In Case You Missed It: Hilarious, uplifting and heart warming - 2020’s funniest new romantic comedy from the Sunday Times bestselling author

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘You should have a podcast,’ I said, exhaling into my chair and flipping one foot in and out of my shoe. ‘You must have a million brilliant stories.’

  ‘Bartender Confessions?’ he replied with what was supposed to pass for a mysterious look.

  ‘This week we explore the curious tale of the man with the electric typewriter,’ I picked up the theme and ran with it. ‘Is he a famous author? A man who has shunned modern technology and social media and writes steamy thrillers under a sexy pseudonym?’

  ‘Wait, look, he’s going for the nuts!’ John whispered, excited.

  The man reached out a furtive right hand and slowly dragged my abandoned bowl towards him before snaffling a palmful directly into his mouth.

  ‘It must be weird,’ I said, watching as he began to attack the keyboard of his typewriter with great ferocity. ‘You have to deal with so many different people every day. I can literally go an entire day at work talking to two people but you have to talk to everyone.’

  ‘It’s a lot of people,’ he agreed with a genial shrug. ‘But in a place like this, they’re much of a muchness. That’s the thing I figured out pretty early on into working behind a bar. People are pretty much all exactly the same. At the end of the day, most of us want one thing.’

  I wondered if we were officially friendly enough for me to unfasten the top button of my jeans. I’d worn corsets that were less constrictive. Not for a while, my raving days were one thing I was happy to leave in the past, but a girl never forgot these things.

  ‘And what do people want?’ I asked, ignoring my rumbling stomach.

  ‘It’s not hard to work out,’ he replied. ‘Safe place to sleep, warm food in their belly, someone to laugh at their jokes at the end of the day.’

  Entirely unable to stop myself, I laughed awkwardly under my breath.

  ‘Is that what everyone wants?’

  He looked me in the eye, holding my gaze while he sipped his wine.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘I just want to not live in a shed,’ I said, reaching under my T-shirt and unfastening the top button. It was time.

  ‘You want more than that,’ John pushed. ‘You want to feel appreciated, you want to be doing something you feel is worthwhile, or at least not beneath you.’

  ‘I don’t think what I’m doing is beneath me,’ I argued, a little stung. There was his know-it-all arrogance again. ‘I just think there are a million other stories out there that are more important than this one. I mean, this one isn’t even a story, he doesn’t even want to do the podcast, it’s a cash grab by his very clever agent. If they had any sense, they’d be doing a series about his real life, the behind-the-scenes stuff. This kid hasn’t even finished puberty and he’s an entire industry. Wouldn’t you rather listen to that while you’re running than the ramblings of Snazzlechuff and his amazing friends?’

  ‘You’re working with Snazzlechuff?’ John gasped, sitting bolt upright. ‘That kid’s a legend! His Fortnite streams are masterpieces.’

  ‘You’re a monster,’ I informed him with a straight face. ‘There is no hope for humanity.’

  John relaxed into his chair, shaking his head in wonder.

  ‘What mask did have on when you met him?’

  ‘Today it was a guinea pig, the first time it was a panda.’

  He touched his fingertips to his lips and blew them away with a chef’s kiss.

  ‘Literally everyone on earth should have a podcast before that child,’ I insisted. ‘He should be riding his bike around the park and drinking Kiwi 20/20 under the slide.’

  ‘That’s an alarming glimpse into your childhood that I can never unsee,’ John replied. ‘Also, he’s far more likely to be off his tits on Adderall and watching hardcore porn on his phone than he is to be riding a bike. Sorry to break your heart.’

  ‘What do you think he wants?’ I asked, settling back in my chair and taking down my topknot. I pressed my fingers into my temples, trying to squeeze out a headache before it could begin. ‘Snazz, I mean?’

  ‘Probably a time machine for ten years from now when he realizes what a ridiculous name he’s saddled himself with,’ John suggested. ‘I honestly don’t know. When I was his age, I wanted a PlayStation, some Air Jordans and a naked photo of Jenny McCarthy. I’m fairly certain he’s got a PlayStation, all the Air Jordans on earth and couldn’t give a flying fuck about Jenny McCarthy so I’m not really sure. He’s got everything, hasn’t he? What else could he want?’

