by Isabella May
“You’re going to be a father. Oh-em-gee. I’ve suddenly come over all dizzy, see if there are any ginger biscuits in the freezer that you could pop in the microwave for a quick defrosting… radioactivity, I know… but needs must.”
“No, Mother! I am absolutely not going to be a father… and as for those flipping biscuits, can’t you take a little of your own advice and know that all grounding comes from within, not some outside object?”
Heather looked thoughtful, before her face shone with admiration for her son.
“What I was trying to tell you is, I’ve, we’ve – that’s Alice and me – moved into one of Aunt Sheba’s large caravans down at the campsite. Listen, I know you’ll be far from enthralled, but I had to think fast, he, my father,” River was back to his customary bracket fingers either side of his ears again, a habit so middle-aged it petrified him, but it was something akin to a tube of Pringles – once you started, you just couldn’t stop.
“Well,” he carried on with his story, “he was camped out himself… in the reception of The Guinevere, would you believe it. The receptionist had given him a tipoff. Anyway, we’re safe down there at the campsite. We have more space, more private space… each of us, that is, not more private space.”
“Good. It’s about time you two got your act together. The caravan park will throw Georgina off your scent for once and for all, much as Terry is a good friend and I probably shouldn’t be talking about his daughter like that.”
“From what I gather he’s a little more than that.”
“I’ll come clean when you do.”
“Touché,” said River, immediately despising himself for regurgitating Georgina’s favourite catchphrase. “Anyway, are you… are you telling me you’re okay about us staying at your sister’s?”
“River, darling, as you very well know, I’d hold my arms wide open to let Sheba back into my life tomorrow. It’s she who’s playing stubborn. All over a man who is quite happily married to the lovely Trudie Styler, and all when she has a husband of her own. I’m sure your Uncle Tony doesn’t know the half of it.”
***
“I’ve a very special ceremonious task to request of you, Mr J.”
Cassandra dazzled River with a smile straight out of The Rocky Horror Show as she leaned over the bar almost toppling over his straw jar, whispering like they were members of some secret society.
“Oh?” he feigned surprise.
“My cat sanctuary, it’s all been officially approved by the authorities, given the royal seal and whatnot. Will you open it? Oh, do say yes, River, please.”
“I—,” River had no doubt this was the work of the recent cocktail, especially since Cassandra’s friends at book club night had left him under no illusion as to how messy her house really was. It had sounded like the last place to be given the thumbs up for anything.
“Since the birth of this wondrous bar, I cannot even begin to tell you about all of the equally wondrous incidents that have woven their way into the fabric of my life, him for starters.” She span and pointed her index Twiglet at a boho-waistcoated guy with a banjo balanced on his lap, sat with the rest of her regular group. He couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five. “It’s no coincidence, I’m sure, never mind that ‘Magical Mañana’, you’re the true magician in all of this.”
River’s eyes were transfixed at the implication of Cassandra’s toy boy. Surely he couldn’t be genuine? The age gap had to be at least forty years. Then again, Mercedes had promised magic. If only Cassandra knew how lopsided her words were.
“That’s—”
“Will you? Well?”
“Of… of course I will. I’d be honoured.”
Well, what choice did he have? Plus it could prove good PR for the bar.
“That’s settled then. Eleven am Saturday, be there or be square… no really… do be there, or otherwise Madam over there,” she gestured at Lady Rigby-Chandler, who was taking advantage of her second Peach Bellini of the night, “will try to steal your thunder.”
“Oh, Mr Jackson,” Her Ladyship signalled to him in a Mary Poppins singsong, as if she were suddenly telepathic, “I’ll have a third please.”
Bitch… publicly road testing his rules.
“Now what is the deal there with our Dear Friend?” asked Cassandra conspiratorially. “It hasn’t escaped my attention that she seems to be part of the furniture… and as for her husband… I’ve seen John Prescott looking more lively.”
