by Isabella May
The stairs creaked then and River appeared, looking from one to the other of them, evidently puzzled by the scene.
“Guys, I was kind of hoping we’d be ready to rock up here. None of the customers are clearing off downstairs and I can only keep the next ones at the bar for so long with complimentary Japanese rice crackers. Any chance you could get a shifty on?”
“I’ll see to it,” said Alice. “Georgina isn’t feeling too good, isn’t that right, honey?”
“Honey?” he questioned her, as if she was completely out of her mind. “But a moment ago you two were at each other’s—”
Georgina lifted her hand from her sodden cheek then and clocked River’s mystified expression for herself.
“Since when did you become best friends? Wait, you’re crying too? Oh for bleep’s sake, of all the nights. What’s wrong with her?” He looked to Alice for an answer.
Georgina stood slowly, straightened herself up and took a deep breath.
“Does it need any more explanation?” Alice barked, back at the vacuum cleaner already and looping the extension cord between her fingers as if that might help untangle the mess. River looked seriously affronted.
This was working a treat, Georgina stifled a hysterical smile.
“Well, yes, ideally, I’m trying to run a bar here and it’s seriously busy down there, we might even fill the top half tonight the way things are carrying on, so I really need all hands on the deck.”
“And like I said, she doesn’t feel too special. Let her have the weekend off.”
Georgina could only look at the floor. Her deceit knew no limits; it was enough to send her into one of her Cruella De Ville laughter fits. And yet a tiny part of her felt sorry for Alice. Clearly she was in love with him, her heart shattering in a million pieces in front of Georgina’s eyes.
“Right… well… whatever. I’ll have to ask Mum for a hand, if she’s not too merry after two Ginger Rabbits, that is. Georgina,” he looked at her as would a boss, not a lover, all traces of their union erased. Her stomach churned, making her wonder if she really was with child, “take the weekend off, Alice is obviously clued up as to what’s wrong. Get yourself better and we’ll see you next week.”
And with that he ran back down the stairs two at a time.
“Thanks, Alice, I… I couldn’t seem to find the words.” Georgina took a couple of very tentative steps towards her, but Alice was a young fawn now, ears sharpened, senses heightened, the drawbridge of friendship well and truly up. “I guess that’s why I’ve been so moody with everyone, so snappy and unpredictable.”
“Not today you couldn’t tell him… perhaps… but you will find those words and you’ll find them very soon. You can’t keep him in the dark like this. It would be like history repeating itself.” Alice’s words were hard and stony. She switched on the vacuum cleaner and Georgina took this as her cue to leave.
She too took the stairs two by two, but only once she was clear of Alice’s line of vision, ever mindful of the fact she needed to keep up the Expectant Mother Act. She saw her moment to sneak behind the bar for her bag, and she left the building, echoes of her dad and Heather chuckling in the background at something undoubtedly highly inconsequential, echoes of River enjoying banter with a group of tourists, echoes of Alice and her threat as she continued to scrape those floors with the Dyson.
Chapter Twenty-Five
RIVER
River fixed himself a Frisky Bison, anything to take the edge off Alice’s sudden and nonplussed stance with him. What was all of that about upstairs? Georgina looked perfectly fine to him, if she was at death’s door then how come she’d taken the rubbish out? Despite being brought up solely by one, he still found the Venusians impossible to work out at times. Add to that the almost melancholic fact that his mission was nearing well and truly accomplished, and a cheeky sip at a tipple on the job was pretty much excusable.
“What’s in that then?” Lee quizzed him. “And shouldn’t you yourself be staying dry when you’re behind the bar?”
“Liquid alcohol apple pie… and normally, yes, but this is something I’m sampling as a potential newbie to the menu… and I haven’t got time to do it during the week.”
“Not convinced, about either.”
“Always good to break out of your taste buds’ comfort zone, Lee; if it wasn’t for innovation the only cocktail being served up anywhere would be the monotonous Mojito.”
“The idea of drinking pie is one thing. What I’m talking about is your stress levels; they’re visibly through the roof, mate. What’s up?”
“Just some staffing issues, that’s all. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“You know, I never thought I’d say this and don’t you dare repeat it to a soul… but I could almost see myself doing something like this in a couple of years,” Lee cupped his hand to the side of his mouth to whisper then, “something like you are.”
“What, drinking on the job, or you running a bar?”
“I meant the latter, and why in the hell not? Take it as a compliment, bud. You’ve opened up my eyes to new possibilities. I was even saying about it to Jonie the other day. This cocktail malarkey is growing on me… embarrassingly… or perhaps not embarrassingly, nothing wrong with being in touch with your feminine side nowadays, most blokes are at it.”
“See, that’s what makes me laugh.” River shook his head as if to add to the education he was about to bestow on his friend. “The cocktail, in many of its guises, and especially if not respected, if downed like a succession of wine glasses, well, it’s the strongest alcoholic drink you’ll ever encounter. The dressing it up with umbrellas and fruit thing is simply a ploy… might make it come across as all innocent, pretty and feminine, but if you don’t know what you’re doing you’ll soon figure out it’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
“Are you going to take my order at some point this evening or give me a history lecture?” snapped Lee.
