No Place in the Sun Read online

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  As with any publication, this one didn’t get written on its own. A lot of people helped me with this project, and several good friends were involved in turning a disparate collection of rough chapters in to the finished book that you now hold in your hands. David Rice of the Killaloe Hedge School first showed me that maybe I had the germ of an idea that needed nurturing, and he gave me the techniques that helped me to turn the outline idea into a draft novel. Kate McMorrow, Brian Rogers, John Breen, Joe McDermott and Joe Fahy all read the draft and made useful suggestions that shaped the final version of the book. Isobel Creed of the Writers Consultancy was always encouraging while at the same time being critical of things that needed criticism. In hindsight, she was right about almost everything.

  My brother Frank is my best sounding board for my work; he is always my first port of call when I need something to be read and critiqued. His encouragement from the first chapters encouraged me to keep going and write it to the end, and his suggestions as always were sharp and have shaped the final product.

  Last and not at all least, my partner Una encouraged me to write the book and gave me the space and support to allow my creativity to flow unhindered. She was the one who kept me going when the muse deserted me, and who stood back and gave me plenty of room when it was all going well.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘I hab a pleadin pun in the pag, ged dowd on de four.’

  The young man was dressed in a pair of navy tracksuit bottoms and a white hooded sweatshirt; the hood was pulled up over a cream coloured baseball cap and he had a red football scarf wound round his mouth. A pair of extra-large sunglasses completed the picture. The youngster was wearing the brightest whitest pair of trainers that Tom had ever seen; he looked at him in amazement.

  ‘I hab a pleadin pun. I’ll pleadin ude it.’

  ‘He has a gun in the bag and he’ll use it, that’s what it sounds like.’ Walter put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘I think he wants us to get down on the floor.’

  The youth lifted the scarf away from his mouth and screamed at them.‘That’s what I bleedin said, I have a bleedin’ gun in the bag, get down on the bleedin’ floor.’ He waved the brown paper bag in the general direction of the two salesmen.

  Tom lowered his lanky frame flat on to the floor of the shop, no sense arguing with the guy, he might be on drugs or something. He lay flat on his stomach and said nothing.

  Walter got down slowly on one knee and put his hands on the floor. ‘Take it easy, son. We only work here, we’ll do whatever you say, no need to point that gun at us.’ He put the other knee on the ground and then slowly stretched himself out until he was lying on the carpet tiles beside Tom.

  ‘Wherd the manader?’ The youth lifted the scarf from his mouth;‘where’s the bleedin’ manager?’

  ‘There isn’t a manager as such, there’s just four of us working here.’ Walter raised himself up on his elbows to speak to the raider.

  ‘Four of yous, where’s the others so?’ The youth angrily pulled the scarf away from his face and stuffed it in the pocket of his hoodie.‘Get down on the bleedin’ floor, I said.’

  ‘Robert doesn’t come in until this afternoon, and Andrew will be coming through that door in a minute. He’s the nearest thing we have to a boss.’ Walter nodded his head towards the swing door leading to the canteen.

  ‘You better not be bleedin’ shitting me, I have a bleedin’ gun.’ The youth waved the bag menacingly at the Tom and Walter.

  ‘Like I said, son, no skin off our noses, we’re not shitting you.’

  A youth in a green hoodie peered round the front door; he had the front of his hood pinched in one hand to conceal his face.‘Hurry up, Macker, there’s an old dear coming.’

  The raider strode nervously up and down the aisle between the washing machines and the vacuum cleaners.‘Shite, fuck, tell her it’s closed, tell her the gaff is closed.’

  The youth stuck his head back into the shop.‘She wants to know when it’ll be open, she wants to buy a washing machine. She said her old one is broke.’

  ‘Fuck her and her bleedin’ washing machine; tell her to come back in an hour, tell her the electric is fucked or something.’

  Andrew chose that minute to make his entrance through the swing doors. He marched across towards the small appliances counter, coffee in hand. He looked around for Tom and Walter but couldn’t see anyone except the youth with the paper bag.