“You could say that,” River snapped. “It’s definitely not through choice.”
“Alice! Alice darling, how simply wonderful to see you,” said Lady Rigby-Chandler for the entire bar to hear, an action River hoped in vain would make her forget about the Bellini. “You’re not working here though, surely?”
He watched the painful scene from afar as Lady Rigby-Chandler rose to look Alice up and down taking in the vision of enchantress clad in crisp white shirt and black pencil skirt, her mouth twisting and contorting as if she’d just bitten into a sour lemon.
“Indeed I am, Lady Rigby-Chandler.” Alice bustled over to air kiss her. “And my, you’re looking wonderful, in fact I swear you get younger the every couple of years we do bump into each other, and always outside of the village. It must be a super place for you to escape to, here in River’s glamorous bar.”
“It’s not a patch on The Savoy, sweetheart, you must know that.”
Cow, she was certainly drinking enough of the profits.
“It’s a little piece of paradise for all of us Glastonians. And I’m happy to play a small part in its success.” Alice threw a smile over her shoulder to River and he gratefully caught it.
“That’s it, I vow to talk to your mother… get you out of this dreadful place. If only I’d known about this sooner, why I’d soon have talked her out of her childish siding with Tamara over that what’s his name? Glenn Luke Sherringham, the wooden actor you used to cavort with?”
“But if it’s so very dire, prey tell why are you drinking here?” Alice replied un-frazzled as River swallowed his temporary envy over the mention of that total jerk.
“Yes,” River echoed between gritted teeth. “Perhaps you’d care to enlighten us, my Ladyship?”
“Well, where else is there, darling? Believe me, I’d hotfoot it up to London in a jiffy if only I’d had the gumption to take driving lessons back in the heyday… word of advice, Alice, for thou art worldly-wise, well-travelled and all that. Never hitch up with a man who owns vast quantities of land in the West Country.”
“Do you know what? Not so very long ago and I might have agreed with you… but now I can’t think of anything more appealing.” She dazzled River with her smile and they both turned their backs.
“My Bellini, Jackson: you’re forgetting my Peach Bellini,” Lady Rigby-Chandler retorted and returned to her seat and her dozing husband.
River sighed, begrudgingly thankful this would lower his pulse which Alice’s statement had just rendered uncontrollable, and even began to feel sorry for Lady Rigby-Chandler for a few seconds; something was very amiss in her seemingly upper-crust life. Surely she and her husband should be inundated with appointments and invites to stately manors and creaking castles far and wide, as opposed to being holed up in – an upmarket and trendy, admittedly – cocktail bar?
Terry walked in with Heather then, taking River’s mind off the incessant beck and call of those sapphire-spangled snapping fingers. He obediently pureed her peaches anyway, a quick wave to the smiley couple as they took up the last table on the floor.
“I think we’re going to have to open the upstairs tonight,” he said excitedly to Georgina as she made for the dishwasher to fill it up with empties.
“Have you heard back from the Brunswick yet… about my certificate? It’s not fair to keep me pacing the floor like a skivvy when I should be round here with you, impressing the clients.”
“That would be customers and not yet, no,” said River, annoyed that she hadn’t taken the rather la
rge hint to ensure upstairs was shipshape and ready for business, equally surprised the Brunswick hadn’t awarded her a grade yet. “Can you put the vacuum cleaner round on the first floor for me please? The next customers in here are going to have to be seated upstairs… unless the Rigby-Chandlers make a sharp exit, or anybody else leaves in the next half hour, all of which is looking highly unlikely.”
“Why should I?” she back chatted him like an eight-year-old in the playground.
“Um, that’ll be because I asked you to… nicely. Why are we even having this conversation?”
“Why can’t Trash there do it?”
“Excuse me… are you talking to me?”
Alice’s eyes became saucers. Saucers River wanted to dive into, lapping every inch of her up. It unnerved him for a second or two. His groin panged with desire. He wasn’t sure if that came from her unusual Maid Marion act of defiance, or the many weeks he’d spent in a sexual desert. Either way, he needed to mask it quickly.
