Where Memories Are Made (36 page)

She nodded. ‘Mrs Jolly put her trust in us to run this place as she would do. I'd really prefer that we get this dealt with before she takes back the reins. I worry that she might not think so highly of us when she finds out that we've known we've a criminal on the staff for weeks and not been able to catch them in the act. I don't want to risk going back to being just the office girl with no real responsibilities. We need to find this person, fast. Stop them from laughing at us behind our backs, thinking they are so much cleverer than us for evading us for so long. I want to prove to them they've underestimated us and wipe that smile off their face.'

Harold gave a helpless shrug. ‘You don't know how much I wish I could come up with a way to catch this criminal, but apart from what we are doing I can't think of anything else.'

She responded dispiritedly, ‘Join the club. But what we are doing is better than nothing. We could still have a stroke of luck.'

Harold nodded. As matters stood that was the only thing they could hope for.

By the time Jackie left the office that evening, the girls in reception had already closed up for the night so she was surprised not to find Ginger waiting for her. Back in the chalet, while she waited for her friend to arrive, Jackie read a letter from her mother that she had received in the post that morning. Gina wrote regularly to her twice a week, whether or not Jackie had replied to her last missive. The letters were always very diplomatic. Never once did her mother mention Keith in any way, just chatted on about daily life for herself and Robby. Jackie appreciated the fact that not once, in the dozen or so letters Gina had written by now, did she suggest they meet up, waiting for Jackie herself to make that decision when she was ready. At the moment, as much as she missed her mother, however much she loved her, she just wasn't ready to face her, though some time soon she must introduce Vic and tell Gina their happy news. When they met up for the first time all together, Jackie wanted to be sure she wasn't harbouring any lingering ill feeling towards her mother and Keith. In the meantime, letters would keep them in touch.

She had just replaced the letter in its envelope and was beginning to wonder where Ginger had got to when the woman herself barged in. She didn't look happy.

Before Jackie could say a word her friend exclaimed, ‘Can you bloody believe it? My wonderful boss volunteered me to take over the running of the cigarette kiosk tonight so it'll be ten before I can meet you at Groovy's.'

Jackie wasn't happy to hear this because she didn't like the thought of being on her own there until her friend arrived to join her. She asked, ‘What's wrong with Mandy Fisher that she can't do it then?'

‘According to my boss, she gashed her leg on the corner of one of the shelves in the kiosk stockroom while she was putting new supplies away earlier. Pouring with blood it was, and deep enough to need stitches. Kitty Popple is seeing to her now and when she's finished Mandy is to take the rest of the night off. Apparently she was kicking up a real stink, insisting Kitty just bandage up her leg so she could get back to work. Kitty put her foot down and told Mandy that she was to do as she was told as in medical matters the nurse's word is law.'

‘Mandy should be praised for being so conscientious, I suppose. She's a nice girl from what I know of her. I'm sorry to hear what's happened.'

‘But it means I'm going to have to get straight over to the kiosk as soon as I've finished my tea. It opens promptly at seven. A minute later and the queue of people in a hurry to buy their fags and matches and get over to the ballroom to bag a good seat for the show tonight will be forming a lynch mob. So come on, get your skates on or I won't have time to eat my meal – and I'm famished enough to eat a scabby dog.'

A
t just coming up to a quarter to eight that evening Ginger was serving her umpteenth customer, a young man of around nineteen, his face barely visible beneath a mop of thick long hair. He was dressed in flared trousers and a bright pink satin shirt worn with Cuban-heeled boots. He had a girl with him of around the same age, wearing a red tight-fitting halter top and a skirt so short it hardly covered her knickers. She was hanging on his arm with one hand and in the other clutched a packet of Kensitas cigarettes and a box of Bluebell matches. Having concluded their dealings, Ginger was taken aback when, instead of walking away to make room for the next customer, the lad looked furtively around, obviously wanting to make sure no others in the queue behind were close enough to hear what he was about to say. He leaned over the counter, slid two half crowns towards her and whispered, ‘I'll have one weed and two purples.'

