Fingerprints - Vesna McMaster

‘Fingerprints’

‘Seriously, how am I meant to get past this?’

Arms akimbo, Janice surveys an uneven stack of crates piled obstreperously along the side passage of Goods Inwards.

‘Don’t look at me. I haven’t been to enough therapy sessions for my OCD to achieve that.’ Betty’s stance unconsciously mimics Janice’s as they now both stand contemplating the chaos. Their eyes meet.

‘Sue,’ they say in unison. Betty shakes her head. ‘It’s got her fingerprints all over it. Plus look. The forklift isn’t parked in its usual place. What a mess.’

‘I told you we should have chased up those references before we hired her.’

‘You could have, just as well as me.’

‘Yeah, yeah. OK let’s get this sorted out. I’ll have a word with her tomorrow when she comes in.’

Betty retrieves the errant forklift and starts manoeuvring, ill-concealed impatience facial expression ill according with her deliberate and precise operation.

‘I’ll go sort out the mail. Be back in five.’ Janice slips out.

Back, forth, back, forth. The stacks fall into order, and a gap appears. Janice reappears.

‘Thanks, Betty. Nearly there. Oh my. What’s this?’

Something in Janice’s tone comes through even past the chug of the forklift. Betty kills the engine.

Behind the furthest crate, a large burlap bag slumps against the wall. Janice slips in the gap to investigate. ‘Clatter, clank,’ go the contents of the bag as Betty steps down and joins her.

The silence as they stare into the bag opens up in wide-eyed disbelief. Janice reaches in and braces, as she lifts the weight of a solid silver antique candelabra, complete with fresh spilled wax and a heavy scent of incense.

She holds it up between them. Betty leans down and opens the mouth of the bag. Chalices, plates, trays; and an ornate silver and gold teapot of incongruously Oriental origin. And whatever else is under that.

‘Where did you say she said she worked for?’

Janice stares at Betty.

‘Is that seriously our first priority right now?’

Another silence.

‘You know, my nephew is an antiques dealer.’

Silence.

‘That electricity bill was awfully high this month.’

The candelabra is placed carefully back in the bag. The gap is filled up.

‘After all, she can hardly ask us what happened to her bag of loot, can she?’

‘No, she can’t, Betty.’

‘She should have been neater, shouldn’t she?’

‘Yes, she should, Betty.’