“You must be mistaken,” Georgina cut through his thoughts with the serrated blade of her tongue. “I said, after I’ve taken out the trash. The bins need emptying too, you see. It’s a good thing some of us are on the ball.”
And with that she marched off.
“River, look, I know it’s not my right to say this,” said Alice, “and it’s your bar, you employ who you choose. But how can you possibly stand for that attitude?”
“And how on Earth can I let her go now Mum’s shacked up with Terry?” he heard himself snap back unfairly, lamely, unable to hide his emotion.
“They’re hardly at wedding bells stage yet. Nip it in the bud. Not because I’m some jealous friend, as she’d have you believe, but because she’s up to something. Why can’t you see it?”
Alice picked up her tray of mixed orders and left him to his thoughts. But she had a point, more than a point. Georgina was stripping him of his dignity, a locust swooping down on a field of crops and soon there would be nothing left.
Terry came to the bar then, sensing everybody was a little overworked.
“How’s it going tonight, pal? Busy one it seems.” He sniffed at the air as if it encapsulated the presence of a crowded house. “You’ve even pulled in The Queers.” He tutted, eyes wide, and shook his head from side to side.
“We’re rushed off our feet here, Terry,” River was not about to get into an argument, but made a mental note to drop several hundred hints to Heather about the bigoted views of the man he thought was becoming the increasing tonic to his mother’s life, “but always time for regulars. What can I get you… and Mum? Let me guess—”
“Your mother will have her usual, you’re right there,” he laughed. “But I’m gonna be brave and step out of me comfort zone tonight. Now we’ve been wondering about it for ages, like… why’s th’ick there ‘Magical Manyanerr’ – is that how you pronounce it – on a page all of its very own? Little bit strong is it? Little bit special?”
Goosebumps pinged all over River’s forearms. It was all he could do to not tug at his sleeves. Terry must have noticed them too, dotting his skin with the appearance of a plucked chicken.
“Oh that,” he laughed a little too nervously. “Stupid printers, they mucked up, not sure how it happened, but well, next time I redo the menu, everything will all be squashed back together again.”
“I rather think that’s a shame, makes a drink look more intriguing when it stands out.” Terry sniffed at the air again as if considering his options.
“True, true.” River nodded, wondering how he was going to potentially dart to the skittle alley without anybody noticing on such a busy night – that was if Terry did take the plunge.
“I’m not saying I’m a convert to these drinks. God rest my father’s soul, he’d turn in his grave if he could see me now, call me a right old poof.” River cringed for the second time, hoping Terry would quickly get to the point, either settle his nerves or fire them into action. “But there is a certain finesse that I quite enjoy when it comes to a cocktail. And fair play, not just anyone can throw ‘em together. That’s why I’m so proud of our George for seeing that course through.” River flashed a strained and pearly white smile at Terry, furious with himself now for letting both Georgina and her father pin her future financial and professional life on him.
“She never finished that BTEC at college,” Terry was on a roll though, “despite all her interest in business, and the job she had waiting for her if she’d only just knuckle down. T’were the boys, you see. Always is – that and her impatience for a bit of pocket money… and those owners in the organic café in town who made her feel like they couldn’t run the show without her. But she’s come good in the end. And I can’t thank you enough, my man, for the part you’ve played in that.”
“Hey, don’t mention it, Tel,” River punched the air playfully with a fist. And although he knew the moment had no choice but to present itself soon enough, right now he didn’t have the heart to remove the golden halo Terry had placed upon his daughter’s rebellious head, nipping proceedings firmly in the bud as Alice had so sensibly suggested.
“Anyways, what will I have? Hmm…” he flicked through the pages quickly, like a child entranced by one of those books full of ‘moving illustrations’, an early attempt at a cartoon. Who did that with a menu? “A Magical one of them… or something else?” he questioned himself.