She eyed him back like a village idiot, having no idea what he was asking for. She turned around to scan the shelves of various packets of cigarettes in tens and twenties, the selection of cigars, cigarillos and other smoking paraphernalia. Seeing nothing that might lend itself to the description he had given her, she turned back and said to him, ‘You'll have to help me out as I haven't a clue what you're after?'

He eyed her warily. ‘You are Mandy, right? I've got the right kiosk?'

‘There's only one cigarette kiosk on the camp so you have got the right one, but I'm not Mandy. She's had an accident and I'm covering her shift for her. But …'

Before she could say anything else the young man had reclaimed his money and dragged the girl away.

Ginger had no time to think further about the incident as another customer was demanding her attention.

Several customers later she was serving a group of six teenage girls, who were getting on her nerves as they all kept changing their minds about the brand of cigarettes they wanted. Ginger wouldn't have been so irritated had she been selling them a packet each, but it was one packet of ten between them! Finally they made their choice, then made her wait while, giggling childishly, they divided out the cost between them before handing her the correct amount in pennies and halfpennies. Now money and goods had changed hands, Ginger bent forward to ask the next customer in line what she could get for him when one of the girls in the group whispered in her ear, ‘Not so quick, we ain't finished yet.'

Ginger heaved a fed-up sigh. Forgetting all her customer service training, she hissed, ‘Well, make it quick. There's a queue of other customers behind you waiting to be served.'

The girl shot her a nasty glare and hissed, ‘Gimme six hearts.'

Assuming they were a brand of cigarettes, she sardonically told the girl, ‘Cigarettes come in packets of ten or twenty, not sixes.'

The girl snarled, ‘Yer daft cow, I ain't meaning fags. I mean … yer know?'

Ginger gave a shrug. ‘No, I don't.'

The girl was getting impatient now, as were her friends who wanted to be dancing in Groovy's, and so were several people still waiting to be served who were all telling the girl to hurry up, some in language that would make an old navvy blush. She hissed again, ‘Look, so I was rude, but that's no reason not to sell me what I want. Okay, if it's an apology you want, I'm sorry,' she said grudgingly. ‘Now, gimme the hearts. Didn't have this trouble with the other girl who works behind this counter.'

Thinking by now that ‘hearts' must be some sort of confectionery product, Ginger told her in no uncertain terms: ‘This is a cigarette kiosk, not a sweetshop. Now stop wasting my time and clear off or I'll call the security guards to deal with you. Yes, sir?' she asked the irritated man behind.

As the fuming girl and her friends moved off, she heard the leader grumble, ‘We'll have to make do with just booze tonight and hope that other gel is back behind the counter tomorrow … not that snooty bitch.'

Before nine o'clock struck, there were several more occasions when Ginger was asked for items she hadn't a clue about and had to send the none-too-happy would-be purchasers, all of them aged between mid teens and early twenties, away empty-handed. Something though was telling her that things weren't right here but she had no idea what.

Ginger was just pulling the shutters down when Terry Jones rushed up and off-handedly demanded, ‘Twenty Number Six and a box of Swans.'

She knew why he was acting short with her. He still hadn't forgiven Jackie for walking out on him during the date he'd blackmailed her into going on. As Ginger was Jackie's best friend then Terry's wrath extended to her too. Well, two could play at that game.

She looked at him and said cockily, ‘Say please and I might sell them to you.'

His eyes darkened menacingly. ‘Don't mess me about, Ginger. I'm in a rush. I need to get back to the Paradise.'

‘You're not the only one in a rush. I'm in a rush to lock up as I've got a hot date tonight,' she lied, and smiled sweetly at him. ‘You had any hot dates recently that lasted more than two hours before the poor girl couldn't stand you any longer and made an excuse to escape?'

He glared at her darkly. ‘Just give me my fags and matches.'

‘Say please and I will, else these shutters are coming down and you'll have to wait until tomorrow for your smokes. Your choice.'

