Lori surveyed the contents of her suitcase which was now strewn across both the bed and the floor, she had unpacked as moodily as she'd packed, irritated at letting her emotions get the better of her so many times in recent days. Four pairs of knickers just weren't going to cut it in this heat, even if they were black she reckoned, adding locate washing machine and shop for pants to her mental to-do list.
Hidden underneath a pile of mismatched bikini bottoms and tops, all two sizes too small, Lori found the travel adapter she'd paid far too much for at Heathrow Airport and headed down to the kitchen with her laptop to do some research.
#
While she waited for the screen to come to life Lori flicked the kettle on and poked around in the cupboards. Everything in the kitchen seemed much as it did in the rest of the house, unfinished. At one end of the bench top, a jumble of handles sat waiting to be screwed on to the cabinet doors. Three different sized screwdrivers sat beside the pile. Typical, thought Lori. The only job Jack appeared to have ever completed in his life was living.
It struck her at that moment that she didn't know exactly how he'd died. To most people it would have been their first question, but not to Lori, this was the first time it'd come to mind. She figured he'd probably just followed in the footsteps of her mother. When he'd had enough, he'd had enough.
In a cupboard set aside for crockery and large cobwebs Lori cautiously retrieved a mug and poured herself a cup of tea. She ducked into the shop to grab a bag of sugar.
Beside the cash register, on a pile of paper bags reserved for the Jurassic sweets, Jenny had left a note. Emergency at the school, will catch up with you later this afternoon. Don't forget to go see your father's solicitor – Robert Matthison at 1pm to sign paperwork. Lori tore it off and stuffed it into the back pocket of her shorts. Untangling a pen tied to the bottom of the till she wrote on the clean bag underneath, I. O. ME – One bag of sugar.
Perched on a stool beside the counter Lori keyed her password into the laptop hoping someone in the street would have an unsecured wireless signal that she could tap into. Bingo! Apparently FoxyNonna lived somewhere nearby and didn't mind a bit of unprotected wireless routing.
According to Google, Lori discovered that Robert Matthison LLB, the Bob that Jenny must have been referring to last night, had his office in Green Bay, the next village along from Murfey's Beach. From the little map on their website, it looked to be about a twenty minute walk. She could do with the exercise she told herself, and besides, it wasn't like there was actually a choice, she had no other mode of transport and judging by the taxi driver's mumblings last night outside the train station, not many cabs came this far down the coast.
In the corner of the screen a little chat window popped up with a PING! It was Sara. She'd obviously seen Lori's instant message status flick to Online when she'd logged in to check her emails.
Lori hovered the mouse pointer over Sign Out.
On the one hand, she desperately wanted to ignore it, make Sara suffer, but on the other, she missed her best friend terribly. She needed to share her news, get Sara's opinion and advice on how to get rid of the shop as quickly and as painlessly as possible. She would know exactly what Lori should do.
Their friendship had been built on mutual understanding and admiration.
#
Robin James, and Catherine Sands had been admitted to the Maudsley Psychiatric Hospital on the same day. It was Lori's twenty-third birthday. She and Sara had been sat beside each other on the bolted down plastic visitors seating, signing committal papers for their respective mothers, when a stark naked patient had tried to make his break for freedom through the doors separating the waiting room from the hospital itself. Thankfully the half inch thick glass had held, and his morbidly obese body had merely splattered against the frosting. Out of nervous anxiety or perhaps as a release of years of worry the girls had burst into fits of inappropriate giggles. They'd spent the next three days locked inside Lori's apartment, laughing, drinking and eventually crying. Max had been on call for them, ferrying vodka and takeaway meals back and forth. He didn't speak apart from to tell Sara that he loved her as he handed over the deliveries. It was the first time Lori had realised true love actually existed. She hadn't cried once since then.
Until her run in with the sexy lolly thieving surfer that is.
#
Lori clicked the box and typed. I just need to know why? Sara. Then we can move on and forget the whole thing even happened.
