The Seaside Cocktail Campervan

by Caroline Roberts

  There was no ‘please’ from either of them.

  ‘Sorry lads, I’m now down to either margherita or chicken with peppers,’ Lucy stepped up to explain, having just used up the last of the ham.

  ‘You’re kidding me. What kind of a catering joint are you?’

  ‘It’s late,’ Lucy kept her cool. ‘You should have ordered earlier when we had all the other options available, including your pepperoni and ham and mushroom.’ Instead of leching over the staff, she thought to herself.

  Hearing raised voices, Jack looked up, on alert, across the way.

  ‘Well, that’s no bloody good …’ Rugby Shirt swayed a bit and then, leering at Lucy across the counter top, brushed a sweaty hand over her forearm, tightening his grip as he staggered a little.

  ‘Whoa … that’s enough,’ Lucy’s voice was firm, yet calm. She didn’t want to cause a scene here, but if he gripped any harder, she was afraid he might end up bruising her.

  Chapter 6

  Jack had seen enough. Those blokes were so out of line – it was the same idiots he’d seen mucking about on the dancefloor. Okay, so he and Pizza Girl hadn’t exactly hit it off so far, but no-one should have to put up with that kind of loutish behaviour. He couldn’t help but feel protective of her all of a sudden. Something flipped inside him. He dashed out from his campervan and marched over, shouting, ‘That’s enough lads. Step back. Leave the woman alone.’

  The big one in the rugby shirt – the one who looked like a bull – didn’t budge. He was about twice the width of Jack and a good few inches taller; quite some size indeed, as Jack himself was fairly tall at just over six foot.

  ‘We’re only after a couple of pizzas,’ one of the group answered gruffly.

  ‘And a pizza the action,’ Rugby Shirt added, staring at Lucy lecherously as he gave an arrogant chuckle.

  ‘I said that’s enough,’ Jack’s tone was firm.

  ‘It’s alright, Jack. I can handle this,’ Lucy interrupted.

  The air crackled with tension.

  Sometimes it was best not to inflame a situation, Lucy knew that. She didn’t want a row to upset the party that had been going so well. The lads were just a bit tipsy. They’d wander off soon enough, fill themselves with beer and pizza – if they gave her a chance to cook it – and no doubt would be scarpering off somewhere else within the next half-hour or so.

  ‘Move away right now and leave the lady alone,’ Jack warned.

  Rugby Shirt didn’t budge position, though he had let go of Lucy’s arm.

  His mates were laughing.

  Jack stood his ground. He was boiling inside. How dare they spoil what had been such a great night? How dare they intimidate Lucy?

  And then the punch flew.

  Not Jack’s, though his arm was twitching.

  Bosh, the blow landed right on his brow-bone. Jack felt the crunch. It made him feel sick as he staggered back a step or two.

  Lucy gasped.

  Tamsin instinctively took a step back, then called out angrily, ‘Hey you, dickhead, stop!’

  Lucy leapt down out of the horsebox, ready to intervene if need be.

  Jack’s own fist was balled. He nearly, nearly, punched back – but he was working, he reminded himself, he had his business and its reputation to keep. The last thing he needed was to be found fighting with the guests. But the bloody tree trunk of a twat was standing opposite him, now shaking his hopefully sore hand. Jack hoped the ignorant tosspot had broken a few bones in there, at least. Time stood still for a moment, the two men breathing heavily and staring each other down. Then, Jack had to let him walk away.

  ‘Alright, sod off you lot, you’re not worth it! And this guy,’ he snarled, pointing to Rugby Shirt lad, ‘get him home. Now.’

  Jack stood there breathing heavily, his nose throbbing, his fist still itching, and him undecided about whether his pride had been badly wounded or saved.

  ‘Gosh, are you alright?’

  Lucy took a step forward, her face creased with concern, to find Jack stumbling a little. She had heard the thwack as that idiot’s knuckles had hit the barman’s brow-bone. Ooh, there was a split now showing, pooling with blood, above the lad’s left eye.

  ‘Here, sit down.’

  There was a table and two chairs set out by her pizza stand, and she ushered Jack onto a seat. A small crowd had gathered to see the action.

  ‘Okay folks,’ Lucy called out, ‘the show’s over, you can get back to your partying again. Help yourself to pizza, but you might just have to wait a little while for a cocktail. I think the bar guy needs a short break.’

