Chapter 1

The large, neon sign of Freshfields greeted Ellie Jackson as she walked through the store’s busy car park towards the staff entrance. It was nearing eight in the morning, and already shoppers were massing in their hundreds to complete their weekly shop. 
Swiping her pass over the panel next to the door, a loud buzz announced her permission to enter. She stepped inside, quickly sweeping her long brown hair into a ponytail and tied it up with a bobble, before climbing the corrugated stairs to the staff canteen. Her shift started in five minutes, and her dazzlingly bright uniform was still in her bag — she needed to get a shuffle on. 
Bounding up the metal stairway two apiece, she stopped at the top as the door swung open and a man in a freshly-ironed suit and tie stepped out in front of her. 
“Morning, Ellie,” said Gary Wheeler, the store manager. “When you clock in can you pop into the briefing room? I need you to train up one of our new starters.”
“Sure,” Ellie said with a smile. She couldn't believe her luck: Newbie Day. She always looked forward to a staff induction. It gave her the chance to meet new people, not to mention feel valued by management for being trusted with the task.
Hurrying through the break room, she waved at her friends and colleagues who were gobbling down breakfast and slurping up coffee. Her ultimate destination was the toilets, where she used a cubicle to get changed. Walking back through the break room, she positively shined in her Freshfields uniform: yellow polo shirt and black trousers, primed and ready for another day's work. 
Downstairs, Ellie passed the management office, deftly ducking to make sure Carol Baker, her section manager, didn't spot her and make a generally negative comment about the recycling cages she'd had to leave for the night shift yesterday. Having safely avoided the dragon, she scooted along to the briefing room, where a table of newbies, already suited and booted in their uniforms, were waiting. 
After a brief knock, she entered, and all faces in the room fell upon her. Ellie spied quite the diverse bunch this time, ready to join the Freshfields family: an elderly gentleman, who must be skirting dangerously close to retirement; a purple-haired girl with a vacant expression; a dark-haired girl with a dangerous expression; a Korean man with a cute face and — as Ellie briefly imagined — rock hard abs; and a bored-looking woman, wearing a smart blouse that marked her out as management. 
“Hey, Ellie,” said Sarah Sombat, the personnel manager. “Meet our new starters.”
“Morning,” she said, showing them her widest smile.
Each of them gave Ellie a polite wave or smile in return. 
“Ellie, if you could set Charles up in the grocery section and show him the ropes it would be most appreciated.”
Sarah gestured for Charles to leave his seat and accompany Ellie. The old man did so with surprising spriteliness, joining Ellie at the door. 
“It’s nice to meet you all,” Ellie said to the group before leaving the room. She offered a polite smile to Charles and gestured with a hand in the direction of the shop floor. 
“Nice to meet you,” he responded, misinterpreting the gesture and shaking her outstretched hand.
Ellie stifled a giggle and returned the hand shake so as not to embarrass him. “And you. The shop floor is this way,” she said. “We’ll get you started by showing you the layout of the warehouse, then get you on your way with a stocking trolley.”
“Sounds terrific,” said Charles. 

The warehouse was a vast space that encompassed the entirety of the store’s rear. Rows of parallel shelving racks ran its length, packed to the rafters with everything from tinned soup to toilet rolls. Ellie guided Charles to an empty steel stocking trolley beside a rack of cereal boxes. 
“We’ll start by loading our stock onto here,” said Ellie, moving the trolley closer to Charles.
He looked down at the trolley and then to the shelves. “So we just grab some boxes and see what will fit on the shelf?” he asked.
Ellie felt a stab of panic, and held out a hand to stop him. “Oh no, you can’t just grab random old boxes. We have to use SPIMS first.”
“SPIMS?” Charles questioned, with the perplexity of a pensioner being told to book gig tickets online. 
“Store Performance Improvement Management System — we use it for pretty much everything we do here these days.”
“Even to take a break?” Charles joked. 
“Yes, actually,” Ellie answered awkwardly. “We have to log when we leave the shop floor and when we come back down — it stops people from taking liberties.”
“Oh,” said Charles as his brow furrowed. “Well, that does make some sort of sense, I suppose.”
“As our roles are mostly focused on replenishing shelves, we use a stocking scanner.” She reached over to the nearest shelf for two mobile phone-like devices and passed one to Charles. “We all get given our own unique logins. For new starters it’ll be your first initial and your last name — all one word — for both username and password. You’ll then get prompted to change your password to something unique — the last thing you need is someone logging in and messing up your score.”
“Oh?” said Charles. “Why is that?”
Ellie was momentarily taken aback by the question. “Erm, because our scores reflect our performance: a low score means we risk losing our jobs. We don’t want that, do we?”
“I suppose not,” Charles said with a shrug, and began stabbing at the screen with his forefinger. After a painfully long wait for him to input his details and change his password he announced, “There, all done.”
“Wonderful,” said Ellie with a smile. “Right, so all you need to do now is press the button that says ‘Replenish’, and then find the icon for ‘Cereals’.”
Charles navigated his way through the scanner’s menus and beamed. “Done it.”
“Okay then,” said Ellie. “Now just press the little button on the side and scan each box. SPIMS will tell you which boxes we need to take with us.”
“How clever,” said Charles, making it sound on par with the invention of the wheel. He subsequently set about loading the trolley. 
“You’re a natural,” said Ellie.
“You’re a convincing liar,” joked Charles as he continued to scan the boxes and load them onto the trolley. “So how long have you worked here, Ellie?”
“Since I was eighteen,” she replied. “Right after college. My friends all went to university, but I didn’t really see the point. They’re all in debt now and I own a two-bed in Fulford — they’re always telling me how they wish they had done the same.”
“Hindsight is a wonderful thing,” said Charles, with the air and wisdom of a man who had looked back on many times. “So you’ve been here long enough to know about the disappearances?”
Ellie’s eyes fell sullen. “It’s all everyone is talking about. I just can’t make sense of it. I knew Jackie — y’know, the woman who went missing last week. I can’t say we’re good friends or anything, but I know her well enough to say that it’s not like her to go running off or anything.”
“So she can’t be staying with family anywhere?”
Ellie shook her head. “She didn’t have any family; told me her parents died when she was eight. She was brought up in the system.”
Ellie noticed a hurt look in Charles’ eyes upon mentioning orphanhood, and decided to change the subject. “Still, I’m not one to follow the rumour train. I’m sure there’s an innocent explanation to it all.” 
Charles offered a polite smile, but ultimately seemed disappointed that the topic had ended. “Well,” he said, “it looks like all the boxes are scanned. Where to now?”
“Aisle Fifteen,” said Ellie, feeling a geek for knowing what could be found on every aisle. She often reminded herself that after ten years such knowledge could only be second nature, but voicing it still made her feel somehow obsessive. 
“I’ll lead the way,” said Charles, clearly eager to please on his first day. 
Ellie thought back to her first shift, how Carol Baker had made it her personal mission to crush the eighteen-year-old Ellie into the dirt and show her who was boss. She’d come home crying to her parents, like she had all those years before when Ben Elliot had picked on her at school. Still, she was proud of herself for not giving up, and although Carol Baker was still an insufferable cow, she resolved never to let one bully make anyone else’s life here a total misery. Today she would make sure Charles had a much better induction than hers had been. 

Next Aisle: Chapter 2