  ‘Not to have to sit in his bedroom with the curtains drawn and a giant guinea pig mask on his head?’ I suggested.

  John considered my response and I considered him. He wasn’t that bad, I admitted grudgingly, at least not when you got him on his own and he was plying you with free wine. He was funny and quick, probably had to be, working behind a bar all the time. And he definitely wasn’t bad to look at. If you liked tall, dark interesting-looking types.

  He leaned across the table towards me, a lock of dark hair falling in front of his face. ‘Why do it if you hate it?’

  ‘I don’t hate it,’ I replied, surprised.

  He half-nodded as though he was only reluctantly accepting my response.

  ‘I don’t,’ I repeated. ‘I love what I do. Admittedly, if I could do it somewhere else for someone else, that might be nice.’

  ‘Then why don’t you?’ he asked. ‘Why stay where you are?’

  I lifted my shoulders and looked around the room. ‘I’m lucky to have a job at all,’ I replied, still making sure to focus on anything other than John. ‘If I can make a success of this, it’ll be easier to move on to something else. Then maybe, in a few years, I’ll be able to do something I really want to do.’

  He pulled a face that said fair enough before leaning across the table. Instinctively, I copied, edging forward in my seat. ‘I know what you really want,’ he said in a whisper.

  A warmth crept up my neck as I shifted in my chair.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I do,’ he replied. ‘You want to eat. Your stomach’s screaming as though it thinks your throat’s been cut. What’ll it be?’

  ‘Oh, God, food,’ I pressed my hand against my white T-shirt and blew out a heavy breath. ‘Yes, please. What do you recommend?’

  ‘Well, nothing too pretentious, of course,’ John said. He stood up and tossed his apron over his arm. ‘And we’ll give the overpriced pizzas a miss. Burger?’

  ‘Burger sounds amazing,’ I agreed, the flush spreading up to my cheeks as I recalled our second conversation. It burned even harder when I remembered our first.

  ‘OK if I eat with you?’ he suggested, looking around the bustling bar.

  ‘They won’t miss you?’ I asked, surprised at how much I hoped his answer would be no.

  Happily, he shook his head. ‘They’re more annoyed when I’m lurking. No one wants the boss watching your every move.’

  ‘Why do you work behind the bar?’ I asked. ‘If you own the place, isn’t that a bit weird?’

  ‘Because I love it,’ he said simply and I could tell that he meant it. John pointed at my half-empty glass of white. ‘I’m going to put our order in. You up for more wine?’

  There was still at least one full glass left in the bottle on the table but I was his guest and I didn’t want to be rude. Sending him off with a thumbs up, I picked up what was left in my glass and got to work.

  One burger, two hours, and an untold number of chips later, the bar was emptying out but John was only just getting going.

  ‘No, I’m serious,’ he said, almost knocking over the table between us as he gesticulated wildly, arms and legs flying everywhere. ‘He comes in with a ten-foot Christmas tree on his back, needles going all over the place – in people’s food, in their drinks – and I can tell he’s wasted—’

  ‘And he’s dressed like Father Christmas?’ I spluttered, splashing wine into his empty glass.

  ‘Oh yeah, red suit, white beard, full gear, and he comes in and shouts “Merry Chris
tmas, you bastards!” before collapsing in front of the bar, flat on his back and singing the dirty version of “Good King Wenceslas”. Me and Cammy had to pick him up and carry him out, kicking and screaming like a toddler.’

  ‘What did you do with the tree?’

  John took a hasty sip of his drink.

  ‘What were we supposed to do?’ he replied, arms thrown out wide. ‘I went down to Superdrug, bought some lights, job lot of tinsel and decorated it. Only problem is now I’m going to have to buy a tree this year and do it all over again.’

  ‘Well, you can’t rely on a pissed-up Santa delivering one to you every Christmas,’ I said as I massaged my cheeks. My face actually hurt from laughing so hard. ‘Does that mean you were on the nice list or the naughty list? I can’t decide.’

