Read Online Serve Cool by Lauren Davies - Free Book Online Page A

lifted the bottle and held it close to my face. ‘Serve cool,’ he said seriously. ‘That’s what it says on the bleedin’ label woman.
Cool,
not friggin’ arctic.’
    ‘S … sorry,’ I began, grabbing another bottle that hadn’t come straight from the store room. ‘S … sorry.’
    ‘Aye, well.’ Vinny eyed me cagily. ‘Aye, well you’ll learn.’
    I tried to smile pleasantly while I racked my brain for some form of conversation.
    I can’t do it,
my brain stressed.
I can’t relate to these people.
    ‘What’r ya smilin’ like a bleedin’ loony for, woman?’ Auld Vinny finished his half-bottle swig and stared sternly at me with his dark grey eyes.
    ‘There isny much ta friggin’ smile aboot today, woman, I tell’t ya.’
    I smiled meekly then forced a frown in a vain attempt to fit in. Fearing for my health, I looked away and hurriedly began cleaning the bar for the fourth time that morning.
    From the outside looking in, this job had always seemed so easy. Pull a few pints, say, ‘What can I get you, darlin’?’ and show a bit of cleavage. How hard could it possibly be?Harder than eating rice with chopsticks, I had since discovered. I couldn’t even serve a decent beer from a ready to drink bottle.
    Maz was so good at the banter. She gave as good as she got, if not better. I, on the other hand, always seemed to be stuck for words so I spent most of the day smiling like a mental patient (post-lobotomy) and making agreeable noises. The regulars were all hardened Geordies, fully qualified in alcoholism, fighting or swearing or even a mixture of all three. I was assured by Maz they were harmless yet I still feared for my life at least a dozen times a day, usually from the women. Maz had promised me that I would find it easier and more enjoyable given time, but I wasn’t convinced.
    Mind you, time was the one thing I definitely did have. Over the previous five days, I had received my P45, said goodbye to any hopes of a job in the legal profession, been unceremoniously removed from my flat, and moved in with Maz. It was a strange role reversal, having to rely financially as well as emotionally on my best friend. I had convinced myself it was temporary but as the days had passed I had realised that Maz’s offer of some shifts in the Scrap Inn was my only option. There was no space for pride in the equation.
    ‘Are ya listenin’ ta me, wuman?’ yelled Auld Vinny. I stopped cleaning and quickly uncapped another bottle of Brown Ale.
    ‘What was that you were saying, Vinny?’ I asked shakily.
    ‘Jesus. Does naybody listen these days? I said me father went doonstairs like.’
    ‘Downstairs? What for?’
    ‘Aye. Doonstairs, ye kna. He cannat have gan to heaven the auld bastard.’
    Auld Vinny was definitely one for random conversation. If one could do a degree in irrelevant banter this guy would have a PhD.
    ‘Auld bastard I tell’t ya me father,’ he continued. ‘I was happy as piggin’ shite when I see him get dead. Happy as chuffin’ Larry when the auld twat died. I tell’t ya there al’ the same, fathers.’
    ‘Actually, my dad’s really nice. I —’
    ‘Auld git. I’d say hello to the blowk and I’d be on the deck, man. Wham, just fer lookin’ at him like.’
    ‘Oh dear.’ (Zero out of ten for inspirational responses.)
    Vinny continued. ‘And mention God in the house, man. He’d deck ya. “Never mention that bloody word in this house again.” Floor ya, he would, the auld git.’
    He paused, took a swig of beer and redeemed the half-eaten meat pie that had been festering among the fluff in his jacket pocket. I looked anywhere but directly at him, to avoid the open-mouthed chewing display. It was like watching a trifle in a washing machine. When the horse-like chewing noise became less deafening, I made a further attempt at conversation.
    ‘So how are you feeling today, Vinny?’ (OK, so it was boring but it was a start.)
    ‘Terrible man,’ he growled. ‘I went to the bloody