River could never have imagined such a quick succession of willing participants, but it appeared that no sooner had Cassandra made herself volunteer number one, than Terry was stepping forward to take up second place.
“Nope, can’t think of anything better. I like me Tequila – just a little mind, I like me Sherry too, and an OJ a day, well I reckon that’s what keeps the doctor away, never mind the apple.”
So that was that then: two down, only one more to go.
Chapter Twenty-Four
GEORGINA
It was now or it was never. There was no time for rationale, the devil inside her head had spoken, and she’d succumbed to his brainwashing within seconds.
“I’m sorry.” Alice, about to start the vacuuming on account of Georgina’s delay, dropped plug and cable to the floor, somewhat stunned as Georgina held out her hand to shake her love rival’s. Georgina grimaced inwardly at the emptiness of her words as Alice accepted her hand and then outstretched those stick thin, model-like arms for a full-on hug. How could she forgive so easily?
Weirdo.
“I think that we both needed one of these,” she said and Georgina nodded, a weak smile upturning her lips as their union broke apart again.
Oh just turn that friggin’ white noise on, woman, and drone this conversation out of me already – that and the short snappy warmth of the arms of another, a potential one of them, a friend.
But now she had started there was no going back. The words, etched in her mind like a tombstone would be the perfect beginning of Alice’s end.
Georgina proceeded to slump herself on a chair, head cupped in her hands as if it were a weight she could no longer support with her shoulders alone, realising she may as well go the whole hog with the dramatics. She began to sniff and snort, gradually releasing her hand to tug at her shirt sleeve where a ragged tissue poked out, so she brought it to her eyes, dabbing pathetically at the tear ducts.
“Oh, Georgina, what’s up?”
Alice was poised beside her, where she began to rub her shoulders. It felt undeniably good, yet once again she tried to ignore the warmth, the fact that in this moment, right now, she could change the course of fate by saying something, just about anything else than these treacherous words.
“I can’t say,” she sniffed. “I’m just too scared… sc…scared of what people will think, what he will do.”
“Has somebody been hurting you?”
Oh, the concern in Alice’s voice was crippling. How could she be such a bitch to her? Of all the things she had ever done, surely this was one step too far.
Pushover! The devil
inside her took over. Do you want her out of his life and yours? Blake’s besides, or not?
“I’m pregnant.”
There, she’d said it.
And actually, technically, she really could have been, for she was a day overdue – not that this was anything unusual, her cycle never having been regular as clockwork. That fact alone made her feel a little more justified, easing her into the act she had slipped on like a well-fitting cloak.
“Oh my, right I… um… I see,” Alice sat down next to her now, those rubs lessening in meaning and intensity. “It’s River’s I suppose.”
She got a childish kick out of noting Alice couldn’t bring herself to say the B word.
“Well, I definitely haven’t been with anybody else… so… yeah, the baby is River’s.”
She couldn’t resist but to give proper reference to the new life that almost certainly wasn’t within, careful as she had always been with contraceptives, because who in their right mind fancied the prospect of being lumbered with the ‘me-me-me-ness’ that was a child? Still, she let the very utterance of ‘baby’ promote her to a level above and beyond whatever it was that was taking shape between Alice and River. How could anybody compete with the status of Mother of his unborn son or daughter, carrier of his genes; his precious bundle of joy?
The atmosphere between them hung heavy and uncertain, Alice undoubtedly adding the months forward and back in her mind in an attempt to pinpoint the where and when, the changes this invisible child would bring into his life, the sacrifice she was going to have to make so that two had a clear path to become one again… and now three, heck, possibly even four.
“Have you told anybody else?”
“I can’t.”
“How many weeks do you think you are?”
“Ten or so.”
Too many for the deed not to have taken place after our apparent cooling-off period, Allie, sweetheart; oh Gee, she mocked herself silently, you are a bloody legend and a half.