by Isabella May
This contrast in sibling loyalty was nothing short of a shocker. Georgina wouldn’t have traded her council house upbringing ever, not if that was what money did to you. Yes, Maggie Thatcher may well have afforded her family the opportunity to buy their own place – well, until they lost it and then had to start all over again in the nineties – but the sudden addition of the word ‘mortgage’ to their vocabulary had never inferred they were above tribal. You looked out for one another, with the exception of your cheating mother; that’s just what you did.
She finally fitted the hammer drill with its bit to loosen the first couple of bricks in the wall, and everybody stood back to witness her handiwork – courtesy of any number of YouTube tutorials watched back-to-back over the past few weeks, that and the impressive power of a twenty-nine year old woman, heart set on revenge, bra getting tighter by the minute, already wearing leggings a size too big and one of those floaty tunic things to disguise her bump at home.
Next she took a lump hammer to knock the bricks out to make a hole that was big enough to climb through. But after ten minutes of sweat and toil, it was clear that even revenge wouldn’t provide enough momentum for her to go this part of the job alone, and so Blake took over, listening carefully as Georgina instructed him – breathless after her own efforts – as to how to hold and swing for maximum effect. Fifteen minutes later and Lennie had been dragged into the charade too.
“My time and my money, that’s all you said you wanted, Georgina.”
“Yeah well, you rather wormed your way out of the capital, time to roll your sleeves up and put some elbow grease in like the rest of us, Uncle Len.”
The irony being, despite his unwillingness, he was really rather good once he got going, the betrayal of two of his band members, which had encouraged the idleness and lack of response from the remaining ‘employees’, evidently fuelling him with the kind of focus and precision which could just as easily gather the components for a brand new group of rock wannabes. Until Georgina felt her own desire to blast the wall to smithereens take over anew, and a red faced, sweat covered Lennie was only too happy to oblige.
“You always were good at Craft Design Technology at school, George. Remember that doorbell you made us for the front door?” Blake was back chatting to Zara again now, although ever mindful of the dust getting into her pastry, she was keeping him at arm’s length.
“The one she rang on her fourth return from Benidorm… when she was ‘back for good’?” said Georgina, as she rubbed her dusty hands into the loose cotton garment that was surprisingly comfy actually. “Yeah, I definitely remember ripping it out with pliers after that.”
Georgina knew she’d stepped over the threshold of trading places then. At a metaphorical crossroads and now there was no going back. Not only had she taken on Blake’s venom, but her own was thickening too, with no antidote in sight, ready to spit at River and Alice. It was something straight out of a Shakespearean tragedy, all right. Brother and sister in love with one half of the same couple, a love that was unrequited. And she wasn’t born yesterday; it was pretty obvious where all this was going, even if the starry-eyed duo were dragging it out.
Which was why she’d revel in this power trip; even if she knew deep down inside that the bitch that was karma would get her eventually. It always evened out the odds, even to those playing Angry Entitled Stepmother, those whose cause went above ethics to snatch at the revenge that felt justified.
***
Strangely, River hadn’t been down to the skittle alley in weeks. That’s why Georgina was confident that they’d pull this off unscathed, undetected. It was quite the weirdest thing when she thought about it: just what had stopped his visits?
This past string of weeks had been nothing short of a nightmare, especially when she considered her changing shape – and the Amazon delivery guy’s crap timing when it came to signing for the parcels she thought it prudent to order in already to accommodate it. But she’d turned up to work like a horse with its blinkers on anyway, honing and perfecting those actor skills of civility; to River, to Alice, to the customers. She was punctual, efficient, in short the model employee.
There had been zero promotion to mixologist behind the bar, and she couldn’t deny that this fact alone hadn’t peeved her completely, only adding to her desire to settle the score. In fact, that lanky idiot, Lee, had seemingly been trying his hand in that department. Wasn’t it enough for him to be promoted down at the supermarket? Now here he was swiping her job title too. Okay, admittedly, this bizarre twist of events only seemed to take place once a week, River teaching him to build and construct, refine and perfect simple concoctions. But still, she was the only one in that bar who’d received any official training and it should be her stood behind it. Her looks alone would have the cash till ringing with more vigour than the bells at St John’s Church up the road. Besides, how long did a certificate take to process?
But she didn’t dare ask him, and anyway, her mind was elsewhere most days. There had been much to learn; a team to manage, tools to buy, and, just like an athlete will play a movie reel over and over in their head until they know the event like the back of their hand, Georgina had become a bit of an expert at doing the same. A fact which made her positively buzz. Ha, she was basking in a radiance far greater than even pregnancy. She’d only gone and done it, conducted a team of blithering idiots to tunnel a hole through a very thick wall with admirable precision. Did it really matter that this had taken a little over a day, that they hadn’t quite hit the jackpot on October 30th?
No, not at all, in fact it was better this way. She’d been too kind from the outset. River Jackson deserved nothing less than to have his precious bottle taken from him on the Dia de los Muertos, the Mexican Day of the Dead.
