Elisa checked her watch; it was three thirty, only an hour and a half to go. She stepped over to the window and stared out at where the silver car had been parked a couple of days ago. Maybe Mrs Hanley was right. Whoever it was probably just pulled over for a break. She hugged herself as she recalled him watching her, at least she thought the person was a man. She couldn’t be sure, but he or whoever had really freaked her out. Whenever a car pulled up, she ran out to check it, gripping her phone just in case she needed to call for help. She wanted her phone now, it would make her feel safe, but she’d been told not to use it by Mrs Hanley.

Her bag lay under the counter and she could see her phone sticking out. Using it would be risky. She reached under the counter and grabbed a cola cube, popping it into her mouth.

Smiling, she thought of her friends, most now preparing for sixth form. She hadn’t decided what to do after the holidays; it would depend on how well she’d done in her exams. Her father wanted her to do A levels like he did, but her mother was more supportive of her love of cooking. She’d decided that an apprenticeship was for her. This job was merely a fill-in until the right position came along and she’d passed her driving test.

Her jam was much better than the cheap muck they sold here. She lifted a bit up on a broken cracker and sniffed it, before dropping it back in the cracker bowl. Her recipe had been passed from her grandparents to her mother and then to her. All they’d done at the shop was repackage a value range in fancy jars with frilly tops. She could tell. There was nothing better than helping her mother to pick damsons and make the jam, it was an experience they’d shared for as long as she could remember. They’d also regularly baked from scratch, her mum also teaching her how to decorate her creations. It was all about the sugar work and chocolate tempering. Temperature was the key to getting it perfect.

This morning her mum had dropped her off in silence. Elisa had overslept again and had to be dragged out of bed. She knew she’d pushed her mother to her limits but getting up had been hard after meeting Ethan and cruising in his car until the early hours. Her mum wasn’t happy about that either. She looked at her watch, only a few minutes had passed since she last checked the time. Her hair was looking a bit lank. She stared into the window’s reflection and fluffed it up a little. The mousy brown colour did nothing for her. Maybe going blonde was worth trying.

She heard muffled shouting coming from the office upstairs. ‘Are you okay, Mrs Hanley?’ she called. The woman was probably whining that not enough customers had come through the door again. It wouldn’t be the first time. Even she’d have expected more customers, despite it being a Monday. In fact, she’d have welcomed more customers to pass the time. She noticed how rubbish the shop was on social media, maybe she could offer to set them a Facebook page up. Even their website was one of the free versions that was barely updated. They needed offers, reasons to bring people in. She smiled as she headed out the back, towards the stairs to the office. She would offer to set up their social media accounts right now. Maybe, if it worked, her employers would give her a bonus or a small pay rise. A good online presence would spread the word. It wouldn’t make the produce any better but it may tempt a few customers through the door. She had almost three thousand people liking her Facebook page and all she did was post food and cake photos, snapped and edited on her phone.

As she reached the halfway mark of the staircase, she heard a thud followed by silence. What if the creepy man had come back? Heart hammering, she crept up the final few stairs and the door blew open as a breeze filled the building. Mrs Hanley was bending down, her underwear showing as she lifted the cash box off the floor.

‘Can you please knock before entering?’ Mrs Hanley said as she stood and pulled her skirt down.

‘I’m sorry,’ Elisa muttered as she closed the door and rushed down the stairs. She really thought something had happened. She should’ve stayed downstairs. They’d sack her for sure now. They didn’t know the breeze had caused the door to open. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ she repeated.

She listened as the footsteps above came from the far end of the building to just above her. She needed to think of something different, take her mind off being scolded. She wanted to go home and shower, maybe watch a film or play some music so she didn’t have to face Mrs Hanley.

The pacing and shouting ended and she heard heels clicking down the stairs. Great!

Mrs Hanley entered, carrying a pile of paperwork. ‘Do you know to knock at closed doors before you enter?’

Elisa nodded. She didn’t want to contradict her and explain that the wind had blown the door open.

‘Well, why did you enter without knocking?’

Elisa shrugged as she crunched on the last of the cola cubes. She wished it was home time and her mother was outside in the car but there was still ages left. Maybe she should quit. Her fingers brushed the bottom of the tabard. She could just pull it over her head, leave it on the side and never come back.

‘Look. It doesn’t matter. Okay?’ The woman’s crow’s feet framed eyes stared at her, waiting for a response.

What she was saying was good. It doesn’t matter, she could live with that. She let go of the tabard and nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hanley. It won’t happen again.’

‘Good. The honey looks like it needs stacking better. That’s our best seller. Make sure people can see it when they come through the door.’ The woman flicked her hair and wiggled out of the room in her stupid undersized dress. She hadn’t sold any honey since she’d started; their best seller was sweets and onion chutney.

Exhaling, she listened as Mrs Hanley went back up the stairs. Elisa would stay put for the next hour and be ready to go as soon as five o’clock came. As she headed back over to the counter she spotted a piece of paper on the floor. Mrs Hanley must have dropped it on her way out. She picked it up and began to read. It was a notice of court action from one of the suppliers along with a demand for two thousand pounds. They were in debt. If only Mrs Hanley had been a bit nicer, she would have mentioned the shop on her social media accounts for all her foodie followers to see. She may have set them up with a spanking new Facebook page. Not now. She would stand here all day, bored, until it was time to go home.