18. No. 18 Swim in the sea #2
She giggles and I set her on her feet before she takes off against the current, swimming away from me and I cannot help but watch her splashing happily, feeling her joy, and wanting so much more of it.
We change on the beach when we’re done, covering ourselves with towels to protect our modesty until we’re both back in dry clothes and walking to my truck.
The small beach is at the end of the village, a smattering of small local shops popular with tourists and day trippers during the summer months.
There’s an ice cream shop and a pasty shop that are both busy, but once we’ve dropped our stuff back in my truck, I take Bea to the little gift shop.
Mrs Pike runs the shop, a kind of rude and scatty woman in her seventies who wears brightly coloured glasses frames with no lenses in them. She looks up from her newspaper as I pull Bea into the shop.
“August,” she greets luke-warmly. “How are you, pet?” Mrs Pike moved to Port Doone from Newcastle twenty odd years ago and still holds her Geordie accent.
“I’m good, how are you?” I say politely.
“Constipated,” she says without a trace of humour, sniffing loudly and looking back at her paper.
Bea makes a surprised sound behind me, and I try not to laugh. Mrs Pike never did have a filter and with age, her mouth does tend to run away with her thoughts.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell her because, honestly, what the fuck else are you meant to say to that? “I wanted to bring Bea by to check out the book section.”
Mrs Pike looks up, craning her neck to look around me until Bea steps out and gives a small wave. “Hi.”
“Well,” Mrs Pike says, giving Bea and appraising once over. “It’s about time you had a new girl. Are you new to the village?” she asks Bea.
“Uh, yeah. I bought the old convenience store, it’s now a café.”
Mrs Pike huffs, not all that impressed. “I don’t like coffee.”
“Oh, okay. I do other drinks,” Bea tries, politely, but Mrs Pike just screws her face up.
She points to a section of shelving near the counter where books are displayed, and I bring Bea over.
The shop is white everywhere with brightly coloured trinkets and décor for sale.
It’s busy and pretty and always good for Mother’s Day gifts.
Bea gasps in delight when she sees the selection of cloth and leather-bound books for sale. Pulling them from the shelves to peer into the pages and caress the spines lovingly. “These are beautiful.”
“I thought you’d like them,” I say, coming to stand behind her and resting my hands on her hips.
I feel tingles when she leans back into me, still fawning over the books on display and piling a few on the side, it takes me a moment to realise she’s planning on buying.
I smile with satisfaction and bend to kiss her cheek, acutely away of scrutinising eyes on us.
Bea chooses four books and takes them to the counter.
Mrs Pike looks them over and then looks at Bea before making a grunting sound that could either be pleased or annoyed, it’s never easy to tell.
She curses when she realises she doesn’t have any bags and shuffles off to the back to find some.
The moment she’s gone, Bea squeaks quietly and throws her hand up so the back of it hits me square in the chest.
“August,” she hisses.
“What?” I ask wondering what’s wrong, looking around for some kind of disaster. When I look back at her face, I see her eyes trained ahead on something behind the counter and I follow her gaze.
My head tilts left and then it tilts right.
I squint my eyes and lean back like that might change what I’m seeing because there is no way what my brain is registering is actually in front of me in Mrs Pike’s prim little shop.
When the old woman comes back, Bea points to the item on the shelf behind her and clears her throat, which I assume is to keep her voice steady and casual.
“We were just admiring the…um, cushion?” She points to the vivid pink velvet.
Mrs Pike turns to see what’s captivated our interest and then comes back to us with a smile. “Lovely, isn’t it? Orchids have always been my favourite flower.”
“Hmm,” Bea hums, nodding in agreement and biting the inside of her cheek.
That is not an orchid. I’ve never seen an orchid with a perfectly round nub like that.
The cushion is mostly flat, but with several frilly layers sewn in a pointed oval shape in varying shades of pink, the outer most section a decidedly pale flesh colour.
The nub is smooth and rounded, sitting near the top and protruding from the frills. I repeat, this is not an orchid.
“Yes,” Bea says again. “I enjoy a good orchid too. Um, I think I’ll take that please.”
My fist comes up to cover my mouth, and I disguise my surprised laugh with a cough.
Mrs Pike seems very happy with the sale, reaching down to pluck the non-orchid from the shelf and putting it in the bag with the books.
“You know, no one has been interested in them, I was sure they’d go like hot cakes,” she says with a shake of her head.
“At least someone around here has taste.”
“I’m glad we agree,” Bea beams at her as she taps her card on the machine to pay.
Mrs Pike is very enthusiastic when she says goodbye, promising to visit the café even though she says she’ll probably only drink water. When we get outside, Bea takes the plushie from the bag.
“Can you believe it?” she squeals, genuinely very excited. “We found Pedro a girlfriend.”
I snort and sling my arm over her shoulders. “So, who’s this going to be?”
She thinks on it for a moment. “Velma.”
“Velma Vagina,” I say. “It has a nice ring to it.”
“Excuse me,” Bea says. “It’s Velma Vulva, know your anatomy.”
I put my hand to my chest. “I apologise, allow me to make it up to you by getting better acquainted with your anatomy.”
She giggles. “Sure, but I’m making you dinner first.”
“If you insist.” I sigh like it’s the greatest hardship.