  Lucy hated the way the one-way fight had suddenly become a spectator sport. She abhorred any kind of violence or aggression. She also hoped the Anniversary Couple wouldn’t get alerted to the trouble. The guests thankfully began to disperse, amidst a murmur of chatter.

  ‘Hold fire,’ she turned to Jack. ‘Just stay right there, I’ve a First Aid kit in the truck.’

  She returned a minute later, kneeling beside Jack as she opened up her box of bandages, plasters and more. She found some antiseptic wipes, and dabbed at the wound.

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Sorry, best to clean it up first.’ It looked sore. ‘Hah, who’d have thought that running out of ham and mushrooms could lead to a black eye,’ she said with a small laugh, trying to take the guy’s mind off it.

  ‘Huh, glad you can see the funny side,’ Jack remarked, wincing as he quirked his painful eyebrow. ‘The bloody tosspot,’ he continued, still worked up about the drunken idiot.

  ‘Yeah, he was a bit of a dickhead. But I am quite capable of looking after myself, you know,’ she added snippily. ‘I don’t need saving, I’d have handled it fine … probably better than you did, in fact.’ Her tone was sharp, but then she gave him a wry smile.

  ‘Yeah, well …’ Jack sighed.

  Jeez, the Ice Queen wasn’t even grateful for his valiant efforts! And she could be a bit bloody lighter with her touch. She was whacking on some kind of dressing now.

  ‘Can you keep still a moment?’ her tone was impatient, and she was shaking her head at him.

  Jack suddenly realised just how close Lucy was. And, damn, she did smell rather good, an intoxicating mix of fresh-baked pizza and perfume. Perhaps it was just the blow to his head making her seem alluring.

  ‘Thanks, I’ll be fine now. Cheers, Lucy.’ He went to stand up, still feeling slightly giddy. At least he was bandaged up and wouldn’t be dripping blood into the cocktails. He brushed himself down, thanked Lucy once more, and headed back – still feeling slightly wounded – over to his campervan bar, where a few partygoers were loitering, ready for another drink.

  ‘Bloody Mary anyone?’ he blurted out comically.

  The group waiting at his bar couldn’t help but laugh.

  Across the way, the pizza oven was cooling down whilst Lucy and Tamsin cleared the decks. Lucy’s feet, even in trainers, were throbbing. It was her fifth pizza gig, and probably the hardest so far, she hadn’t quite realised what the effects of standing on your feet for five hours solid would be. She was glad she’d left Daisy with her mum this evening. It had been a long and rather dramatic night.

  She glanced over at Jack the cocktail guy, still bemused as to why he had stepped in all gung-ho like that. At least he seemed to be okay; he was working away again, serving some of the dwindling guests with a couple of beers. They caught each other’s eye, just for a second, and she couldn’t help but give a brief smile – daft idiot that he was, bet his head would be sore in the morning.

  ‘Are we nearly done here?’ Tamsin asked, sounding shattered and slightly grumpy.

  ‘Yeah, no worries. I’ll get you back now. You did a good job tonight, thank you. Even amidst all the drama.’

  ‘Those stupid lads …’

  Lucy wasn’t quite sure if her assistant was including Jack in that too. ‘Yeah, what a bunch of schoolboys, eh?’ she added.

  ‘Arseholes,’ Tamsin cut to the chase.

>   Lucy had to give a wry grin. ‘Right, let’s get out of here and get home.’

  Jack was still riled up about those bloody idiots as he was driving home, grumbling out loud to Ruby. It was very rare for something like that to happen; since he’d owned the Cocktail Campervan, he could count on one hand any drunken issues they’d encountered, and none of them had ended in violence. Most of the events were great, with the guests just out to celebrate and enjoy themselves. In fact, he’d never been punched whilst working at a bar anywhere. And he’d done bar shifts in all kinds of places around the world, having taken on casual work to fund his travels. That was when he’d fallen in love with the bar-side banter, making friends, the mixology – picking up tips and cocktail recipes along the way. It was just the best feeling to serve the perfect cocktail, with a sea view and a smile; whether it was Barbados or Beadnell.