  ‘Good morning, sir. My apologies, I thought my colleagues were out on the floor; how can I help you?’

  ‘He wants to rob you, Andy.’ Walter carefully raised himself up on his knees from behind the row of vacuum cleaner boxes. ‘He has a gun, but he promised not to use it if we cooperate, so don’t panic.’

  The raider waved the bag at Andrew. ‘Hand it bleedin’ over.’

  Andrew stood in shock, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. He wordlessly handed the paper cup of coffee towards the youth.

  ‘Not the bleedin’ coffee you stupid queer, the bleedin’ money, where’s the bleedin’ money, open the fucking safe or I’ll blow yous all away, I’m not kidding yous.’

  The other youth poked his head around the door and spoke from behind his hands. ‘Hurry up for fuck’s sake, Macker. I have to go to the jacks.’

  ‘In a fucking minute.’ He turned to where Andrew stood rooted to the spot. ‘Open the bleedin’ safe, now I said!’

  ‘It’s not locked, but there’s nothing in it, we just opened the shop an hour ago.’

  ‘There has to be bleedin’ money in it. This is a big fucking gaff; yous must have loads of bleedin’ money in the safe.’ The youth was losing some of his bluster.

  ‘Honestly, it’s here under the counter, and it’s open; come and look.’ Andrew was white faced and trembling.

  The youth raced over to the counter and pushed past the terrified salesman. He pulled the empty cash box and the book of gift vouchers from the safe and threw them on the ground. He kicked the cashbox away and rounded angrily on Andrew.

  ‘There has to be bleedin’ money here somewhere, I’ll kill ya, ya fucking queer ya.’

  Andrew was shaking; he put his cup of coffee on the counter to stop it from spilling.

  ‘Really, honestly, there’s no money here. We nearly never have money in the shop; it’s all hire purchase and credit cards anyway. Please, you have to believe me.’

  Walter stood up slowly and carefully and dusted himself off. ‘He’s telling you the truth, son, there’s no money here. There was a time when we’d have a few bob in the safe maybe, not much, but a few bob. Since that Whitebox place opened across the way we have less and less.

  Tom pressed himself up from the floor. ‘It’s true; business is very bad here since that Brit place opened. Why didn’t you rob them? Waste of time coming here.’

  The raider was calming down a little; he held the bag by his side and had stopped waving it around. ‘They have a bleedin’ security man, and you can’t get near the bleedin’ place with security fucking cameras. Have yous no bleedin’ money at all?’

  ‘No, not a cent.’ Walter shook his head.

  The other youth poked his head around the porch door. ‘Come on, for fuck’s sake, Macker, I’m burstin.’

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming; they have no bleedin’ money.’

  ‘They must have fucking money.’

  ‘They fucking haven’t.’

  ‘Get something so, get playstations or something.’

  The youth pointed the bag at Tom. ‘Hey, ya big ginger fuck, I told ya to get down on the floor.’

  ‘The carpet is dirty, it’s destroying my suit. Don’t worry, I won’t move from here though.’ Tom sat on a low stack of microwaves at t
he end of the row.

  ‘Gimme a couple of playstations so and I’ll go.’

  ‘We don’t do playstations; Miltons only does white goods and tellys and computers. You’ll have to go to Whitebox for the playstations.’

  ‘What else have yous? Any phones?’

  ‘We don’t do phones, but we have kettles. Do you want a kettle?’ Andrew held up a box with a plastic kettle in it.

  The raider swiped at the box, sending it spinning to the ground. ‘What would I want a stupid fucking kettle for? Who’d buy a fuckin’ kettle, you can get them for nuttin off the social. Stick it up yer fucking hole, will ya? This is bleedin’ mad, so it is.’ He moved towards the door. ‘Stay where yous are for ten minutes, don’t call the bleedin’ coppers or I’ll come back and kill yous. I will!’

  Walter walked carefully towards the door and peered out. ‘They’re gone, no sign of them.’