“All right, keep your shirt on. So what’s it to be then?”
“Well, there’s one little attraction in your menu that’s got me totally stumped… and that’s this one… now, where is it again?” Lee flipped open the menu with such showmanship that River grabbed it off him. “Hey, why’d you go do that?”
“I know the one you mean and I haven’t got the ingredients,” River began to panic, realising what an idiot he was making of himself but more than mindful of the fact that other customers were too close for comfort. If Lee was going down Magical Mañana Street as well tonight, he’d have to remove the cocktail from the menu immediately thereafter. So the last thing he wanted was for the trail of drinkers behind him to follow in his footsteps and plump for the same thing. And wasn’t that just the way everyone behaved when they saw the puddings deposited at the neighbouring table in a restaurant? A cocktail bar, as River had more than witnessed over the years, was no different. It rendered people option-less once the seed of another’s choice had been planted.
“River? Are you alright?” Lee looked flabbergasted.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s cool. Just chill, Lee.” River caught his breath again and realised he was the only one needing to chill, as well as coming up with something sensible to say – and fast. “What I mean is,” he began to whisper now, “don’t say the drink out loud else you’ll give everyone else the same idea… and I don’t have enough ingredients to make more than one!”
“Sounds like you could use a stocktaker. Blimey. I’ve seen some right sights at the supermarket over the years, frustrates the hell out of me. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the basic model of ye olde supply versus demand though.” He shook his head pitifully.
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep your CV on file.”
“Perhaps you’d better. Right, well, I best get back to Jonie before somebody thinks they can muscle their way in with a cheesy chat-up line. Looking forward to my drink… oh and a Sea Breeze for the missus… I mean, the lady.”
“Coming right up,” River jeered t
hrough a forced smile.
He fixed up the new arrivals’ orders first: Everything from Coco Fizzes to Little Tickles, and thankfully not the remotest loiter of a fingertip mid-menu, he asked Alice to mind the bar so he could ‘replenish some stock’, and then he ran, as fast as his legs would carry him to the skittle alley, for the second time that night, creating a brand spanking new character for the Roger Hargreaves collection in the process – Mr Undercover Dodgy Barman.
Two hours later, after last orders had been taken, two sets of ten globules had safely been deposited in two glasses, and Alice had mysteriously insisted upon walking home on her own – something River was loath to let her do, and so had called his Aunt Sheba, who needed no convincing that she should ‘just happen’ to be passing by in her car, so would Alice like a lift – and River was on his second Frisky Bison. It had definitely won a place on the menu, conveniently replacing the Magical Mañana, which he was now tearing from the saddle stitched seams, along with a mountain of blank pages, relegating hope to history in the paper bin.
He sat cross-legged on his favourite couch, taking in his surroundings anew, each sip seemingly heightening his awareness of his achievement. It was the only way he could round off what had been the most perplexing day of trading since he’d officially opened the bar. If only he’d finished his degree in Psychology, then perhaps he could delve into the minds of those around him, understand what was going on. He mentally listed the people who surrounded him, each one an enigma of their own making:
Terry – he’d start off with Lover Boy because he’d royally turned River’s perception on its head. What was his problem with same sex relationships? He wouldn’t be tolerating any more of that kind of inequality in this establishment – under hushed tones or not. What was it with half the population of this supposedly free-loving town not getting with the times and embracing one and all?
Blake – and where in the hell had he disappeared? First his sister started working here; then his father took to drinking here… not to mention sucking the face off Heather, an act which was beginning to turn River’s stomach now too, in light of the evening’s revelations. Lest he forget Lee’s growing intrigue for all things spirit based, something that had to surely be akin to poking a large grizzly with a stick. And yet Blake was completely off the radar, something which made zero sense. A fact which implied something shady was about to reveal itself. How could it not? A bear with a sore head only hibernated for so long.
Georgina – she seemed to be getting the message that hadn’t yet been spoken: their unofficial entanglement was in the deep freeze of the cooling off period. And as for the period pains, she’d need to man up or get out; a thought which more than rattled his cage as its very sexist undertone was probably proof enough he was the son of one Lennie. But he couldn’t get conned into letting her take time off every four weeks, the bar was gaining in popularity now, they all needed to muck in and carry that momentum forward.
Lennie – there was another bear with a sore head whose imminent presence wouldn’t let River relax, whether indeed this one turned out to be Daddy Bear or not.
Heather – okay, finally (with the exception of the evening’s unwanted news about Terry’s belief system) she seemed to be levelling out now, the mystery of her involvement with Lennie unearthed; she’d even quit whipping up her weekly Root Ginger biscuits. River never thought he’d see the day, but the appearance of Linseed Flapjacks and Cardamom Prune Scones was looking promising.
Aunt Sheba – how much longer could this ridiculous feud with his mum go on?
And now there was Alice. Like the inventory needed to get any longer!
Before he knew it his ringtone was waiting for Lee’s voice to answer, somehow he had to get him back in the bar tonight, just for a nightcap, just for some reassurance that normality could be found in this place he was desperately trying to call home again.