Sara's reply came slowly.
PING! I didn't do it Birdy. It was Max.
Lori shook her head incredulously. Don't blame it on poor Max Sara! He'd never do that, and besides, YOU gave me the drink, remember?
PING! Max gave me the drinks. He texted me earlier that night to say he had something new and exciting for me to try, I thought it was something kinky for God's sake, not drugs! When he gave me the drink he just told me yours was the one with the monkey, or at least that's what I thought he said. I thought he was just being sweet to you, but I was wrong, and more than a little drunk. Your glass was meant to be mine. I had no idea what he'd done...what I had done, until I saw your reaction. I promise.
Lori stared at the screen.
PING! Birdy? Are you there? Please answer me. I tried your phone a thousand times. Did you get my messages?
PING! Can we video chat?
PING! Please Birdy.
PING! PING! PING!
Lori glanced at the time on the screen. She needed to get going if she was going the make it to the solicitor's by one o'clock.
She waited for the next PING! and then replied. Later.
#
Sweat ran down Lori's stomach as she alternately wafted her top in and out and swatted mosquitos away from her face. The twenty minute walk had been closer to forty on account of her taking the wrong turn several times. Wiping the little beads of perspiration from her top lip Lori pushed open the door of Matthison, Walker & Young and was greeted with an icy blast of air conditioning. The sudden drop in temperature made her light headed. A water bottle would have been a good idea.
"Can I help you?" The receptionist enquired, taking off her headset.
"Ah, yes, I'm here to see Bob Matthison. My name is Lori James.' She wiped her top lip again and patted down her hair which she could feel had frizzed up in the humidity. In the mirror behind the reception desk Lori caught her reflection, her face was beetroot red.
The young, sleek receptionist saw it too. "Take a seat Miss James, and I'll get you a glass of water."
What was it with receptionists? Lori wondered. Did they all come from the same plastic Barbie doll mould? She took a seat on the squishy leather sofa beside the fish tank and watched a little scuba diver blowing bubbles as it bobbed up and down. She couldn't wait for her swim this evening.
"Miss James, how lovely to meet you at last!" A tall silver haired man appeared from the corridor behind the reception counter.
Lori stood up, leaving a thin layer of thigh skin on the couch. She winced and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you too, Bob."
"Please, call me Robert," he frowned.
"Umm, ok. Robert." Lori took the glass of water the receptionist handed her and followed him into his office.
"Take a seat."
Lori sat cautiously on the edge of the chair. She guzzled down half of her water and wiped the condensation from her hands on to the backs of her now stinging thighs.
Robert continued, "Firstly, I'm very sorry for your loss. Your father was a much loved and very important part of the local community around here..."
It sounded more like he was very sorry for his loss, Lori thought cynically. Jack and his shop had probably gone broke paying Matthison, Walker & Young's fees. This place wouldn't come cheap she reckoned, looking at the floor to ceiling mahogany bookcase lining the entire circumference of the office. She'd been on enough site visits with Max to abandoned businesses to know that any furniture requiring a crane to lift it in and out through the window fetched enormous amounts of money, even at liquidation auctions.
"...and secondly, I hope that the long standing relationship your father and I had can continue between ourselves."
Ah hah! Lori smiled inwardly. "I'm afraid any relationship we have, will be short lived. As soon as you have what you need from me in terms of signatures and whatever, I'll be putting the shop up for sale."
Despite his age, Lori guessed him to be in his late fifties, Robert Matthison was a very good looking man. And oh how he knew it. He nodded slowly, stroking his closely trimmed beard.
"Well, Miss James, or can I call you Lorikeet?"
"Miss James is perfect thank you," Lori retorted.
"Ok, Miss James. That notion is very sweet, and probably quite a good one, however, there's a little problem with it. Actually, I stand corrected, quite a big problem. You see your father, Jack, really didn't want to see the store being sold to just anyone. Certainly not someone from outside the area. And he knew that you were most likely going to want to simply land in Murfey's Beach, sell off any possessions he had, and take off again without even getting to know the place. Without getting to know the people. His people."
