So who do you want to tell the story?

Yeah, OK. We can all do a bit. Who wants to go first?

Me? Why should I go first?

No it didn’t. Stuff happened to all of us during that time. It didn’t just happen to me and Stu.

OK, fine. I’ll go first if none of you benders want to. Feel free to interrupt. There’s nine of us here. We can all take a bit because this isn’t just about me and him.

What?

Piss off, man. The temps don’t count. No offence to any of them if they’re watching but this is our story, not theirs. That’s why we’re here and they’re not.

Right. The best time to start is the day we found out what was going to happen, yeah?

OK. This was the middle of August. Tuesday morning. Remember? You timed it right, Sandy. Tuesday staff meeting and I don’t think any of us were expecting what you told us.

Of course Alex knew, you turd. He was the Assistant Manager. He had to know, right, Boss?

Anyway.

Shut your face, student.

OK. I’ll start and you girls interrupt when you want.

This is what happened

RICH

Rich is making coffees for himself and Stu; Alex is drying his hands with a tea-towel as he looks from Stu to Rich He’s listening to their conversation and smiling in a small way.

“Trevor?” Rich suggests and Stu snorts.

“No way is he a Trevor,” he replies. “Maybe a Tyrone.”

Alex laughs although he’s too tired to become involved in this conversation to much extent.

“Tyrone,” Rich echoes and nods. “Yeah, possibly.”

He hands Stu his drink and sips his own.

“Sure you don’t want one?” he asks Alex who shakes his head.

“No, thanks. Just put one out.”

Alex exits the kitchen, missing the look that passes between Stu and Rich. Rich rolls his eyes and drops the spoon into the sink. He and Stu follow their AM through to the Stockroom and Stu switches on his computer. Rich watches Alex change the tape in the video and switch the view of the cameras so the entrance is covered. This is John’s job and Rich does not have to wonder what John will say about this. He sips his coffee, glancing around the Stockroom. It’s a large area but as it’s full of overstock, boxes, folders of invoices and orders, and stock to be returned to suppliers, it appears smaller. Even the white walls don’t give any sense of size. The wall by the monitors is covered with staff announcements-most from Head Office and ignored by everyone apart from Sandra and Alex. The computer used for stock ordering is by the last monitor, the screen blank, and the faded grey slots for the orders paperwork are in the corner. They’re all empty. The work surfaces are all the same dull grey as the orders bays; the floor is bare, white and cracked in a few places. The only real colour in the Stockroom is the red Fire Exit close to the Office door. Almost everything in the Stockroom is a dirty white or dull grey. The staff do not notice this much. They’re here to work, not look at the décor.

Rich closes the Fire Exit, walks to stand by the fax machine and looks at Stu.

“Want to do Simon and Garfunkel?” he asks.

“Na, it’s too early in the morning,” Stu replies. “Later.”

“Do what?” Alex asks, turning from the monitors. Rich looks at him. Alex is a big guy but the staff don’t notice him much. Now, looking at Rich and Stu, Rich thinks Alex looks like he wants to be part of the staff on a personal level. Rich doesn’t think that will ever happen. Even so he’s happy at the moment to go along with it just as he was when Stu started the conversation about Alex’s middle name.

“You know the back of Bridge Over Troubled Water?” he asks Alex who nods.

“Art Garfunkel,” Rich says and taps his chest. “Paul Simon,” he says and jerks his thumb to Stu. “We do a baaaaaddddd impression of the back cover of that.”

“Only because you’re nine fucking foot tall, daddy long legs,” Stu mutters. “And I’m a five foot nine dwarf to your skinny ass.”

Rich nods.

“Yeah, but what you gonna do?”

Alex doesn’t say anything. He looks to the monitor just as Stu and Rich see the look on his face. Neither of them can be sure the look was a sneer and neither of them cares enough about Alex to comment. Rich settles for turning from Alex towards Stu and mouthing wanker and scratching his goatee to cover his mouth. Stu nods and stands.

“Come on, girls. Better get a good seat,” he says, moving to the door and Rich follows without looking to see if Alex is doing the same.

The two men walk to the staff area, crossing the same dirty white and cracked floor as in the Stockroom, passing the twelves overstocks, the blank tapes, batteries and CD cases in the Accessories racks. Stu scans the stock lined up in rows against the left wall for the approaching Sale.

“Same old shit,” he mutters.

They see John in his corner as they reach the staff area on the right hand side. He’s rolling a cigarette and listening to his radio as other stores log in to the CCTV control for the city centre.

“Morning, ladies,” he calls and lights his cigarette.

