A Cream Cracker Christmas

Violet was still chilled through from her morning shower; Frank hadn’t had the hot water tank fixed yet, and icy rivulets had trickled down her aching body as she shivered in the dimly lit cubicle. The supermarket insisted that staff wear their oversized blue tabards over shirts – no jumpers or cardigans allowed – and her teeth chattered as she smiled mechanically at shoppers while Christmas music blared over the tannoy.

“Would you like to donate an extra one of these to charity today?” Violet cradled the tin of own-brand soup and smiled at the customer, noticing how pristine her cream winter coat was. As the woman leant forward to peer at the price rung up on the till, the smell of damp wool wafted across the counter. It must be raining out now, Violet noted with a frown.

“No, thank you.” The woman drummed her fingers on the counter as Violet reluctantly slipped the soup tin into the linen grocery bag and continued scanning.

It was busy today, as it always was this time of year. As soon as November began, bringing with it the first chill of winter and the gloom of low-hanging cloud, the store’s seasonal decorations had arrived from Head Office, and Violet had felt a tingle of excitement, wondering what this year’s festive theme would be. Streams of customers came into the store, barely noticing the inflatable polar bear and cubs, the thousand sparkling crystal snowflakes hanging at varying heights above their heads. But Violet was buoyed by the glittering abundance of the display, recalling with sadness the muted quality of the previous two Christmases. Head Office had apparently considered it ‘socially irresponsible to encourage shoppers to linger in their stores to admire festive decorations during a pandemic,’ though Violet suspected cost saving was a stronger motivation. Financial considerations were what had also cost her most of her hours during lockdown, and somehow, she’d also slipped through all the government relief cracks. So now, back at work full-time, she was snapping up every shift possible, and knew the store’s Christmas display was where she’d been getting most of her festive cheer this year.

A distracted father, purple silk tie loosened and slightly askew, shining Oxfords squeaking on the rain-washed floor, was next in her queue. Violet waited patiently as he loaded his endless purchases onto the belt while his two small children crashed the trolley against his legs and threw sweet wrappers at each other.

“Can I help you with anything, sir?”

“No, no, I’m going as fast as I can!”

“That’s OK, take your time. I just wondered if I could help.”

Eventually, items started making their way to the scanner, and Violet rang them slowly through, allowing time for the customer to prepare his shopping bags. Beep, beep, beep: Filet steak, prepared vegetables, bottle after bottle of top shelf merlot. Violet’s good-natured smile was starting to fade – none of these delicious-looking items could be part of the charity offer – until, towards the end of the belt, household items started to take over.

“This is such a time saver, isn’t it?” Violet beamed.

“What?” The man looked at her blankly as he pulled a soft, tastefully battered leather wallet from his suit pocket.

“I just meant that loading the groceries in order saves time unpacking when you get home, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, right, yes. Sorry.”

“It’s no problem! And would you like to donate an extra one of these to charity today?” Violet flashed another smile, holding up the jasmine-scented shower gel she’d just scanned.

The man smiled back, forgetting his squabbling children for a moment. “Sure, why not.”

As the day wore on, Violet counted the number of times each festive classic came on over the loudspeaker. In theory, each track should play the same number of times, but she suspected that Store Manager Charlene spent most of her workday hiding in the office, skipping through the playlist time and again to get back to her favourites. Noddy Holder had screamed ‘It’s Christmas!” eighteen times; Mariah Carey had warbled her modest gift list even more frequently. But ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas’ was in poll position, with a mind-numbing twenty-eight plays so far. When Violet used to listen to it in her cosy flat, it had been one of her favourites too, making her feel safe and lucky as she shed tears for the poor people who didn’t know the joys of the season. These days she hated its patronising piousness, though she still bopped her head dutifully whenever the store supervisor walked by.

Violet’s aching feet eventually heralded the approaching end of the shift; the background cacophony of chattering voices had dimmed to a more bearable hum, and Security staff had started to circle like sharks, pointedly pulling metallic shutters halfway across the entrance. One final customer loaded a small selection of posh cheese and nibbles onto the belt, wrapping her stylish parka more tightly round her chest as a frosty gust whirled in through the sliding doors.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask if you wanted to donate an extra packet of crackers to charity today?”

“Oh, but I already paid.”

“That’s OK, you can pay for it separately.” Violet smiled earnestly.

“Oh, OK,” the young woman replied uncertainly, pulling a stack of notes from her purse and handing five pounds to Violet. “The charity can keep the change.”

“Thank you, that’s very generous.” As the woman walked out into the cold, dark night, Violet folded the five-pound note into her tabard pocket and began to close down her till.

Violet had managed to pick up extra work cleaning the store after it closed each night, and in the staff common room, she gathered her change of clothes, and unloaded the day’s charity proceeds into her locker. Frank, the store’s Head of Security, popped his head round the door and checked they were alone before speaking.

“I finally got someone to come in and fix the shower, Violet. Thought you might want to grab a warm one before you go home. Sorry, I mean, before you go…”

Violet tried to restrain the bitterness from her laugh, “That’s OK, Frank, I know what you meant. And thanks, I think I’ll do that before I start my next shift.”

Violet retrieved the jasmine-scented shower gel from her locker and headed to the staff shower room.

*      *      *      *

It wasn’t a long walk to what Frank had called home. By the time she finished work for the night, the bus depot was usually empty, and a few weeks ago, Violet had managed to find a quiet spot to set up her sleeping space. She’d held on in her flat for as long as she could, but without work during lockdown, her meagre savings had only paid the rent for so long. Violet tried a wry smile as she settled down on the floor, consisting of unfolded boxes she’d gathered from the loading bay at the back of the supermarket. She unpacked the day’s charitable donations to see what there was for dinner; unfortunately, as well as making her cold, rain made customers grumpy, and tonight she’d have to settle for a can of beans and the packet of crackers her last customer had given. As the rain hammered on the leaky corrugated roof, Violet thanked the people who had been generous that day. It had been difficult at first to justify her actions to herself, but Violet reasoned she was saving the local Food Bank some money by securing her own donations. Hopefully now she was working so many shifts, it wouldn’t be too long until she could find a new place, get a proper roof over her head once more. She’d used the rest of the £5 from her last customer to buy a large frothy coffee on her way here. It was an extravagant purchase, but Violet couldn’t resist the prospect of a warm drink to soothe away some of the day’s aches, and hopefully chase away the strains of ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas’ from her dreams.