Chapter 9
When Casey started her next shift and found everything exactly as it should be, she began to wonder if the whole spirit thing had been a figment of her imagination after all, brought on by too much caffeine.
Kerry and Dave hadn’t reported anything out of the ordinary during the handover, and the incident book cited only one mishap: Susan in lingerie had gone to the hospital with a suspected scratched cornea after a lacy thong had pinged off its tiny hanger and hit her in the eye.
However, ten minutes after locking the doors behind the last staff member, the music—if you could call it that—started.
Casey groaned as Sam Moon’s brief foray into the pop charts began piping out of the in-store speakers and Margo’s delighted cackle bounced off the walls. Not a figment of her imagination, then.
“Very funny!” Casey shouted from the bottom of the sweeping staircase.
The balustrades were wound with ivy garlands and poinsettia flowers and football-sized baubles of red, green, and gold glitter hung from the ceiling on ribbons of different lengths.
Sam’s voice belting out, “WHY-EE-IE-YAI-YAI, OH, CASEY!” was doing the old building a massive injustice.
An avalanche of turnips—where there was Margo, it seemed there were vegetables too—began to roll down the stairs, and Casey dodged out of their way. “It’s hilarious!” Margo’s voice sounded in her ear.
Casey whirled round and found the Spirit of Christmas Present grinning at her, a ruby red apple held up to her mouth, which she bit into like it was a burger. “I’ve been googling Sam Moon,” Margo went on with her mouth full.
“How were you googling anybody?” Casey asked, making her way to a cold storeroom behind the food hall.
Margo followed behind. “There are laptops all over this place. It wasn’t hard to take a little peek when they were unattended. Sam is a fascinating character; I’d like to get my hands on his dossier.” She waggled her eyebrows.
Casey stopped in the doorway and glared at her.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Margo snapped.
“One can’t simply change history without first doing the proper research.
For all I know you could be a spurned lover or a crazed fan and Sam a victim of your hate campaign.
Removal of the meme will affect his life as much as yours—more since he’s the one enjoying the high life while you’re hiding under a rock. ”
Harsh. “And?” she asked, grunting as she slid a large box of boozy Coopers jams and chutneys; a variety of biscuits; and highly decorated tins of store-brand tea, coffee, and hot chocolate.
Their pièce de résistance were the handmade chocolates, truffles, and marzipan fruits presented in Coopers & Co.
’s signature pine green boxes with gold ribbon and dusky pink logo.
A thought occurred to her. “It won’t hurt him, will it? Having the meme removed from his timeline. I mean, it won’t lead to, I don’t know, him having a mental health crisis or doing something to hurt himself…?”
She didn’t like Sam, he had given exactly zero fucks about making her the villain to his hero, but she also suspected that he probably had demons of his own.
Another notion took hold. “What if he gets hit by a bus in the new timeline, whereas in this one he was spared because he’s filming a reality show?
” The more she thought about this, the more pitfalls came to mind.
Margo reached her hand into one of the glass display cabinets and plucked a marzipan cherry from a tower before tossing it high into the air and catching it in her mouth.
“Oh, how magnanimous!” She trilled with her mouth full and reached across to pinch Casey’s cheek affectionately.
“As far as he’s concerned, the meme will be beyond his wildest dreams. And you can’t miss something you never knew you had.
I’m not saying that he won’t get hit by a bus or mugged or something equally awful, but those things could happen in this timeline.
Fame doesn’t make you immune to unfortunate events. ”
“Right.” Something occurred to her then. “So, Sam won’t know that the meme ever existed…but will I? Will I be me as I am now but without the meme, or…?”
“You will be you, of course, but not this precise you. If the meme never exists, then your path will naturally be different. I am afraid you can’t have your cake and eat it.”
“So…” This was a lot to get her ahead around. “This version of me, talking to you now, she won’t exist.”
Margo waved an arm in the air as though trying to flap away Casey’s questions. “If for whatever reason you still work at Coopers and Co. in your alternate life, then we will undoubtedly meet because I will still be in need of a break from shitty humans.”
“But the me that meets you here when the meme is gone won’t be this me.”
They made their way up to the ground floor.
The original oak wood paneling in the generous hallways matched the staircase, and even the lift doors had been given oak veneers.
Burgundy fleur-de-lis stair runners ran from top to bottom of the store, and a generously bedecked fir tree twinkled on every landing.
“You are correct,” Margo confirmed. “If we meet again, you will not be this you. Of course, you won’t know that you’re not this you because you’ll be a different you and this you will never have existed.”
Every battery-operated vehicle, doll, action figure, and laser gun in the toy department exploded into life as they entered.
Casey covered her ears against the sudden cacophony of demonic giggling and gunfire.
The Santa Special miniature steam engine peep-peeped to life and began to rocket along the model railway tracks that ran around the edge of the department, through small snow-covered villages with shop windows lit from within.
“Sorry,” said Margo, not looking sorry at all as she silenced the toys with a snap. “I’m a walking spark plug.”
Casey’s head was beginning to hurt as they wended their way around freestanding cabinets and stands showcasing scarves, hats, and handbags before crossing into the sleekly clinical cosmetics area.
“But I’ll be this me up until the proposal,” she clarified, as she placed a small box of antiaging eye creams and a padded envelope of lipsticks behind the counter for the beauty consultant to arrange in the morning.
“Yes. Now you’re getting it.”
Okay, so it wasn’t like she was going to lose everything. On balance, she reckoned she could live with losing the last couple of years. Maybe other Casey had already written the novel that would get her published.
After making notes of what needed replenishing on the lower and upper ground floors, Casey climbed the stairs to the clothing department with Margo following behind.
With every step that Margo took, she left a trail of fruits and vegetables in her wake.
Pumpkins, grapevines, pomegranates, cauliflowers, bulbs of fennel, corncobs, alliums…
All manner of fresh produce seemed to erupt out from beneath the hem of her long coat, as though they were somehow dropping down from a chute inside her clothes, and then just as miraculously they popped out of existence like soap bubbles.
Everywhere Margo went, a bounteous harvest followed.
“You could solve world hunger with that lot,” said Casey, motioning behind her with her head.
Margo held Casey with a heavy stare. “I reflect the plenty that exists in the world. Humans could solve world hunger in a matter of years if they weren’t such greedy fuckers.
Instead, billionaires use their wealth to insulate themselves against the cold fact that millions of children live in poverty and millions more will likely starve, and all the while governments drop bombs, and gluttonous corporations fell forests, and global warming slowly murders you all in your beds. ”
“Bloody hell, that’s grim.”
Margo smiled sardonically, opening her arms wide, and said, “Congratulations, humans broke the world.”
“I’m beginning to understand why you need a holiday.”
Almost all the festive pajama sets had sold, and Casey made a note accordingly before they continued up to the second floor, where Margo unashamedly ransacked the café chiller, emerging moments later with a leg of ham in one hand and a bottle of sparkling elderflower in the other.
She took a swig, belched loudly, and said, “Okay, second floor, let’s do this.
” Casey decided to keep her thoughts to herself since Margo was clearly going through some stuff.
Behind the sofas and chairs arranged to look like a sitting room was a wall devoted to mirrors to suit every home, from ornately framed to minimalist. Casey stopped in front of a six-foot arched mirror and gasped. “Did you do this?” she asked.
Margo ambled over, tearing at the ham with her teeth. She stopped next to Casey and chewed slowly.
I’m Watching You! was scrawled across the mirror in what looked like red lipstick.
“That’s not my handiwork,” said Margo, tucking the ham under her arm.
“Did you see who did it?” Casey asked.
“Nope. Sorry.”