  Tom came to the door and looked across the car park. ‘We’re ok, should we call the cops, or should we bother?’

  Andrew was sitting on a chair by the computer desk. ‘Oh my God, this is the worst day of my life; I thought I was going to die.’

  Walter picked carpet fibres from his suit. ‘I doubt if he had a gun, if he did he would have taken it out of the bag, but you can’t take a chance. I reckon there’s no point in calling the cops.’

  ‘But we have to, don’t we?’ Andrew looked worried.

  ‘Walter is right.’ Tom took off his jacket and brushed it off. ‘They didn’t get anything, and if the cops come they’ll close us for half a day, no commission for us and a lot of lost business for your uncle Maurice; he won’t be too pleased, Andrew. I’d say just carry on, forget about it.’

  ‘Ok so, you’re right I suppose. But I won’t be the better of this for ages.’

  ‘I wouldn’t fancy a repeat of this morning’s caper.’ Tom put the drinks on the table by the window. ‘It wasn’t too bad at the time but it’s a bit scary looking back at it.’

  Walter picked up his pint and took a long swallow. ‘I still think he didn’t have a gun, I’d say it was just a bluff.’

  ‘I’m still shaking. It took me completely by surprise. When I walked out on the floor I assumed he was a customer. I couldn’t see you guys, I thought you were in the stockroom.’ Andrew spun the ice around and around in his gin and tonic.

  Tom put his change back in his pocket and sat down at the table. I’m not going to worry about it, it’s over and nobody got hurt.’

  Walter laughed. You’re right, Tom, there was no harm done. Do you know the worst thing about it?’

  ‘Yeah, having to lie on that dirty carpet. It looks clean until you have your face down beside it.’

  ‘Not that, the fact that there was no money in the till at ten o’clock on a Friday morning; I remember a time when there would be a dozen cash sales made at that time of the day.’

  ‘That’s a fact.’ Tom hadn’t thought about it, but it was true enough. ‘Between the robbery and this wet weather and the sales for the last few weeks, I’m fed up with it all. The job isn’t the same lately.’

  Walter shrugged his shoulders sympathetically. ‘We’re all in the same boat since the Brits opened, but we have to keep going the best we can. I’m well down on last month and it’s getting worse every day.’

  They pondered their problem silently. It used to be easy to sell washing machines and fridges, but since the competition opened it was getting tough. The basic wage was no use on its own; you had to be making a lot of commission to make it worthwhile.

  Andrew gathered the empties from the table and went to the bar for another round.

  Walter looked at his departing back. ‘It’s all right for fairycakes there, he doesn’t have to worry.’

  Their colleague stood to inherit the business when his elderly uncle passed on, which wouldn’t be a minute too soon as far as Andrew was concerned. He often joked with the others that the old man was looking poorly, and that they would all be out of a job when he sold his inheritance and moved somewhere where the boys had dusky skin and the sun shone all day.

  Andrew put the fresh drinks on the table. ‘Cheer up, lads. At least dear Uncle Maurice isn’t worth any less after today.’

  They laughed at his attitude. Both of them knew that there was no love lost between their friend and his uncle. Andrew just humoured the old man to avoid being cut out of the will.

  ‘You’ll just have to invent a few new tricks for parting the customers from their money, Tom.’ Walter didn’t always approve of Tom’s methods for closing a sale.

  ‘The punter is the enemy, don’t you know that? You need all the tricks you can think of to beat them.’

  ‘Like telling them that the machine they are looking at is the same as the one you have at home.’

  Tom laughed. ‘Come on, every salesman uses that trick. If the punter thinks you bought the same model, they’re happy.’

  ‘That’s all right as a last resort for closing a tricky sale, but you do it to them all.’

  Andrew laughed along with Walter. ‘I wouldn’t mind, but you’re renting that flat, you never bought a washing machine in your life.’

  ‘Come on now, be fair. I’m not the only one that uses a few tricks to make a sale.’

  Walter joined in the ribbing, the strain of the morning’s events almost forgotten. ‘First you tell them that they are buying the most reliable machine in the shop, and then you sell them a guarantee, in case it breaks down.’

