***
Lauren may have thought she'd given Tory an ambitious spot by choosing a supermarket but Tory was already confident she'd walk the test.
Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays were out — they were days when single people were looking for sex in traditional social environments tailored to the weekend crowds. Thursday was a risky choice — serious clubbers considered it the early start to the weekend. Wednesday was bingo — she didn't want to let her gran down, nor did she want to miss out on sex with her toy-boy bingo caller. Tory was only left with Monday and Tuesday as her sex shopping days.
She crossed out Monday as a potential opportunity. Hard-core social animals would let their weekend antics spillover into Monday night. Thus people shopping on a Monday were more likely to be exhausted from the weekend to even consider sex. It had to be a Tuesday. Tory figured no one ever did anything on a Tuesday, making people less inclined to turn down a sexual invitation. Boredom alone would drive them to accept the brazen Australian's offer.
She removed the baby seat from her tiny red Volkswagen. It may not be cool to have four generations of single women living under the same roof, but it had its perks.
'Grandma, you happy to look after Lucy while I go to the shops.'
The tone suggested an order; not a request.
'How long will you be out for?' asked her Grandmother suspiciously.
Tory checked her watch. It was 9.00pm.
'Tomorrow morning.'
She caught her Grandmother's eyebrows rising.
'What on earth is going to take you twelve hours to shop for?'
'The product's not easy to locate,' said Tory honestly.
'Don't be such a stupid girl. The super-size supermarket on Lee High Road sells everything; you'll be fine there — it won't take long. I'll babysit my little princess until you're back.'
'Thanks Gran, you're the best,' said Tory kissing her cheek affectionately.
The outfit Tory selected required a degree of consideration. It couldn't be over the top glamorous or she'd look like a high-class hooker. Dressing down would have her appear as a dowdy, overweight, uneducated, young single mum.
She slipped into skin tight black jeans and an oversized men's long white dress shirt. In her leather boots, Tory's reflection in the mirror screamed single, successful and sexy.
Parking her car in a bay that was a substantial walk from the front entrance, she grabbed a trolley to set to work. Operation 'Supermarket Sex' didn't get off to a thrilling start though.
Tory had timed her arrival perfectly. By 9pm the supermarket was free from families and regular shoppers. She'd hoped it'd be full of desperate lonely single people buying microwave meals for one, but grimaced as she concluded that the majority of patrons were youthful exuberant small groups of flat-sharing friends shopping for inexpensive snacks and an abundance of alcohol.
Tory lent on her trolley, wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles. She remembered reading a dating article claiming the products in a trolley spoke volumes about an individual. Faking a healthy, wholesome body conscious façade she lurked round the fresh fruit and vegetable section.
After ninety minutes of examining the ripeness of avocados and perusing the variety of pre-prepared salads, she realised her permanently empty trolley conveyed the presence of a homeless person hoping to find warmth and shelter in the supermarket before the impending ejection to sleep outdoors.
To ease the humiliation, seeing the supermarket's tiny café was shutting she went to get a cup of coffee for a break. After the café closed there'd be no seats left and her high heels were already taking their toll on her heels. Pouting, she sipped her rancid coffee that had been left for hours stewing on a hot plate. It tasted like bracken.
'Not quite Starbucks is it?' aired a voice behind her.
She swung round in her plastic chair. He was dressed in a suit, not tailored but not cheap or mass produced. He had a middle-class aura. Squeezed in the table behind her, he appeared tall and slim. Friendliness was not commonplace in London, leading Tory to perceive his conversational pleasantry as a good sign. In her fifteen years in London, Tory had learnt no Englishman would initiate a conversation with a woman he found unattractive.
Game on.
The best part of originating from 'Down Under' was that Australians were accepted as being unapologetically socially inept, forward, outright and outspoken.
'Mind if I join you,' she asked, sitting opposite him not needing an answer.
He shook his head.
'You're Australian right?'
'How'd you guess?'
'Your accent. Your attitude. I went there in my gap year but that was way too many years ago.'
'Let me guess,' said Tory putting her hands behind her head to raise her cleavage that was bursting at the buttons of her shirt. 'Bondi Beach. You spent a lot of time in New South Wales, then headed south to Victoria to take in the art and culture of Melbourne. You really wanted to travel north to see the Gold Coast, Great Barrier Reef, maybe even check out the rainforests in Cairns but you never quite made it.'
'You're a Queenslander,' he guessed.
'I am. They call it the sunshine state. Actually at one time it was referred to as the Banana State which isn't something to boast about.'
'I missed the best part of Australia?'
'I'm biased but of course you did! If you want to see the outback, if you want to see sandy beaches and blue water, if you want the barrier reef and real Australian flavour you can't beat Queensland. It is beautiful. It's civilised but not as polished or commercial as New South Wales and Victoria. It's got more character. It's how foreigners imagine the country to be.'
'Perhaps you'll take me back one day,' he asked cheekily.
Tory's hand laced through the fingers of his left hand.
'I think not,' she said amiably, twisting the ring on the stranger's wedding ring finger.
'Force of habit. You've nothing to be concerned about. If I had a wife, do you really think I'd be shopping this late?'
'Perhaps not.'
Tory knew he was married. His trolley was full to the brim as if he was stocking up for an imminent natural catastrophe. She knew he was a liar, but this particular evening had nothing to do with morals and ethics. It was to do with proving a point.
She swallowed the coffee down in a gulp.
'I better make a move,' she said lightly.
'Aren't you buying anything?' he enquired when he saw she was without a trolley or shopping bag.
'No I merely popped in for a coffee,' Tory replied. 'I've run out at home. I've never been one to do a big weekly shop.'
'Wouldn't it have been more cost efficient to buy a jar of instant coffee than pay for a minuscule cup of cold stale coffee.'
She shrugged her shoulders.
'Perhaps something or someone distracted me and my shopping list dropped significantly down on my list of priorities.'
They ambled out together. Tory took her phone out, snapping a picture of the signpost of the supermarket. Her escort was flummoxed.
'Sorry, part of an experiment I'm doing,' she said vaguely.
'Where's your car?'
'It's parked in the furtherest bay. I can barely make it out where it is. I was in a rush when I arrived.'
'I'll walk you to your car,' he offered formally.
The time was upon her.