  He still wasn’t sure why he’d gone and got himself involved this evening; he usually steered clear of all that loutish behaviour. It was the girl, Ice Queen Lucy, there was just something about her. It had got to him, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Why had he felt so protective of her? She hadn’t exactly seemed too impressed with him trying to help. This girl was definitely a bit of a cool cucumber. If she were a cocktail it would have to be a Frozen Margarita, all crushed ice, tequila and sharp lime.

  He gave a groan, and pulled over briefly to turn on some music on his phone, something easy listening. Anything would do. He just needed to get his sore head into a better place.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was pulling Ruby up on the driveway. All the lights were out in the small semi-detached house he currently called home; his mate Matt, who he lodged with, no doubt having gone off to bed hours ago. Jack crept in, not putting on any of the downstairs lights, trying hard not to disturb his pal.

  Time for bed, time to sleep, if his throbbing head would allow that.

  Time to put a certain Pizza Girl out of his mind.

  Chapter 7

  ‘Morning!’ Matt called, strolling in through the kitchen door in his sweat-stained running gear. Tall, broad, with shaggy mid-brown hair, he had recently qualified as a vet. Matt gulped down a glass of water, and then popped two slices of brown into the toaster. He turned to face Jack and then frowned, taking in the bruising.

  ‘Good night, was it?’ he asked ironically, and waited for his friend to answer. ‘A bit of a shiner you’ve got there, mate.’

  Jack’s brow was throbbing even more than last night; perhaps he ought to take a couple of ibuprofens. He managed a slow, sore nod.

  ‘I thought you were meant to be serving the guests, not fighting with them.’

  ‘Yeah, well …’

  ‘Toast?’ Matt gave a smile, offering toast as a gesture of goodwill, guessing the time for quizzing his pal was perhaps not right now.

  ‘Cheers, yeah, chuck me in a slice …’ Jack sipped some of his coffee. ‘Umm, well I was just stepping in to help a friend …’ The word slipped out. She was hardly a friend really; they’d only recently met. But somehow, even though they hadn’t quite hit it off, he still felt some kind of warmth towards her. Hit it off, hah, even sore-headed as he was, he had to give a wry smile at that.

  Lucy, he’d been thinking about her again this morning. Okay, and in the middle of the night, in fact. Her thoughtful dark-brown eyes. That long sweep of glossy chestnut hair. At the end of the evening, once she’d packed everything up – oh yes, the image had stuck in his mind – she’d pulled at that bun thing her hair was twirled up in, and let it all tumble down. And she’d come across, just before leaving. ‘Night, Jack. You feeling okay now?’ she’d asked, cautiously.

  ‘Yeah,’ he’d managed to answer, suddenly feeling awkward. ‘Yeah fine, thanks for helping out, uh, and see you around.’

  ‘Well, watch that eyebrow. And no more getting into any scrapes, hey.’ She’d shaken her head gently as she smiled.

  She looked so much prettier when she smiled. Yet, he’d suddenly felt very much like a schoolboy who’d been told off.

  ‘Hah, no. Scout’s honour.’ Why on earth had he come out with that? He hadn’t even been a boy scout. That was his brother’s domain. Jack’d been too busy playing rugby and flirting with girls as a youth. Jack had stood, watching her open her truck door. ‘So … umm, when’s your next booking?’ he’d blurted out.

  But she was already sat in her vehicle, slamming the door to a close, with the younger girl sat beside her; she hadn’t heard. Laughter rang out from a group stood nearby, along with the rhythmic beat of dance music. The folk band had left a while back and a makeshift disco had been set up. The last few guests and family members still lingered.

  Slowly, the pizza horsebox trundled off into the night.

  And, he hadn’t even thought to ask Lucy for her phone number or anything. Blimey, he must be losing his touch. That blow to his head had a lot to answer for. ‘Alright, mate?’ Matt was stood there, passing him a plate of buttered toast, bringing him back to the here and now.

  ‘Ah, yeah, sorry. Thanks.’ Jack took the toast, suddenly realising how hungry he was as he bit into a warm, buttery slice. This morning’s stream of thoughts, and the flashbacks to last night had left him feeling perturbed. ‘Good run?’

  ‘Yep, the usual 10K. Done and dusted now.’

  ‘What’ve you got on today then?’

