21

‘Well, if it isn’t our lovely Comfort Specialist,’ said Peter Bamfield. ‘What are you doing?’

I clambered to my feet, puffing and clutching my whacked arm so I didn’t jar it. ‘I haven’t stolen anything.’

A man whizzed around the corner, saw us and stopped. He was wearing a navy blue uniform. He rushed over and grabbed my sore arm. Very firmly.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said to Bamfield. ‘Appreciate your quick thinking.’

A small crowd had gathered at the end of the aisle. A woman came through and indicated she needed access to the pepper mills. I moved aside, the security guard still holding hard onto my arm. The woman selected her pepper mill and left, darting boggly eye glances over her shoulder.

‘Now, could you tell me why you were running, madam?’

‘I’m sorry. I just panicked when that woman shouted at me like that.’

‘I can vouch for her,’ said Bamfield. ‘Mrs Tuplin is a highly respected…service provider.’ He smirked. ‘From Rusty Bore.’

‘I see,’ said the security guard, looking confused. ‘Well, just to be on the safe side, sir, the police are on their way.’

Oh, great. One perfect day not only for me, but for Dean as well.

‘Thanks again, Mr Bamfield. I’ll deal with this now.’ The guard started walking me away.

‘Hold on,’ said Bamfield.

I turned. He held out the packet of G-strings. ‘I think you dropped these.’

I took the packet; my face hot-rod red. ‘They’re for a friend.’ Shit, that sounded lame. ‘Madison.’ God, that sounded even worse.

‘Of course. A soon-to-be satisfied friend.’ Another smirk.

The security guard dragged me away before Bamfield could unleash any more of his witticisms.

The guard, whose name according to his badge was Lincoln, drag-led me away to the back of the shop. A customer from the audience scrum shouted, ‘I recognise that beanie, officer. And she did the same thing in Ladz Menswear, just yesterday.’

Lincoln decided to shut me in the store room anyway.

‘I don’t like any of this,’ he told me. ‘I have no idea of who to believe. You could all be in some kind of gang.’

‘Do I look like a member of a bloody gang?’ I said.

‘You watch your mouth, madam. There will be no swearing in this store.’

He pushed me into the storeroom, turned the key and went off in search of the woman with the pom-pom.

In the dim light I managed to find a half-broken chair to sit on. I had a top-notch headache. My black eye throbbed. And there was a golf ball-sized swelling on my elbow. I would have been willing to shoplift anything in return for a glass of water and a couple of Panadol.

A long wait ensued, shut up in that stuffy room alongside a lot of broken electrical items. No drink of water. No phone calls. I wondered how long it would take for Dean to arrive. He’s not one to hurry without a reason. Of course, for any normal cop, the concept of a possible pickpocket-slash-shoplifter would constitute a reason. Still, I reassured myself, maybe Dean was doing something useful, like arresting Morris Temple.

An hour drifted by. I was definitely going to be late for Ernie. Another person to add to the list of people I’d be upsetting today. I’d better call him. I rootled through my bag for my phone. No reception. Great.

Finally, the door banged open and six foot one of anger-management stamped in. There weren’t a lot of hugs or pecks on Dear Mum’s cheek. And no mention of the sausage rolls he’d scoffed earlier.

I got in quick and explained that I hadn’t stolen anything, and that, no, I hadn’t yet paid for the packet of G-strings, but I had every intention of doing so just as soon as someone would let me near the checkout.

I’m not sure how much of what I said Dean actually took in. He was busy doing a whole lot of shouting and whacking his fist on the top of an old TV.

‘I think that TV’s broken, Dean, and what you’re doing there is probably not going to help fix it.’

He stopped mid-whack and drilled me with those kalamata-olive eyes. ‘What am I supposed to do with you, Mum? A bloody shoplifter now? And having an affair with your own son’s girlfriend? I don’t even know who you are anymore.’

‘Madison and I are not having an affair. That’s just a rumour going around Target. But while we’re on the topic, my sexuality is none of anyone’s business.’ I folded my arms.

But Dean shouted on, like he couldn’t even hear me.

The fastest way out of all this now was to just shut up. So I shut up. Pretty soon Dean would wear himself out with his rage, like he used to back when he was two.

It took a few more minutes, by which time there was a vein bulging in his neck, but eventually Dean started to calm down. He snatched the packet of G-strings from me and peered at it.

‘Nine ninety-nine, Mum. Look, if you need money, you only have to ask.’

He flung the packet back at me, then turned and stamped out the door.