  ‘Oh, the nice list, definitely,’ he nodded confidently. ‘Never been on the naughty list in my life.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Not in a long time, anyway,’ he replied with a guilty grin.

  ‘See, you really would make a brilliant podcast,’ I said with a sigh.

  ‘So would you,’ John countered, waving at someone as they called out their goodbye. According to the massive clock on the wall, it was almost eleven. We’d been talking for three hours. Talking and drinking. ‘You could do an entire series on moving to another country.’

  I swallowed hard, coughing as my wine went down the wrong way.

  ‘You don’t talk about it much,’ he said, narrowing his eyes so slightly. ‘Your time in America, I mean.’

  ‘Not much to tell,’ I said, switching my wine for water and taking a cautious sip. ‘I was there and now I’m back.’

  ‘My mum always used to say you have to take a step back to make a running jump. Which I am certain is very wise or something.’

  ‘Your mum should start a hashtag inspo Instagram account,’ I agreed. ‘She’s clearly a very clever woman.’

  ‘Was,’ John corrected lightly. ‘She died last year.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I’m so sorry,’ I babbled, thrown off course. I never knew what to say in moments like this. My mum’s parents and Dad’s dad had all died when I was a baby and, monster that she was, Nan was going to outlive all of us. Other people’s grief always scared me a little.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said with a softer smile. ‘You didn’t know. Now you do, no big deal.’

  We sat for a moment, John sipping his wine, me picking at chips, neither of us breaking the semi-companionable silence. Until he did.

  ‘What happened in Washington?’ he asked bluntly.

  ‘What happened?’ I repeated. ‘What do you mean, what happened?’

  ‘You never bring it up, you change the subject when anyone else does, and right now you look like you’d rather throw yourself out a window than carry on with this conversation,’ John said. ‘You can talk to me, you know.’

  Picking up my wine, I tilted the glass back and forth, watching the liquid coat the inside and then run back down into the bowl.

  ‘Bartender’s privilege?’ I replied. ‘You know, you really are like a priest.’

  ‘My cross to bear,’ he said with another fleeting, downturned smile. ‘But I really would like to hear about it if you want someone to talk to.’

  I looked up at him from under my hair. ‘It’s not an exciting story,’ I said, the words itching to come out. ‘It’s nothing dramatic. Which almost makes it worse.’

  John shrugged and swept his arm across the table, giving me the floor.

  ‘I got sacked,’ I said quietly but clearly. The first time I’d said it out loud since I got back. ‘Clever little Ros went off to America, gave up my job, gave up my friends, gave up my boyfriend and, when I got there, I couldn’t hack it and I got sacked.’

  He poured another trickle of wine into my glass. ‘These things happen, why so secretive?’

  ‘Because I’m embarrassed!’ I exclaimed, almost ready to laugh. I couldn’t believe he was just brushing it off like that. ‘Who gets sacked these days? I was mortified.’

  ‘How come?’ he asked. ‘How come they sacked you?’

  ‘Because I wasn’t good enough,’ I replied, picking up my glass and then putting it down. A hangover tomorrow morning wouldn’t help. ‘They were making cutbacks and they brought me in and explained how they were promoting my assistant and letting me go. They felt as though there had been a “marked decline” in my work. Apparently.’

  ‘Was there?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably,’ I admitted. ‘I hated it.’

  It felt good to say it out loud.

  ‘You hated the job?’

  I watched as the man who had sat beside me at the bar packed away his typewriter, drained his third glass of tap water, emptied his second bowl of free nuts and got up to leave.

  ‘Living in a different country was fun at first, everyone came to visit, everything was a novelty,’ I explained. ‘But I never really made friends there, not like the friends I’ve got here. And the job was a lot, I was working all the time, every evening, every weekend. By the end it was literally work, home, sleep, work, home, sleep. And the whole time, I could see everyone else’s lives going on back here without me. I missed it so much.’

  ‘You could have moved back, no one would have thought any less of you,’ he said kindly.

