The Overnight Read Online Free PDF Page B

least he's able to locate it now, by the sound of the faraway doorbell somebody's leaning on. He blunders in that direction and almost collides with the door, except for detecting the faintest hint of illumination around it. He gropes for the doorknob, which feels grubby and not too dry, no doubt from his sweaty hand. He flings the door wide and runs, not flees, downstairs.
    As Nigel crosses the sales floor Gavin takes his finger off the bellpush. He continues to jig on the spot outside the glass doors while beside him Angus stops rubbing his hands together, apparently in case this looks like impatience. Both of their faces are wreathed in breath. Nigel has scarcely unlocked the doors when Gavin skips onto the READ ON! mat. "You look lively," Nigel says.
    "Buzzin', all righty, that's me." Gavin jerks his eyebrows high as if to underline a quip Nigel doesn't understand, or in an attempt to hoist his heavy lids, or a tic that stretches the skin tighter on his pointed face. "How about you, Anyus?" he says, spinning around. "Sleep all night?"
    Angus falters between the security pillars in front of the muddy slogan and rubs a handful of his long mottled face so hard he might be trying to erase the last of this year's tan. "He's pronouncing me like Anyes," he explains as if he's not sure how amused he's entitled to be.
    "We did know that, Anyus."
    Behind them a Passat driven by Jake's boyfriend cruises to a halt, and Jake gives him a quick kiss before climbing out. "I'll cope with the mob while you all clock on," Nigel says and glances at the rota on the counter. "You're tilling for the first hour, Angus. Jake and Gavin, you're shelving."
    Of course there's no mob. Nobody has ever needed to unlock the doors to anyone but staff. Newspapers and magazines might bring customers earlier, but Frugo stocks those and commands the entrance to the retail park. Nigel collects yesterday's customer order forms from the shelf beneath the Information terminal, then occupies himself by lining up books in Animals to the regulation half-inch from the edge of the shelf. Once Angus reappears, Nigel heads for the route to the stockroom.
    The lift is demonstrating how well it can pronounce two of its three words. As Nigel climbs the stairs a muffled clatter of books on trolleys sinks past him. The Returns and Damaged racks need to be cleared, but first the customers' orders have to be sent. He sends himself across the staffroom, where the faint irritatingly vague smell is dissipating, and switches on the office tight. He's about to sit at his computer when he notices Woody's door is ajar.
    That's hardly remarkable. Woody tends to leave it open when he's in his office. As Nigel pushes it wider, the baseball pennant above the desk flexes itself wormlike in the dimness and sags flat on the wall. Two of the quadrants of the security monitor up in the far corner display movements too: Gavin's on his knees in Music, and a figure is squatting in Toddlers' Texts. At least they have a customer, then, though the figure's head and indeed its whole greyish shape are too blurred for Nigel to distinguish any details. He closes the door and goes to work at the computer.
    He e-mails most of the orders to the American warehouse or the British equivalent in Plymouth, though the publishers of a poetry collection are so diminutive he has to search for the address and send a direct request. He's close to finishing his task when Gavin's voice appears above him. "Nigel call twelve, please. Nigel buzz a dozen."
    He grabs the phone to head off any further jesting. "Yes, Gavin."
    "There's a customer wanting to know if you've got his order."
    "Can you give me the details?"
    "It's about round here."
    "And his name is …"
    "Sole. What's your first name?" A pause sounds smothered by a hand. "It's Robert," says Gavin, and not quite evenly "Mr R. Sole."
    Is this a prank? When Nigel glances at Woody's monitor he sees a man in front of Gavin at the counter. His grey hair could be a tail