Once they’d taken stock of their achievement, they wasted no time at all in breaking into the cupboard. It couldn’t have been simpler. Blake came into his own then, he’d learned to pick locks in his early twenties, supplementing his part-time hours at the supermarket with a little petty cash from minor car theft – well, he only took cash and cards… no actual vehicles were harmed in the process. And of course, River being River, he was hardly going to go in for the most technologically advanced of security systems.
“Stand back, this is my moment,” said Georgina. She felt around the door frame for the cupboard light switch once Blake had put her kirby hair grips to good use and bust open the lock.
The others did as they were told, but despite her shifting and shuffling of paint and tools, rummaging in cardboard boxes and scavenging under the shelves, she could find nothing to fit the bill of a mysterious bottled elixir.
“Noooo!” she screamed, bringing her hands to her face and then falling into a heap on the floor. “It was here, I know it was here, the numpty’s moved it… there’s no other explanation… all this work… for nothing… for nothing!”
“I hate to point out the obvious, Georgina,” said Lennie, “but um, you kind of missed checking under those chequered blankets there.”
Georgina was Charlie Bucket.
This was her last shot at the golden ticket, the visit to the chocolate factory, the wrongs being put to rights, justice, and all things being fair in love as well as war. She peeped through the cracks of her trembling fingers, irked by the disloyalty of her emotions, and sure enough, there sat a cosy pile of tartan blankets on a shelf. My they looked guilty. How had she missed them? Was she colourblind or what?
Blake helped her to her feet and for once she didn’t shrug off another’s assistance in turn for her own independence, and besides, she was expecting now, she had to get used to this. The cupboard fell silent, and another kind of expectation shrouded the air, as she inched herself forward, slowly, hardly daring to believe her luck could truly be in, after all. She slid her hand between two of the heavy weaves, felt to the left, felt to the right and then wedged her arm in further, and there it was, the beautiful, quite unmistakable shape of a bottle.
“Qu
ick, guys, help me separate the blankets. I think I’ve got her!”
Lennie and Blake shuffled forward, one holding the top blanket up, the other pulling the bottom blanket down, and Georgina carefully slid a bottle full of opaque liquid out of its snug hiding place, holding it gently aloft to the light bulb as if that might give them all a clue as to its contents. But there was no label, and there were no distinguishing features. It was simply a bottle containing fluid that was so clear you could literally hold the original Spanish handwritten message the other side of it, and read every word it had to say.
“Now what?” said Blake.
“Back to The Guinevere for Part Two, of course,” said Lennie, cramming the blankets back onto the shelf.
“Can Zara come too?”
Georgina looked at Lennie to gauge his response. “How much have you told her?” he said.
“I’ve not quite gone into the rest of the details.”
“No is your answer then, Blake. You’ve gotta pace yourself, lad, with the ladies; in any case, never a good idea to chase.”
But then Georgina smiled, clutching the bottle to her wonderfully full breast.
“Oh, I think we can make an exception… just this once. Tamara couldn’t get down for the occasion and it would be rather nice to even things out with another female.”
Literal translation: at last, after all these months, hell, after all these years, he’s taking an interest in another woman, somebody other than Alice! It was like she’d always convinced herself; had Alice stayed around, had River not lured her off to stardom and bright lights, she’d have become almost mundane to him, a teenage crush fading into local obscurity with an equally low-profile hubby, round mumsy hips, a sensible beige Nissan Qashqai and a golden retriever.
And then the novelty of Georgina’s realisation wore off, for it quickly became apparent that she was now the sole holder of the grudge.
Chapter Thirty-Four
RIVER
River and Alice flew over to surprise the travel group in Prague, mainly because River had no intention of tempting fate by opening the bar on carnival night.
“But it’s the perfect time to be trading,” Alice had said when he’d first run the idea of the much needed mini-break past her. “We’d easily fill up the top floor with customers at long last, besides, Lee could probably get the time off to help us cope with the extra demand now he’s learned the Martini and Piña Colada basics with you for that bar he’s had installed. Jonie was telling me all about it – where is he getting all this money from by the way? First he’s funding the drinks and nibbles at the cat sanctuary’s opening, even the Rigby-Chandlers were put out about that… funny as it was, then he’s whisking Jonie off on a cruise around the Med; he’s updated the car, they’ve got a wedding to pay for, I’m guessing a honeymoon too—”
“Some people are just better at saving than others, I guess.”
River had blatantly ignored her questioning over his decision not to open up that Saturday, equally keen not to blow Lee’s cover. He’d only just told Jonie about his win during said boating around the Mediterranean, was keen to keep his secret closely guarded for as long as he could to the outside world.
Still, what was notable was the way Alice was changing. Not so long ago in the band and she’d have felt entitled to all of life’s little trappings, and whilst her prying into Lee’s finances might have come across as nosey to an outsider, it was as sure a sign as any of her descent from noblesse to ordinariness. Not that she could ever be ordinary if she tried. But it boded well for the kind of grounded life he was keen to live, preferably always with her by his side.