"For crying out loud Mr Matthison! You make him sound like some sort of messiah. I can assure you though, he was as far from great as you can possibly imagine. And then some." Lori's face felt as if it would burst into flames any at any minute. Everyone in the community, as he'd put it, must have been under one hell of a delusion.
Oh! Maybe that was it. Her father had become a cult leader and the good people of Murfey's Beach and beyond were under his spell. No wait, Lori finished her glass of water and took several deep calming breaths, didn't most cult leaders make their followers kill themselves first, not the other way around?
"Listen, Lorikeet," he hissed, "Jack James was a very good man. I'm not in a position to vouch for his abilities, or lack thereof, as a father. He was my client, and a dear friend, and he asked that I try and guide you in the right direction with regards to your time here."
"Listen, Bob," Lori mimicked, "just give me the bloody papers I need to sign and I'll be out of your way. You won't need to steer me in any direction and I'll be out of the way in no time. I don't care what my father wanted, in the same way he never cared about me."
Lori stood up knocking the empty glass flying to the floor where it smashed. The receptionist rushed in and she and Bob set about picking up the pieces. Wanting to leave, Lori grabbed the file with her father's name on from the desk and opened it. At the top of the pile were three sheets of paper covered in little sticky tabs. Using a fountain pen that sat in its own velvety cushioned box Lori ran her finger over each of the tabs, signing wherever she saw her name. Just as she reached the last of the tabs the pair finished and stood up.
"Lorikeet, I..."
Lori interrupted, "Bob, pleasure doing business with you."
She turned on her heels and marched straight out of the office.
The receptionist's voice was all Lori heard as she opened the front door and stepped back out into the heat. "Wow! She took that pretty well didn't she Robert? I'd have done a lot more than smash a glass if it was me."
#
Unsurprisingly, the walk home was a lot quicker.
Jenny, already back from her emergency, had re-opened the shop. Sensing that Lori needed to be alone, she silently made her a cup of tea and went back across the driveway to number twenty-one.
A little afternoon rush of kids in school uniform, all after ice lollies and sweets which they ate under the shade of the shop verandah, kept Lori pre-occupied for a while. Their chatter and laughter, gossiping about who fancied who and which teachers were presumed to be having secret trysts in the stationary cupboard, was light relief from her world of grown up troubles.
"I heard Mrs Schroff tell Miss Jeffries that Mr Turner made her eggs ache," one of the girls, a pretty red head with freckles, spoke through a mouthful of sherbet, 'I mean, like, what does that even mean?"
Her little friends all sniggered, one of them remarking, "Mr Harrison said that Mr Turner couldn't come to careers day anymore because none of the female teachers had done any teaching when he was there."
Mr Turner must be quite something thought Lori.
#
Once the children had left she saw it as her opportunity to go for a swim.
None of her bikinis fitted. Squeezing her backside into the bottoms, Lori hid the overflowing flesh with a lightweight pair of shorts. Thankfully they were the right size, though that was only by luck. Lori never tried clothes on anymore, preferring to just purchase them and take them home. If they fitted comfortably she cut the size labels off straight away and wore them until the fabric went bare. If not, she tucked them into her bottom drawer and forgot about them.
The bikini top fitted a little better, although still mildly indecent. Her boobs had always been on the large size, even when she was much fitter, before Pete. Lori had her mother's curves. Only over the past few years she'd increased the number of them.
First checking in next door, Jenny was only too happy to keep an eye on the shop, Lori headed down to the beach.
