against the Belrose bellends .”
“Pretty sure we call you the Westley wankers ,” I said with a laugh.
“What, you on the team?” he asked, nudging my arm gently, his knee touching mine. “I haven’t seen you play.”
“Do I look like a footballer to you?” I glanced down at my skinny arms and narrow build, my cheeks warming as I tugged at my sleeve.
“Nope.” He chuckled, hands disappearing into his pockets. “But that school is obsessed with sports. It’s hard not to make assumptions.”
“That’s fair,” I said, rolling my eyes. “They treat it like it’s the most important thing ever, like even better than grades.”
He laughed under his breath, the sound soft and amused as he looked over at me.
“It’s not funny,” I said, raising an eyebrow at him, as I tossed a pack of broken eggs into the bin next to me. “I’m a sixth former now, and I still have to do PE once a week.”
“I take it you don’t like sports then,” he said, putting his clipboard down.
I shook my head. “It’s not really my thing. I’m not like strong or athletic or anything.” My cheeks warmed without warning.
“Let me see.” He reached out and gave my bicep a quick squeeze through my shirt. “Hmm. I dunno, you’re definitely stronger than you look,” he said with a small laugh.
His action caught me off guard, but I forced out a chuckle. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“I think so.” He laughed, and then his brown eyes lingered on mine a moment too long, the kind of look that felt deliberate.
“It’s cute,” he added, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.
He caught my gaze for a heartbeat - a quiet, charged pause - before dropping his attention back to the clipboard, the smile still tugging at his lips as if the moment had settled comfortably between us.
Ask him.
I looked down at my hands, fiddling with them in my lap. “So… a friend of mine, Rachel - she works at Whip It-”
“The place on the pier?” He interrupted.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” I nodded, still going through the eggs.
“I love that shop; their milkshakes are top tier.” His eyes widened.
“Yeah, they’re great.” My fingers wouldn’t stay still, twisting together as I spoke. “So… she asked if I wanted to go on Saturday, and she kind of invited you as well. I mean, I told her we get on. She’s bringing a friend too. I mean, you can say no-”
“What, like a date?” Alfie said, a chuckle slipping out.
“Oh, er-” My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My brain just… stalled.
“I’ll come… if you come to my game on Sunday.” He smirked, his eyes fixed on mine.
“What, and cheer against my own school?” I retorted, a smile on my lips.
“Is that going to be a problem?” he narrowed his eyes playfully.
“God no. I hate my school,” I said, laughing. “I hope they lose.”
“Great.” His smile widened, warm and a little smug. He tapped my knee lightly - more of a playful nudge than anything - but it still sent a shiver up my spine. “It’s a date.”
Before I could even process that, he pushed off the stool and headed back onto the shop floor.
I stayed where I was, staring at the crate of eggs because, for some unknown reason, all I could think about was that Kai would be at that game on Sunday.
After checking the final carton of eggs, I pushed the cart through the double doors and swung around the corner with more speed than sense.
My shift was nearly over, and the thought of going home settled like stones in my stomach, a slow tightening that made my chest feel too small.
I kept moving anyway, as if momentum alone could outrun the dread.
I didn’t see the obstacle until my spine collided with it.
The impact was brutal - a solid, unyielding force that knocked the air from my lungs and sent me sprawling backwards.
The world tilted, a smear of fluorescent light and grey concrete, and then I hit the floor hard enough for my teeth to rattle.
The top cartons of eggs slid from the cart and burst across my shirt, cold yolk seeping through the fabric.
For a moment I didn’t move. I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling lights that glared down like interrogation lamps.
My head throbbed with a dull, blooming ache, and the edges of my vision pulsed in and out of focus.
Everything felt too bright, too sharp, too loud - as if the fall had knocked the world slightly off its axis.
I blinked, once, twice, trying to steady the spinning.
And then a shadow fell across me.