“Get a haircut,” Stu replies and sits at the table closest to the wall. Rich sits at his usual place on the ledge with the record decks, PlayStation and pile of old magazines. He leans on the metal railings that separate the staff area and the large windows and crosses his feet. The ledge here is narrow but he’s used to it.

Rich looks out at Memorial Square which is almost empty. The August sunlight is bright even though it’s not yet nine in the morning. The last fortnight has been bright and hot; the girls have been sexy; the music’s been OK and work is as good as it gets. Rich watches three girls walk to the shopping centre at the far side of Memorial Hall with their long shadows chasing them over the paving, past the benches around the War Memorial and vanishing into the Hampton Centre as the girls are gone.

Rich glances at the clock at the top of the Town Hall and checks his own watch. 8.50. He sips his coffee as John sits next to Stu.

“How’re they hanging?” John mutters around his cigarette and pulls one of the ashtrays closer.

“To the left,” Stu replies. “You?”

“About the same,” John nods. “What about you, Richy?”

“On top of your head,” Rich replies and smiles. “The way you like it.”

John laughs. “You tease,” he replies. He looks to his right as footsteps come. “Morning, Al,” he calls.

Alex comes into view and Rich sniggers. “Make room for Tron, boys.”

Alex grimaces. “Tyrone, I can handle, but Tron’s pushing it,” he says as he sits opposite Stu and John, scanning his notebook.

Stu and Rich hear the note in his voice that is the equivalent of the look Alex had as he turned away. John hears it as well, looks to Stu and almost succeeds in holding back a smile.

“Well, if you told us what your middle name is, this could all be over, man,” Rich says. “Otherwise, Tron it is, I’m afraid.”

He injects a degree of mocking to his words and keeps his face as good humour.

“Is that right, Richard?” Alex asks without looking from his notebook.

There’s a loud banging from the shopfloor before Rich can reply, which Stu and John think is a good thing.

“Someone at the door,” Stu says. “Go on, John. Do the honours.”

John rises and heads to the stairs, checking his keys for the right one. The others sit silently. All three hear John unlock and open the main doors.

“Place your bets,” Rich says.

“Jenny’s boobs,” Stu replies. “Followed by Jenny.”

Rich nods. “Possibly. But I say Steve’s beard followed by Steve.”

Alex looks from his notepad, clearly about to add his guess. Before he can, they all hear Dave’s voice from below.

“Morning, Johnny.”

“Baldy,” John replies and they hear him close the door.

Rich looks outside again and sees Tony coming out of Hampton; Tony with his floppy hair, his bag over his shoulder, his Slipknot hoodies.

“I spy a student,” Rich says as Dave and John come up the stairs.

“Throw something at him,” Stu replies.

Rich smiles and looks to the clock.

8.52 

OK, who wants to take the main bit?

I was setting mood, you fucking pleb. That’s why I didn’t start with all of us finding out. I was trying to show what it was like before the whole pissing country got involved. You burger.

No. Sandra should have this bit, not you. You were the one who dropped a load on us, Boss. You have this bit.

Go on. 

SANDRA

Sandra checks her watch as she opens the Office door. 9.05. With everything she has to get through in this meeting, she would have liked to have started ten minutes ago. On the other hand, they still have to open the shop in less than half an hour, so everything that’s going to be said and probably shouted has to be done by nine thirty.

She sees Jenny and Tony in the kitchen; Tony spooning coffee into two mugs. Jenny is standing close to Tony which is not a surprise.

“Go on then, Tony,” Sandra calls as she walks quickly to the exit. “Twist my arm.”

“What’s it worth?” he replies, looking in time to see her pass.

“A pay rise,” Sandra says and is heading to the staff area quickly. She sits next to Alex as Jenny follows.

“Morning, all,” Sandra says, looking around. Matty’s punching Dave’s arm in a regular motion and Dave is telling Matty he’ll get a kicking in a minute. Jenny comes from the side and perches on the ledge next to John. She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes.

Sandra sees all this in a second before she looks down to her itinerary, glad the staff are comfortable and relaxed. She glances at Alex who gives her a very small nod. She sighs, knowing there’s no way out of this.

“OK,” she says. “We’ve got a fair bit to get through and it’s gone nine already so let’s get on.”

“We’re missing Gay Tony,” Rich says as footsteps come from the Stockroom. Tony’s there, carrying two cups.

“Hurry up, student,” Rich says. “Making us wait.”

“Sorry,” Tony replies. He gives Sandra her drink and sits on the ledge behind Stu. He smiles at Sandra. “Carry on.”