Although the sun had begun to descend into the trees behind the village, the air was still hot and the sea tepid as Lori waded out into the waves. Memories of her childhood came flooding back as the sea swallowed her up to her chin. The same memories she'd had this morning, of her days spent in the sea with Jack. Her mother would set up their dinner on a rug in the sand, while they swam and looked for the dolphins that loved to play in the surf at dusk. The house she'd grown up in, until Robin had left and taken Lori to England, was another hour down the coast, in the large town of Fisherman's Bay.
By the time the sun had set completely Lori had had enough of floating around. Her fingers and toes were all crinkled and her face felt dry and crusted with salt spray so she made her way back up through the garden to the back of the house.
Someone was inside the shop.
"Hello?" She called out as she walked across the deck and in the back door, "Jenny, is that you?"
"No... It's, umm... Me?" said a male voice.
"Hi?" Lori stepped into the shop. Beside the counter stood a Policeman, looking far too young to be carrying a weapon.
"Hi." He smiled, taking off his police cap as she walked in. His dark eyes glistened in his handsome, almost familiar face. "You must be the bird."
"Lorikeet, yes, but please call me Lori. After all, no one wants to be named after a parrot do they?" She couldn't resist flirting, but then kicked herself immediately. He must be ten years her junior.
"Your dad told us you'd be coming, and said we had to look out for you."
What was it with her father asking strange men to take care of her?
"I don't need looking after thank you very much," she said, squeezing past him to get behind the counter. The heady smell of his leather utility belt filled her nostrils.
"No, I'm quite sure you don't," he flirted back.
"So, are you just finishing duty for the evening?" Lori brought the conversation back round to business.
"No, just starting actually. I've been on nights ever since graduating the academy six months ago. The Sergeant's a bit of a masochist. Just because he doesn't have a life and never sleeps doesn't mean I don't enjoy my time in bed if you get my drift," he winked, dragging the conversation back round to flirting again.
"Six months of late shifts seems a little unfair doesn't it?" Lori noticed his name patch. Turner. He must have been the one at the school careers day that made the teacher's eggs ache. She could see why, though felt a little uncomfortable knowing that school staff would speak that way about a Police Officer barely out of high school.
"You don't get to say no to the Sergeant," he replied.
"I'm willing to give it a try on your behalf if you like. Believe me, I have nothing to lose," Lori laughed.
"Go for your life, he'll be in in a minute, he's just trying to shake off Mrs Westerly. She's got more than a little bit of a 'thing' for him. If he's not out in ten minutes I have to call in the dog squad," he laughed too. "I'm serious."
"Talking of serious..." Lori decided there was no harm in mentioning the potential shop lifter she'd had this morning. She'd seen that surfing movie years ago where Patrick Swayze was part of a really dangerous group of surfer criminals. In such a small place like Murfey's Beach it couldn't be a good thing to have a petty thief hanging around.
Officer Turner took great interest in Lori's recount of the morning's events, writing down every detail in his little police issue notebook. Although certainly very interested, he didn't seem overly concerned, at one point, when Lori was describing what the surfer looked like she could swear he had sniggered.
"Ok, so did you want me to press charges if I can find him?" He supressed another snigger.
Lori was taken aback. 'Umm, no, I mean I basically ended up telling him he could have it, I just thought you'd want to know it'd happened. In case you had any similar reports.'
"Oh, ok, sure," he replied, barely containing his mirth now, 'I'll just have a word with him if ever he shows up anywhere else."
"Look, if you think it's a waste of police time it really doesn't..."
Someone with very heavy footsteps came storming noisily across the driveway, and up the wooden steps of the front verandah, interrupting Lori as they wrenched open the screen door.
"For fuck's sake, Junior! That woman needs locking up I'm telling you, she just tried to grab my ba..." The owner of the voice burst into the light of the shop. "Oh shit, it's you."
Lori took a step back. No way.
Turner was now laughing, almost doubled up with hilarity. "That's no way to speak to the newest member of our community Sarge, and a lady too!"
The beautiful, skin fizzing, shop lifting surfer she had just reported to the Police, was the Police. And the masochistic Sergeant of the Police at that.