And in a funny kind of way it felt terrible not to be sharing Lee’s Lotto windfall with Alice. Despite that incredible evening in the caravan weeks ago, they’d sat down at the kitchen table as two responsible adults the very next morning, agreeing to take things slowly by officially dating – regardless of the inescapable fact they were already cohabiting – with all the movies and dinners and takeaways and beachy Weston-Super-Mare style strolls that entailed; sex, for the moment, frustratingly on hold. So far, so good; they’d stuck to Alice’s principles. But their relationship felt all the more authentic for it, he had to admit it.
“But I haven’t seen a live carnival here for so many years,” Alice had continued that day in the bar when he’d sprung the idea of a zip trip to Prague to surprise everyone upon her, “imagine how cool it would be to watch it out the top window… and to be able to drop coins for charity into those long pole collection thingys that the people in fancy dress carry up and down the High Street.”
“It’s a recipe for disaster, a Jägermeister bomb waiting to explode.”
River shook his head, genuinely surprised at the way she’d glossed over her childhood memories of the really quite terrifying faces of some of the town folk dressed as clowns – and other creations he couldn’t always put a name to – but also genuinely reluctant to upset her. He knew all too well the truth behind his reasoning. Plus the fact, Lee wouldn’t be able to get the time off just like that. The supermarket would be heaving. It would be all systems go in every retail outlet within a ten mile radius of Glastonbury’s epicentre: this was the second prime weekend in the year for shoplifting, the festival aside.
He couldn’t help but smile though at the journey his friendship with Lee had taken. It was the most curious of things. Just at the beginning of this year they were sworn enemies, well, at least sworn token enemies, it was clear with whom the real hatred lay, and now they’d become such good friends that not only had Lee officially asked River to be Best Man at his nuptials which were just around the corner, River had also approached Lee with a proposition of his own. But that was something he wasn’t quite ready to tell Alice about, not just yet, anyway. Amazingly, neither she nor Georgina had questioned his recent disappearance on ‘business’ last Wednesday and Thursday.
It certainly felt like life really was falling into place, those unaccounted jigsaw pieces fitting into their rightful abode. He no longer had to sweat it out worrying over the bottle, secure as it would be, quite literally under wraps – at least until the call he was waiting for came in, and depending of course upon that call’s revelation. Until then, there it would stay, beneath the cosy tartan. Georgina had calmed down of late too, and whilst River still hadn’t managed to find a reason to eject her from the bar and truly wondered what he’d ever seen in her, at least he had regained enough trust to let her manage it while they were away in Prague – with the exception of its definite closure on carnival Saturday.
She’d seemed genuinely thrilled at the prospect when he’d put it forward. He’d hired a mixologist from Newquay for three nights and everything, putting him up at The Guinevere and paying him well for his time. Lee was going to step in as well, at least to partner up with Georgina on the service front, but only for the three nights which fell either side of the actual carnival – a feast for the senses in every sense of the word, taking place as it did every year at the end of November. All in all, he was confident he’d left things in very safe hands.
“But we’re off to Prague… as tourists this time! It’s gonna be so much more fun than watching a bunch of tractors and sweat-drenched X-Factor hopefuls singing and dancing on neon light bulb studded floats. We can do that any year, but there will only ever be one inaugural travel group visit to the Prague Christmas market,” he’d reminded her.
“True,” she’d said. “I am looking forward to it, I promise, I can practically sniff the mulled wine in the air, and I’m especially curious as to how Terry is going to get on with all that driving.”
They both laughed at that.
The travel group had decided, during one of its many get-togethers in The Cocktail Bar, to hire a mini bus and drive all the way to the Czech Republic’s capital, that way they’d have more room for their goodies and could fit in more countries en-route, ticking the boxes on all of their club requirements. Nobody had been more relieved than Terry, as he
’d never set foot on a plane.
***
“Are you absolutely sure this is the same boat hotel they’re staying in?”
Alice quizzed River as the silent and melancholic Czech taxi driver pulled over to the quay and pointed at the fare on his screen, a couple of weeks later. It made a refreshing change from the incessant dialogue and munching they’d become all too acquainted with courtesy of one Hayley, who’d more than become their personal chauffeur since the summer, taking them here, there and everywhere at discount rates in return for guaranteed pole position as chief taxi driver for The Cocktail Bar – even if she too would be a recipient of their Cilla Black style shenanigans later.
Fare paid, soon they found themselves inside the boat, heading up the short queue for check in, where River also found himself the recipient of a surprise of his own: resorting to having to use his C list past to help secure what would normally be top secret information.
“But I really shouldn’t be revealing the dining plans of fellow guests, Sir,” said the male receptionist, whose name badge with its Dutch flag told them his name was Piet.
“Would you do it for a signed CD then? A signed Avalonia CD?”
“I haven’t a clue who Avalonia are, and no, it’s against company rules to disclose this kind of information.” He threw in a string of tuts to make that extra clear.