***
“Okay. So there’s something you should know: the Magical Mañana is kind of different to the rest of the cocktails on the list, and that’s why it’s embedded deep in the menu.”
What was River thinking? He quickly cast his mind back to Mexico, Mercedes hadn’t exactly said he couldn’t tell anyone, in fact she hadn’t said that at all. He’d only tell Lee though, he promised himself now he’d started. That was it, line drawn.
“Only three people are ever meant to drink it,” he continued, taking a gulp of his own drink to quell his nerves. “You, my man, were one of the chosen few; in fact, not just one, but the very last of the chosen few.”
Thirty-seven minutes and sixteen seconds after his phone call, River and Lee had made themselves at home on the bar stools, River on his third Frisky Bison, and all the more open for it – they were going down a little too well. And Lee had finally been persuaded that liquid alcohol apple pie was indeed a very good thing.
“What on Earth are you chirping on about?” Lee smacked his lips after another giant suck on his straw.
“It’s a long story. A very long story and one you’ll no doubt scoff at,” River replied.
“I’ll take the compliment. Carry on.”
“I’m serious.” River scratched his head as if that might trigger his brain to locate the best words. “But if I’d told you before you drank it, the magic wouldn’t have worked. Plus for sure you’d have got all suspicious, thought I was poisoning you.”
Lee’s eyes darted from left to right as the colour drained rapidly from his face. He pushed his current glass aside and hopped off the stool, hands frozen mid-air, as if they might need to grab it on reflex to fend off what was to come.
“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, I promise. It’s all good actually, very good. But first you might want to take a seat?”
Lee eyed him suspiciously, relinquishing the invite at first. But as River recounted his adventures en-route to Tequila that day, the blood slowly returned to his lips and cheeks, until he was back on the stool and almost toppling off of it, clutching at his stomach, howling with laughter in a way that made River wonder if they’d been transported back to their teens and had just shared a super strong joint.
“I’ve heard some questionable patter from you before, Jackson, but this is just ludicrous,” he said finally.
“Well, the proof will be in the pudding, Mercedes assured me.”
River nodded his head to back up his statement, despondency written all over his face. If Lee was going to play ungrateful, indifferent, he may as well have taken his place.
“I’ll go put two pounds on the lottery now then,” Lee teased, torment flashing in his eyes.
“You probably should,” said River.
“Daft bugger, Blake was right. You clearly did take one too many pills on the road.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
ALICE
There was no undoing the damage that had been done. A fuse had been lit behind Alice, propelling her involuntarily to a land far, far away, neither home nor L.A., the city she’d left behind. She was a circus cannonball now with not a horizon in sight – let alone a horizontal net.
The shock smarted. For as she totted up the weeks in her head, it was clear their mutual affection for River had dovetailed, at precisely the time he’d assured her – hell, she’d even assured herself – that the-thing-that-was-never-a-thing-with-Georgina – was well and truly over.
She had to get away and she had to get away fast, before he suspected a thing, before her heart attempted to sweet talk her into the kind of oblivion that would physically break it in the end. How wrong she had got it coming back to Glastonbury. You couldn’t run away from your problems. Maybe in one guise, but they’d only show up again in another.
She’d continued to clean the upstairs in Georgina’s absence, continued to lavish her false smile on the customers, continued to transport Great Gatsbys and Coco Fizzes, Sea Breezes and Little Tickles, Tors In The Mist, Avalon Ambers and a solitary Magical Mañana, all the while wondering how she’d got her life so very, very wrong. M
ost people started off with the rough ride, striving for betterment, fuelled by the kind of desire that only comes from the contrast of knowing hardship like a big brother. By the standards of Alice’s upbringing she should be married to Prince bloody Harry by now. Which wasn’t far off the grand plans Mummy had had for her.
Instead she was stuffing her few and increasingly threadbare belongings into her case, hoping against hope that River wouldn’t stir next door in his bedroom, and that his Uncle Tony’s snores would drown out the trundle of her suitcase wheels as it snaked its way out of the campsite, so that Aunt Sheba wouldn’t be on her proverbial case. Three am seemed a pretty safe bet, even if – as Heather had recently informed her – there was markedly less prana in the atmosphere at said hour, hence the increased risk of a heart attack.
Some twenty minutes later and she had somehow managed to pull it off, nobody any the wiser until sunrise. The taxi greeted her at the top of the driveway and she breathed a sigh of relief to see the driver was a woman: one less thing to worry about in the dead of the night.
“Am I right in thinking you’re wanting me to take you to Bath station?” the driver quizzed her.
It was all Alice could do to nod. If she spoke, the tears would match her word for word.
“But it’s pitch black, well, more like morning really,” the driver pressed her again for her reassurance, adding one of those annoying Australian question marks which really needn’t hang in the air as decoration.
“Yes please, I’ve got an early train to catch.”
“The first of the day by my reckoning,” the driver said as she mirror-signal-manoeuvred, loop-the-looped and headed back into the town. “We’ll go the scenic route.”
Great – in other words one last glimpse of The Cocktail Bar, one last pang of the stomach as they passed by all that she was leaving behind.
They drove in silence initially until the driver asked her if she’d mind a little music.