  Tom laughed. ‘Guarantees are good. For commission anyway.’

  ‘True enough, but you don’t have to push them on every old lady that buys a kettle.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘Come on, Walter, you’re missing the point. You can’t go around telling the truth if you want to sell stuff; that would never do.’

  Walter laughed and slapped him on the back.

  ‘I have to hand it to you, Tom; you’d sell shoes to the footless. You’ll go a long way if they don’t catch up with you.’

  It was cold in the canteen after the weekend, and the vending machine was acting up. Eventually Tom managed to get it to produce a cup of coffee and he joined Walter and the other three salesmen at the table. These monthly sales meetings were a nuisance, coming in an hour early on a Monday was nobody’s idea of fun, but on the other hand it was good to find out how the month had gone and what products might carry an extra commission.

  Milton sipped his tea and looked around at his staff. They talked about the attempted robbery for a while, and then he opened his file and started what Walter always called his state of the union address.

  ‘Well done to everyone for a good effort, but we are hurting badly since our English neighbours arrived.’

  They nodded in agreement; there was no doubt that the competition was having a major impact.

  ‘Walter, you topped the league again, well done.’ Walter was a shrewd old goat, a long time around and able to thrive where others would die. He had pulled in a big sale of television sets to the new hotel down the road, more because he played golf with the manager than anything to do with his selling skills. Still, a sale was a sale and you had to hand it to him.

  ‘Tom, you did very well, number two slot; good work even if you had to make a lot of small sales to do it.’

  Tom smiled, he had hoped to top Walter’s score but never mind. Next month would be different.

  ‘Andrew, good steady performance, I know it’s hard to do big money in small domestic appliances but you did very well indeed. Well done.’

  Andrew smiled and went back to his daydream.

  Milton turned to young Robert, the computer specialist who had been paraded as the great white hope when he had joined the firm a year earlier. He shook his head sadly.

  ‘What happened to you this month?’ he asked the hapless teenager. ‘Not a single computer sale. What on earth were you doing, young man? Do you think we can run a profitable computer department just by selling a few ink cartridges?’

  Ro
bert tried to stammer a few words in his defence, but it was obvious that the computer department was not doing the business. Whitebox had a sister company with a worldwide reputation for computer sales, and they had opened a few weeks earlier just two doors away. Blackbox computers was sucking up all the computer business for miles around, with their special offers and heavy television advertising. It was impossible to compete, and everybody knew it, but Robert was feeling the heat. He muttered something about having a lot of hope for the next month, but it was clear enough that he didn’t believe his own words.

  Milton didn’t pursue the matter and Robert relaxed a little, the focus off him for a while at least. They were getting to the interesting bit, the bonuses and the list of stock that needed to be cleared and that would carry extra commission.

  ‘Walter, good month for you, just over fifteen hundred commission; excellent!’

  Walter smiled, that was slightly better than he had expected.

  Tom, one thousand two hundred, you’re catching the old fellow. Well done to you both, good result in bad times.’

  He pulled out another page and perused it. ‘Walter, you should be doing better on the extended guarantees. You failed to sell them in around sixty percent of cases compared to Tom’s closing rate of seventy percent, he only dropped three in ten customers. I know that they are a bit of a nonsense from the buyer’s perspective, but you need to forget that and push them harder; they are difference between profit and loss on a lot of items.’

  Milton never discussed Andrew’s commission at the meetings, and this month it was clear that he wasn’t going to mention Robert’s zero sales any further. He shuffled the papers in the file and drew out the list of appliances that had been de-listed, replaced by new models. It was essential that these were moved quickly before the public realised that they were obsolete, and the extra commission made sure that the salesmen focussed on this old stock. He passed around this list of dead stock to all the team.

  Tom studied the list carefully. There were some good ones in it this month, brand leaders that would be easy to sell. He was already doing a mental tour of the store, taking in all the items that he would be trying to offload before Walter found customers for them.