“Thanks,” she replies. “Right. First thing……..as you’ve probably guessed, the smoking policy comes into effect on the first of October. There’ll be no smoking anywhere in the building, I’m afraid. If you want a fag, it’s on your lunch outside the Fire Exit.”

Groans and mutters go around, but nobody is surprised by this. It’s been coming for a long time and the staff who smoke know full well that they have been very lucky until now.

“It’s all right for these two turds,” Rich says, pointing to Stu and Steve. “They can smoke whenever they want. What about the people who do all the work?”

“People like who?” Stu asks.

“People like me,” Rich answers. “Stuck down there all day with the fucking public. I need a fag by eleven and people get hurt if I don’t get one.”

“You fuck,” Stu says and lights a cigarette.

“Sorry, Rich,” Sandra says. “It applies to everyone as of the first. Smoke outside on your lunch. No exceptions.”

“My aching ring,” Rich mutters and swigs his coffee.

“I’ll second that,” John says. Rich flicks up two fingers to John and John’s big laugh echoes around.

Sandra clears her throat, ignoring Rich. She takes a breath and looks at her staff.

“Now I would go through the figures but there’s something else we need to discuss and I don’t think anyone cares about the figures. Am I right?”

“So long as I get paid, I’m a happy man,” Dave says and scratches his head. The stubbles rasps. He and Rich look similar and are often confused for one another by customers. Rich leans and rubs Dave’s head.

“I needed that,” Dave says.

“Fair enough,” Sandra replies, again ignoring Rich’s actions. She understands how her staff relate to each other is extremely important for them and for the good of the shop.

“I’ll pin up the figures on the wall,” she continues. “And you can read them when you like.” She stops again.

“What’s the thing we need to discuss?” John asks and begins rolling another cigarette.

Sandra sucks her teeth. “Well, Alex and I have had word from Colin about a company plan that involves all of us.”

She looks at them and sees she has their full attention. And she knows this is not through the mention of the Area Manager. It’s because they’re involved in something obviously big.

“Over the last couple of months, a television production company has been searching for a store. They’ve looked at fifty throughout the country and decided that ours fits their demand.” She’s speaking quickly. She won’t give herself time to stop. “They didn’t tell any of the staff in these shops that they were there because they wanted to see each shop as it really is. They wanted to see staff working on a day to day basis without any pretence. They didn’t want to use any of the London stores because they’re too big and in their words too impersonal. They wanted a place that was reasonably busy compared to others and we fit that description.”

She takes a breath and very quietly, John says:

“Wanted a place like that for what?”

Sandra resists the urge to look at her papers. She has to stay on her staff.

“To film,” she replies. “They want to hook up cameras throughout the building and film us on a live stream for a month. There’ll be a ten second delay between us and the broadcast. There’ll be no technical staff here, no director or cameramen. We’ll just have the cameras throughout. They’ll show us working; the production company will monitor us and broadcast what they consider the most interesting conversations or events. The cameras will broadcast through the day and there’ll be a highlights compilation at night.”

She stops, inhales and nobody replies for five seconds. Sandra counts those seconds and knows they’re all waiting for someone else to speak first. John does and his voice is still quiet.

“When?”

And here it is. Here’s the part that will cause all the problems. And here’s the part from which she cannot get away.

“Late November,” Sandra replies. “For a month. The last episode will be on a Saturday. Christmas Eve.”

This time, there is no pause or silence. There’s Stu.

“What the fuck?” he says. “You’re fucking serious.”

“Yep,” Sandra replies. “Now let me say this isn’t happening unless you all agree. Nobody can force you to sign up for it or go along with it. All Head Office can do is offer you all the equivalent of three months’ salary as a bonus if you do go for it.”

“A month?” Rich says and his voice is very quiet. “A month from late November? A month over Christmas and those fucking cocks at Head Office want fucking cameras filming us over the most stressful fucking time of the year? Are they having a laugh?”

“Rich, please,” Sandra says. She knows what Rich speaking in this tone means. She’s seen him angry before.

“They want to film us reality TV style?” Rich continues. “They want to film us for pricks who think Big Brother is the highest form of entertainment going?”

“Rich,” Sandra says and her word is a warning. Rich takes it and is silent.

“As I said,” Sandra continues. “You can say no. Nobody can force any of you into it. The three months’ salary is yours if you all agree to it. I don’t expect anyone to give me an answer now. I’d like you all to think about it, discuss it with partners and one another. Then let me know what you think by the end of the week.”

“Three months’ salary,” Stu mutters. John nods.

“That’s a lot of money,” he says.

“On your salary, rich boy,” Matty says and John smiles.

“I wish,” he replies and stubs out his cigarette. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to film and just show……well, highlights, I suppose. Show that instead of just us working?” He glances around. “Us at work is hardly interesting, is it?”

