does I haven’t heard. But I’ll ask around.”
“ Cheers.”
He moved away up the bar, the early evening trade filtering in. I dug out the paper, gave myself a migraine trying to work out the Simplex crossword. I was rolling my last smoke when someone tapped me on the shoulder, Katie, nodding at the Cappuccino.
“ You drink too much coffee.” She seemed relaxed, far too cheerful, which meant she knew something I didn’t.
“ Sorry, I can’t afford medical advice. I like your hair, by the way.”
“ Thanks. I had to cancel my appointment, by the way.”
“ Yeah, I like the fact that you left it alone.”
She smiled. I thought of a second-hand car with ‘Wash Me’ scrawled on a dusty back window.
“ Ever drink anything stronger?” she asked, sitting up on the stool beside me.
“ Sometimes I leave the sugar out.”
“ Maybe I should introduce you to alcohol.”
“ We’ve met. Town wasn’t big enough for both of us.”
Dutchie wandered back down the bar. I introduced them, ordered a round. Katie swirled the ice around her G&T, downed the lot in one swallow.
“ Tough day?”
“ First anniversary.”
“ Of what?”
“ Learning to mind my own business.”
“ Not so long ago when you were interested in my business.”
“ That was just business. You’re being personal.”
“ And I thought we were friends.”
“ You know what thought did?”
“ What’s that?”
“ Pissed the bed and thought he was sweating.”
“ I remember that now.”
We chatted for a while, talking about everything and saying nothing, and the while nuzzled up to a couple of hours and started whispering sweet nothings. She was good company, sharp with it, and she liked to talk. I liked listening, liked her frank opinions and the way her smile caused her nose to wrinkle. Liked that she took the time out to flirt without really meaning it, the way that, five or six pints later, she was still tossing her hair and laughing at my jokes. By then I had the idea that she reckoned I was a challenge, and I didn’t have the heart to pretend otherwise.
“ Messing aside,” I said, “the first anniversary of what?”
She stared into her drink, stirring it with the pink swizzle stick that was Dutchie’s idea of a gag.
“ I was getting married.” Her fringe fell forward, hiding her eyes. She shook it back, straightened her shoulders. “Then I wasn’t getting married.”
“ He broke it off?”
“ Three weeks from the big day out, his brother’s family home from South Africa, the works. We were going out for a year, engaged for eighteen months. Next thing he turns around and says he can’t go through with it, he doesn’t love me anymore. What the fuck love had to do with it in the first place. He was good in the nest, took regular showers, paid his share of the bills. That was about the height of it.”
The pub had filled up, the babble of conversation loud enough for us to talk without being overheard. It was pleasant sensation, like we were trapped in a bubble.
“ There’s worse reasons for getting married.”
“ Ach – I was just fed up with the job, doing the same thing every week. The wedding was just an excuse, something other than the pub on a Friday night, curry chip for a treat. Biggest favour anyone did me, him walking out.”
“ Sounds like a bit of a prick if you ask me.”
“ I’m not asking. You’re as big a prick as he was, Harry, most blokes are. That’s your job. A woman’s job is to change you from being pricks to something better. I wasn’t good enough at the job, that’s all. End of story.”
It was getting on for eleven o’clock, as good a time to change the subject as any.
“ Seeing anyone now?”
She looked up from her drink, nose wrinkling.
“ That’s the best offer I’ve had in weeks. So you can imagine how pathetic the others were.”
“ I didn’t mean…”
She laughed.
“ So say something you do mean.” Her voice soft and warm again. Eyes locked on
“ Cheers.”
He moved away up the bar, the early evening trade filtering in. I dug out the paper, gave myself a migraine trying to work out the Simplex crossword. I was rolling my last smoke when someone tapped me on the shoulder, Katie, nodding at the Cappuccino.
“ You drink too much coffee.” She seemed relaxed, far too cheerful, which meant she knew something I didn’t.
“ Sorry, I can’t afford medical advice. I like your hair, by the way.”
“ Thanks. I had to cancel my appointment, by the way.”
“ Yeah, I like the fact that you left it alone.”
She smiled. I thought of a second-hand car with ‘Wash Me’ scrawled on a dusty back window.
“ Ever drink anything stronger?” she asked, sitting up on the stool beside me.
“ Sometimes I leave the sugar out.”
“ Maybe I should introduce you to alcohol.”
“ We’ve met. Town wasn’t big enough for both of us.”
Dutchie wandered back down the bar. I introduced them, ordered a round. Katie swirled the ice around her G&T, downed the lot in one swallow.
“ Tough day?”
“ First anniversary.”
“ Of what?”
“ Learning to mind my own business.”
“ Not so long ago when you were interested in my business.”
“ That was just business. You’re being personal.”
“ And I thought we were friends.”
“ You know what thought did?”
“ What’s that?”
“ Pissed the bed and thought he was sweating.”
“ I remember that now.”
We chatted for a while, talking about everything and saying nothing, and the while nuzzled up to a couple of hours and started whispering sweet nothings. She was good company, sharp with it, and she liked to talk. I liked listening, liked her frank opinions and the way her smile caused her nose to wrinkle. Liked that she took the time out to flirt without really meaning it, the way that, five or six pints later, she was still tossing her hair and laughing at my jokes. By then I had the idea that she reckoned I was a challenge, and I didn’t have the heart to pretend otherwise.
“ Messing aside,” I said, “the first anniversary of what?”
She stared into her drink, stirring it with the pink swizzle stick that was Dutchie’s idea of a gag.
“ I was getting married.” Her fringe fell forward, hiding her eyes. She shook it back, straightened her shoulders. “Then I wasn’t getting married.”
“ He broke it off?”
“ Three weeks from the big day out, his brother’s family home from South Africa, the works. We were going out for a year, engaged for eighteen months. Next thing he turns around and says he can’t go through with it, he doesn’t love me anymore. What the fuck love had to do with it in the first place. He was good in the nest, took regular showers, paid his share of the bills. That was about the height of it.”
The pub had filled up, the babble of conversation loud enough for us to talk without being overheard. It was pleasant sensation, like we were trapped in a bubble.
“ There’s worse reasons for getting married.”
“ Ach – I was just fed up with the job, doing the same thing every week. The wedding was just an excuse, something other than the pub on a Friday night, curry chip for a treat. Biggest favour anyone did me, him walking out.”
“ Sounds like a bit of a prick if you ask me.”
“ I’m not asking. You’re as big a prick as he was, Harry, most blokes are. That’s your job. A woman’s job is to change you from being pricks to something better. I wasn’t good enough at the job, that’s all. End of story.”
It was getting on for eleven o’clock, as good a time to change the subject as any.
“ Seeing anyone now?”
She looked up from her drink, nose wrinkling.
“ That’s the best offer I’ve had in weeks. So you can imagine how pathetic the others were.”
“ I didn’t mean…”
She laughed.
“ So say something you do mean.” Her voice soft and warm again. Eyes locked on
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