  ‘Catching up with Jess for a few hours later.’ Jess was Matt’s steady girlfriend of a year now. She was a nice enough girl, but blimey, at times they were like an old married couple. Netflix nights in with a glass of wine, and slippers on. Jack often felt like the spare wheel in the house at those times, and made himself scarce by heading up to his room or taking a drive out in Ruby, off along the coast or up in the hills. ‘Bit of five-a-side footie this aft too,’ Matt continued.

  ‘And you? Any plans?’ Matt sat down opposite him, with a stack of thickly spread Marmite toast. That guy could eat for England.

  ‘Nothing particularly exciting. Said I’d visit the parents this morning.’

  The day loomed. He had felt a bit adrift of late. Couldn’t put his finger on it. The business was going pretty well. He had some good mates, but he didn’t feel he was at the same point as them. Several were in long-term relationships, settling down, getting married, and that really wasn’t in Jack’s line of sight right now. He was turning thirty next year, still young, and no way did he want to feel tied down. Right now, the Cocktail Campervan was his main focus, but he had to admit, there were only so many hours you could buff Ruby’s red paint. Yeah, he’d give her a good tidy up and a polish after last night’s shift, get all those glasses put through the dishwasher; he liked to know she was back in good order. Then, this afternoon, he might think of setting off on a hike, or doing a run himself.

  Jack finished his toast and drained the dregs of his much-needed coffee, feeling slightly better. Yep, he’d better get a shower, get dressed, and make his way to his parents’ house. The house that still felt far too empty.

  Chapter 8

  An hour later, Ruby pulled to a halt on the block-paved driveway of a red-brick, semi-detached house in the market town of Alnwick. Stepping out from the driving seat, Jack left on his Ray-Ban sunglasses. Well, it was a bright morning, after all.

  ‘Hey, Mum, Dad.’ He knocked, calling out, as he entered the front door. It felt natural to stroll in, as it had been his home too until four years ago; it was where he had grown up.

  ‘Oh hello, Jack, darling.’ His trim fifty-something mum, Denise, greeted him in the hallway with a warm smile and a hug.

  ‘Hello, son.’ Dad, Simon, gave him a firm yet friendly pat on the back, before finishing with a half-hug. His father’s salt-and-pepper hair was greying rapidly, with … Jack suddenly noticed, weird little tufts starting to sprout from his ears and nostrils. Blimey, he’d have to get him one of those trimmer things as a birthday gift, he mused. Middle age was creeping up on them both with stealth. Though Mum’s bobbed hair, once the same sandy-blonde shade as Jack�
��s, was now highlighted to a paler blonde (her regular hairdresser visits keeping any signs of grey at bay), the lines on her face were beginning to show. She looked tired, bless her.

  Jack was still wearing his sunglasses. It would look odd keeping them on in the house, he realised. Time to bite the bullet and take them off.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’ Denise called cheerily as she headed off down the hall.

  ‘Yeah, that’d be good. Thanks, Mum.’

  Tea was very much a key ceremony in the Anderson household. Jack followed his parents into the kitchen, which had been the family’s hub since they’d moved in when he was a little boy. It was like the beating heart of the house and had witnessed good times and bad, laughter and tears.

  His mum began to fill the kettle at the sink. ‘So, how did last night g—?’ Her mouth dropped open as she half-turned, taking in the purple-green of her son’s bruised and cut eyebrow, the water suddenly leaking out over the top of the kettle’s rim. ‘Good lord. Oh … Jack.’ Her voice was concerned and also tainted with disappointment. ‘What on earth has happened to you? I thought you’d put those troublesome days behind you?’

  Simon looked up then too, his eyes widening. ‘I thought you were working last night, son? What the hell’s gone on?’

  Jack raised his eyebrows at their tone. Ah, even that gesture was uncomfortable. Honestly, they were confronting him as though he was fifteen, not a grown man. Yes, he’d had a couple of troubled years, but he’d been angry and hurt back then, feeling at odds with the world. He’d changed a lot since then. He’d grown up.

  ‘I was,’ Jack countered calmly. ‘Something blew up out of nothing.’

  ‘Like it always did … Oh, Jack,’ Denise’s tone was downcast; like he’d let them down again.

  ‘But fighting? Really son? You’re almost thirty now.’ Dad shook his head.

  ‘I wasn’t fighting. I was trying to defuse the situation, if you must know. And then, I just happened to be in the wrong place when the punch flew.’