“They’ll make it interesting,” Sandra replies and pauses before she adds: “There’s a lot of money involved in this. They’ll hype it up before they show anything to get people watching even if there’s nothing to see.”

“Jesus,” Rich mutters and shakes his head. “All we need at Christmas is a shop of idiots desperate to see their stupid faces on TV. As soon as people know this place is being filmed, we’ll have every fuckwit in town in here gurning at the cameras.”

Sandra nods.

“That’s what I thought, but I don’t think that will happen too much. The majority of people are going to be here to shop. It probably won’t occur to most people that they’re on TV. Although the cameras would be all over the place, they won’t be huge or too obvious and even if we did get people pratting about, the producers won’t be interested in showing that. They’ll cut to a different area, which I know doesn’t help us immediately but when people realise there’s no point in trying to be filmed, they would stop.”

Rich shakes his head again.

“Please think about it,” Sandra says. “I know it’s a shitty idea for them to do it over Christmas. We’re all going to be doing a million things each day and we don’t need any extra stress, but I also don’t think the money is to be sneezed at. It’s up to all of you.”

She inhales slowly.

“Now let’s get open, yeah? John, if you could?”

John nods and walks to the stairs, tapping the keys on his leg. The others apart from Stu and Rich rise, some walking to the Stockroom and others to the stairs. Stu looks at Rich and swigs the last of his coffee.

“This is the worst fucking idea I’ve heard in this toilet,” Rich says.

“True,” Stu replies. “But three months’ salary for the worst fucking idea, dude. Don’t know about you, but me and Kirsty could do with it.”

He stands and Rich nods. Three days ago, Stu told him his wife Kirsty is three months pregnant. Rich knows this would normally be happy news and no questions asked but Kirsty miscarried in January and although Stu has not said much about it since, the staff know Kirsty took the miscarriage extremely badly. Rich knows his friend well and he knows Stu will not relax until the baby is born healthy.

“Is everything as it should be?” Rich says eventually.

“Yeah,” Stu replies. He looks at his feet as if he’s about to say more. He doesn’t. He sighs and starts walking to the Stockroom.

Rich follows without replying. 

So everyone knew then. I did hope you lot would think about it but I was set for nobody saying yes immediately. That didn’t happen so I waited to see what you would all say.

Stu? Do you want to take the next part?

Because you should. 

STU

Stu will think much later that the start of it seemed scripted and planned even though he will tell himself there is no way that could be.

But that’s not for now. Now is August, the Fire Exit open and the breeze coming in; sunlight coming in and the stereo on loud. He, Steve, Matty, Tony and John are listening to Bowie’s Best Of; the delivery’s here and it’s not too large. He is thinking what he and Kirsty can do with the bonus if this TV thing happens. They talked about it last night and although he thinks it’s a shit idea, he’ll sign up for it. The choice comes down to helping his family or not and there isn’t much to think about. He comes away from these thoughts as the mood in the Stockroom, his mood, changes. Rich is here, his arms full of stock as he enters, and his voice is louder than the stereo.

“You fuckers are serious, aren’t you?”

Stu looks to Rich, then back to his screen.

“Always,” he replies. “What about?”

“This fucking TV bollocks,” Rich says. “Jen tells me everyone’s up for it.” “Look, it’s the money, nothing else,” Matty says. “None of us care about being on

TV, apart from Jen even if she denies it, and Tony because he’s a fag.”

“Bastard,” Tony replies. He’s smiling nervously, looking at Rich. John and Stu are the only people not looking at Rich. John is well aware of why Stu isn’t looking.

“Fuck the money,” Rich says. “It’s a pile of tit. We don’t need this. Not at fucking Christmas.”

“What’s the problem?” Matty asks. “It’s not like there’ll be people here. Sandra said they’ll stick cameras around and film whatever happens. What’s the big deal with that?”

The phone next to Stu rings with the internal signal.

“Yeah?” he mutters in answer. Everyone apart from John looks to Stu.

“OK,” Stu says and puts the phone down. He speaks without looking at anyone.

“Jenny says if anyone still works downstairs, can they give her a hand? She’s got a massive queue.”

Stu is very quiet. He looks at nobody, tapping on his keyboard to bring up his next invoice.

“I’ll go,” Tony murmurs, glad of a reason to leave the Stockroom.

“I’ll come back for these,” Matty says, dropping his orders next to the printer. John changes cameras and sees Dave arriving ten minutes before he starts the late shift. The queue from the counter doesn’t quite reach the Singles, but it’s not far off. Rich looks at the back of John, then to Steve who has turned back to his computer. He looks lastly at Stu.