He knew she meant it. Shooting her another murderous glare, he said through clenched teeth, ‘Please.'

Ginger said sardonically, ‘Now that wasn't hard, was it?' She collected his purchases, made to hand them to him in exchange for his money when a thought struck her and she withdrew her hand, waving his cigarettes tantalisingly before him but out of reach.

‘If someone asked you for weed or purples or some hearts or other funny-named stuff, what would they be after?' she asked.

He looked stunned at first then suspiciously asked, ‘Why do you want to know that?'

Ginger didn't want to admit to him that it was because she felt stupid not knowing what people were asking for. ‘Do you know the answer or not?' she challenged Terry.

‘Might do,' he said cagily, then eyed her meaningfully. ‘If I tell you, what's in it for me?'

She might have known he'd want something in return, the same as he had with Jackie when she asked for his help. Ginger leaned on the counter, gazing at him seductively, leaving him in no doubt what was in it for him if he told her.

Terry almost choked on his own spittle in anticipation of what was to come. ‘Well, it's slang for drugs,' he blurted out. ‘So now I've told you, when do I get what you've promised me?'

Ginger wasn't listening to him. Her thoughts were racing at the significance of this snippet of information. Those people in Groovy's that Jackie and she had surreptitiously approached, pretending they were in search of drugs, had been telling the literal truth when they'd mentioned that the shop sold them, not as they had thought taking the mickey.

She felt euphoric, elated, that she was the one to make this important discovery. Now she needed to update Jackie and Harold Rose on this turn of events. But she knew Jackie would tell her you can't accuse people of committing a crime without concrete proof – not unless you want to risk being accused of slander and possibly being charged yourself. She prayed that she could find that proof and bring their long vigil to an end.

Without further ado, she snatched Terry's money out of his hand and replaced it with his cigarettes and matches, telling him, ‘And just what exactly did I promise you, Terry? Oh, I see, that look I gave you … you thought it was a come on, did you? Well, you were wrong. It was a look of disgust. Now clear off, you slimebag!'

Before he could respond, she made a grab for the bottom of the metal shutter above her head and yanked it down, afterwards locking it securely. She laughed as she heard him mutter a crude response from the other side. Ginger, though, was very conscious that the supervisor of the retail outlets on the camp would be along any minute to cash up so she needed to find what she was after before then or run the risk of being caught rummaging around, which would take some explaining. Or worse, the supervisor herself could be in league with Mandy and it wouldn't do to alert them that their game was up before it was brought to the attention of the police.

Ginger flashed a look around, not sure where to start her search, under the kiosk counter or in the well-stocked store-room behind. She tried to put herself in Mandy's position. She would want to make sure her illegal substances were to hand when a buyer approached her so that the sale could be made quickly and present the least risk to her and the purchaser. To Ginger's mind, under the counter was the logical place. She squatted down to take a look for a container of some kind that would hold a quantity of pills. A wide shelf, about ten inches deep, ran beneath. It was filled with all sorts of items: a box of paper clips, several blunt pencils, Bics and Biros, paper and a pad of order forms for replacement stock. There were also personal items belonging to Mandy herself: a comb and hairbrush, make-up bag, half-empty packet of biscuits and some packets of Smith's crisps. At the far right of the shelf, directly under the till on the counter above, was an old Crawford's biscuit tin with a pile of white paper sweet bags beside it. This looked promising.

Her heart hammering in anticipation, Ginger pulled out the tin and prised open the lid, gaping at what she saw inside. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily at the strange pungent smell that wafted out of it. There were numerous small plastic packets of green-looking stuff and several larger plastic bags, each holding a quantity of different-coloured pills. Also in the tin was a bag containing a sum of money in various denominations of silver coins, ten-shilling and pound notes. As innocent as she was in such matters, Ginger knew without doubt that this was the evidence that confirmed Mandy was the drug dealer.

In her haste to get it to Jackie and Harold, and to bring Mandy to task for her crimes, she forgot that she should wait for the supervisor to arrive and check the contents of the till tallied with the roll.