Chapter 11
Dali allowed her body its delicious warmth. Skin sleek in the glare of the sun, she lay prone on the sand, her bikini top untied and loose beneath her breasts. Twisting her head to her right she rested a golden cheek on her forearm and watched Lamont. He was scratching the scar on his chest. The beetroot of sunburn had already stained his shoulders. Every now and then he scratched, easing the irritation. His wound had healed on his back and there was scant reminder of that bamboo intrusion.
He watched as Juno caught a wave and torpedoed the surf in a turmoil of sand and bubbles. She rose, brushed her hair from her face and ran up the beach. He watched her vaguely, as a brother sees a sister. She was curvaceous, he admitted grudgingly, but only because of her peasant stock. This epithet belonged to their mother who jokingly despaired of her own squat frame.
‘What or who are you staring at, sexy?’ asked Dali with winsome eyes.
‘Come on you two, let’s eat!’
Juno urged them to the kiosk where a queue of raucous teenagers waited, coins jingling in sweaty palms. A harried woman bent time and again into an ice cream tub. It was a wooden shack on the back of a trailer. A tree had been felled and its logs were stuck underneath to prop up the corners. Lamont took his place behind a red-haired girl. Her freckles sparkled in the sun, like fallen oak leaves on white sand. She was singing in a calloused tone:
‘I wonder who’s fucking her now
she takes on the boys like a sow
she’s there for the hunt ...’
‘I saw the fucken bitch, Jean! Don’t fucken remind me, hey!’ The girl next to red-haired Jean was staring at Dali and Juno who were standing off from the kiosk. ‘Look who’s spoilin’ the fucken view, will ya! Down for her weekly wash, the fucken Vietnamese slut!’
‘Ssssh!’ Jean had recognised Lamont and her confused eyes broke quickly from his. ‘C’mon, Shirl,’ she said with sweet tartness and tugged at her friend’s arm. ‘Let’s fuck off. The air’s fucken smelly all of a sudden.’
Lamont watched them disappear into the dunes. They were peninsular girls and were friends long ago. He trudged with ice creams and lessened verve to his sister and Dali. The three ate quietly and watched the sea.
‘Who gives a shit!’ Lamont asked the air.