  ‘I thought if I stuck it out, it would get better,’ I said. ‘I thought I would get used to it and stop feeling so down all the time but I didn’t.’

  He offered a warm half smile but didn’t respond, just waited for me to get the rest of it out.

  ‘But everyone kept acting like it was the most amazing thing in the world, I didn’t know how to tell them I was miserable. It didn’t seem right to complain about my life when the entire world was going through so much shit, you know? And everyone was so impressed when I was offered the job. They headhunted me, I didn’t apply, they found me and offered me this amazing deal to go over there.’ I groaned, pressing my fingers into my throbbing temples. ‘My parents were so proud of me and it was nice to be the one they bragged about for a change. Did you know my sister is an actual genius?’

  He tipped his head from side to side. ‘Sumi did mention it, yeah.’

  ‘Of course she did,’ I smiled. ‘Jo is the miracle child and I’m just me. And my dad will never get over the fact I didn’t want to sell toilets for a living.’

  ‘That’s got to be tough,’ he said, biting into a chip. ‘But I’m sure they’re just as proud of you.’

  ‘They wouldn’t be if they knew I’d got the sack,’ I replied. ‘Isn’t it ridiculous? There’s no big story, no big scandal, I’m just a let-down. I was sad and lonely and I failed at my job, I got the sack and I don’t want anyone to know because they’ll think less of me. Honestly, I’d give anything to go back and change my mind, to not leave in the first place.’

  John let it all sink in while I took a very cautious sip of wine. My natural response to dropping a truth bomb was to chug but I felt strangely relaxed. My nan was right, it was better out than in. Although, she was rarely referring to the truth when she said that.

  ‘I suppose one good thing came out of your coming back when you did,’ John said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You got back together with your boyfriend,’ he said, wiping his hands on a white cloth napkin. ‘You’ve been very quiet about him tonight. What’s going on there?’

  It was a change of subject I wasn’t expecting.

  ‘Uh, everything is fine?’ I meant it to be a statement but it definitely came out sounding more like a question.

  John’s features flashed into a quick ‘yikes’ expression before settling back into his sort-of smile.

  ‘No, it is, really,’ I said again, more certain this time. ‘Things are still a bit complicated.’

  Right by the door, I saw a couple in a pink booth, clearly on a date but clearly still quite new to one another. She kept fussing with her hair and he was finding every excuse h
e could to touch her. By my calculations, they were half a drink away from one of them having to buy a toothbrush on the way to work tomorrow morning.

  ‘Amazing that you’re both single now you’re back,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s meant to be.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I searched my brain for something clever but came up with nothing. Patrick would have had the perfect literary quote ready to go. ‘I still feel like I’m playing catch-up. Who knows where we might be now if I’d never left?’

  The girl from the sofa practically skipped past our table on her way to the toilet, leaving the boy to stare after her and then, the second she was out of sight, chug his entire glass of water. Utterly hammered.

  ‘You need two people to try to make a relationship work,’ John said. ‘I’m sure you weren’t entirely to blame, these things don’t usually work like that.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I replied with a forced smile that I hoped made clear I didn’t want to talk about it. ‘I know, I know, all relationships are difficult.’

  ‘In my experience, when a man wants to be with someone,’ John said, breathing in deeply. ‘He will do everything in his power to make it happen.’

  I watched his face, a wistful smile slipping away into something more regretful and, suddenly, I wondered where his wife was tonight.

  He set down his wine glass and gave me a look. ‘I might have a whisky, do you want a whisky?’

  Something in the air shifted, a tension that had dissipated suddenly rallied, separating us again.

  ‘No, thank you,’ I replied politely, treading carefully around his raw nerve. ‘Whisky and I don’t get along terribly well.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ he said as he stood. ‘Me and a good bottle of Scotch are closer than those two lately.’

  He looked over at the pink sofa where the girl had returned from the toilets and the boy was attempting to excavate her tonsils with his tongue.

  ‘Young love,’ I said, grossed-out and charmed in equal measures. ‘You can’t beat it.’

  ‘Except with a stick,’ John replied before folding his napkin and laying it neatly on the table. ‘Excuse me.’