Three Amazing Things About You(4)

Right, this needed to be sorted out. Three of the items, ordered online and picked up in store, were far smaller than the boxes they’d been delivered in. Making an executive decision, Tasha put down the mountain of shopping, removed all the excess packaging and rearranged everything into a smaller number of bags. There, that was much better. Delighted with her organisational skills, she crammed the discarded cardboard into a nearby litter bin and shovelled the empty carriers in after them. Then, after flexing her aching shoulders, she gathered up the remaining full bags. OK, still heavy, but far easier to carry and less likely to knock small children to the ground.

And . . . back in control. All that remained to be picked up now was a box of Christmas crackers and the silver scarf for her mum and she was all done.

Pleased with herself, Tasha turned left and headed for the last shop. As she pushed open the door, her favourite Christmas song was playing and a blast of cool, deliciously scented air filled her lungs. She overheard a small girl say, ‘Mummy, look at that lady in the pink coat, she’s pretty,’ and quite suddenly all was right with the world. A wave of joy enveloped her. This afternoon she was flying off to see her mum in the South of France and they would spend Christmas together . . . what could be more perfect than that?

Twenty minutes later, all was no longer right with the world and icy fingers appeared to be closing around her heart, whilst her own fingers scrabbled desperately for the third time through her handbag and pockets.

‘It’s here somewhere. It has to be here, I had it in the last shop . . .’

The queue behind her had already begun to tut with irritation at the delay.

‘Better see if you left it there, then,’ said the singularly unsympathetic girl manning the payment desk.

‘But I know I didn’t leave it behind, I had it in my hand . . .’ It was impossible to mentally retrace your steps when Slade were bellowing MERRY CHRIIIIIIIISSSTMAAAAAS out of the tannoy and you were gripped with panic.

The man behind her in the queue said loudly, ‘Excuse me, my parking meter’s about to run out, can I pay for my stuff?’

‘Yes.’ The girl behind the till pushed Tasha’s items to one side and reached for the next customer’s basket.

Oh God, where was her credit card? What had she done with it? Feeling sick, Tasha searched through her pockets again. Three days ago, her debit card had snapped in half when she’d stupidly used it to clear ice from the car windscreen, and the replacement hadn’t arrived yet.

And now her credit card had vanished. Nightmare, nightmare.

‘If it’s been stolen, you need to cancel it,’ a woman in the queue reminded her.

Stolen . . .

Images of the card falling to the ground and being stealthily pocketed filled Tasha’s brain. They could rack up so much money on it, even in just twenty minutes. She nodded and said, ‘I don’t know the number to ring to report it stolen.’

‘Nor me,’ said the woman, adding helpfully, ‘But I know it’s printed on the back of your card.’

Gathering up her bags, Tasha turned and hurried out of the shop. When she’d been struggling to carry everything in M&S, she’d given up trying to fit the card back into her overstuffed purse. It was all coming back to her now; she’d slid it into one of the plastic carriers instead. Her heart galloped into optimistic overdrive at the realisation that the carrier bag was one of those she’d discarded during her Tetris-style reorganisation.

Which meant, fingers crossed . . . it should still be in the litter bin.

Out of breath and panting, Tasha stood and stared at the bin, relieved that it hadn’t been emptied but slightly put off by the amount of junk that had been crammed in since she’d left it, not least the upended polystyrene container now dripping the remains of an unwanted doner kebab over the items beneath it.

Life would be easier, too, if it could have been one of those topless bins that were open to the elements. But no, this was the rectangular kind with an enclosed roof and letter-box openings around the side. Although luckily a bit wider than an actual letter box.

Oh well, better get on with it. Tasha put her many bags down on the pavement, removed her pink woollen coat and rolled up the sleeves of her black dress . . .

Eurgh, this was truly gross. Within seconds her hand was gluey with chilli sauce, there were bits of shredded lettuce stuck to her bare arm and an upside-down McDonald’s cup was spilling melted ice cream over her too. There were cigarette butts in there, vinegar-soaked chips, and something repulsively slimy and unidentifiable.

‘Hungry, are we? If you’re that desperate, I’ll buy you a burger!’