“What’s the deal?” he asks Stu. “You hate the idea of this as much as I do. You know it’s a bag of crap.”

“For fuck’s sake, get your head out of your arse.” Stu snaps. “Of course, I know it’s a bag of crap. It sucks cock, but it’s three fucking months’ salary. I can’t turn that down, any more than Steve or John can. You can afford to be self-righteous. We can’t.”

John, still with his back to the others, winces.

We can’t.

He realises what Stu is getting at.

“I know reality TV is the lowest of the low,” Stu says. “It’s shit, but so what? So fucking what? Do you care about the stress of being filmed at Christmas or about being part of something as toss as reality fucking TV?”

Rich says nothing. He takes his stock and leaves the Stockroom.

There’s only Bowie while Steve and John wait for Stu to speak. After a moment, Steve stands, walks to the little kitchen and turns on the kettle. He comes back to the Stockroom, looking at Stu who taps on his keyboard and then turns. John is finally looking away from the monitor.

Stu doesn’t look at John or Steve.

“Kirsty’s pregnant,” he says. “Three months. We need that money.”

John and Steve look at one another, both unsure how to react.

“Sweet,” Steve replies quietly.

“Yeah, it is sweet,” Stu nods. “But, it’s also a stress after last time. Either way, we need all the extra money we can get. As do you two queers. If Rich doesn’t get that, that’s his problem.”

“Does he know Kirsty’s preggers?” John asks. “Maybe he’s just pissed off about a wanky TV programme getting in our way.”

Stu shakes his head. “No, he’s pissed off about being part of a wanky TV programme. He thinks he’s joining the great unwashed, that’s all.”

The Bowie album finishes. Stu walks to the stereo and ejects the disc as Dave enters. He needs seconds to pick up on the atmosphere.

“What’s the deal?” he asks as he pulls off his jacket.

John replies, knowing Stu and Steve will say nothing.

“We told Rich we’re up for this TV thing. He didn’t like it.”

Dave considers.

“He’ll live with it.”

He throws his jacket on to the hooks in the kitchen and adds his cup to the three by the kettle. 

Shit, man. How to make me look like a twat.

Shut up, slaphead.

What?

No. This is Stu’s story. He can tell the next bit. I’ll take the part after that.

“Stu.”

Stu looks from his magazine and his lunch. Dave is opposite him and stays looking outside when he hears Rich speak.

“What’s up?” Stu asks without much tone.

“Yesterday,” Rich replies. “All that…..…well, you were right. I had my head up my arse. I don’t like this much, but fuck it. Three months’ salary and all that.”

Stu doesn’t reply for a moment. August sunlight slants across Dave, then the table and on to Stu’s bacon roll. Dave saw this the last time he turned round. Dave notices the little things. He has the ability to see what a person is thinking by not much more than a quick look. He knows this is a private minute between Rich and Stu, so he pretends he is not there.

“What’s the deal?” Stu asks. “You hate all this sort of shit. Three months’ salary isn’t enough to change your mind.”

Rich shrugs. “Yeah, well. I do hate it. I hate all the shitty celebrity bollocks. I hate how the public make nobodies famous. I hate how talentless pricks are worth millions just for being on TV or getting their fake tits out but fuck it. I don’t have to have my head up my arse all the time, do I?”

“No worries,” Stu says. “It’s all right, fucko.”

“Cool,” Rich mutters and walks away. Stu and Dave watch him go down the stairs, his footsteps buried under the music from below.

Dave waits thirty seconds before speaking.

“So what changed his mind really?”

He watches three girls outside walk past McDonalds. The clock says it’s almost one thirty. One thirty on a Thursday in August. This is a million miles from Christmas, but it’s coming, Dave knows.

“God knows,” Stu replies. “I don’t think it was the money and I don’t think he appreciates how much a few people here need it. He doesn’t think like that. It wasn’t the money, I’m betting.”

“So what then?”

Stu finishes his roll and shifts from his seat to sit on the table next to Dave. They both look outside at the girls in their skirts, the pretty girls in August with sunlight covering the Square and the shop below them full of people and music.

“Paul O’Connor,” Stu shouts and points towards the Town Hall. “That’s a point there.”

“I thought you didn’t want to play the Fame Game,” Dave replies, aware Stu is changing the subject, knowing he’ll let it go.

“One point already,” Stu gloats. “Come on, you bald fuck. I thought you knew people.”

“OK, then. Let’s see who’s today’s champion, bitch.”

Stu and Dave sit on the table in the staffroom, looking outside at the people, at the girls in the summer and play the Fame Game.