by Alix Kelso
“I forgot you were a great Scotch lover,” she said when the waitress departed.
“It’s the water of life,” he replied. “I’m planning on expanding the range we carry at the pub, actually. Make it more of a feature.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. In our business, we have to keep things fresh for the customers. They come first.”
“You won’t miss it when you sell the restaurant? Looking after your customers?”
Her smile wavered for a second before she shook her head. “Forty years in this business is long enough for me.”
“I’ll be sorry to see you go, Natalie.”
“And I’ll be sorry to leave, in many ways. But it’s time to move on.”
The waitress returned with their drinks and a little bowl of fancy nuts. Keith raised his glass in a toast.
“I wish you the very best for the future, Natalie. No one deserves happiness more than you.”
They touched glasses. “Thank you, Keith. That’s very kind.”
He tasted his whisky and nodded appreciatively. “What do you plan to do after the restaurant’s sold?”
She relished a few sips of her perfectly chilled wine before answering. “Well, I’d like to travel. As you know, when you own a restaurant, it’s not easy to just disappear off somewhere. You either have to close for a few weeks or trust your business to a manager. Angelo and I always preferred the former to the latter, which meant we didn’t travel as much as we would have liked, because you cannot simply close your business whenever you feel like some time away. So I plan to make up for that with a good, long spell of travelling.”
“Where are you thinking of going?”
She paused and sipped more wine. “Angelo and I planned on travelling to Italy when we retired, to take a grand tour and see some of his relatives. But I can’t imagine going there alone, it would simply be too sad.”
“I can understand that.”
“So, I’ve drawn up a new list of destinations.”
Keith smiled. “Good for you. What’s on the list?”
“Well, I’ve never been to Ireland. Can you believe that? I’d like to go to the south-west coast, maybe start in Galway and hire a car and drive wherever takes my fancy. Then I’d like to visit Seville. I want to see the flamenco and eat tapas and drink sherry.”
“I’m sold. Any space for two on this trip?”
She laughed. “And after that, I want to visit Bordeaux. Tour the vineyards, drink some wonderful wine and see a little of the French countryside.”
“You’re making me jealous, Natalie. Keep talking and yours won’t be the only business on Shaw Street being put up for sale.” Keith laughed before looking at Natalie more soberly. “Seriously, though. You deserve to take those trips and enjoy them. It can’t be easy, letting go of the plans you and Angelo made and deciding to start again.”
“What’s the alternative? Keep running the restaurant until I simply die of exhaustion? No thanks. I’ve been in limbo since Angelo died, but it’s time to move on. I need new things in my life.” She paused and sipped more wine. “Which is why I suspect Laura set up this little date for us tonight.”
Keith continued smiling for a beat. Then confusion clouded his expression, and a second later his eyes flew wide in sudden understanding. Natalie laughed gently and nodded at his questioning look.
“I thought there was something fishy about this whole thing,” he finally said. “Laura set this up?”
“I’m afraid so. That said, I’m very happy to be here with you, Keith.”
“Oh aye, me too. When I heard you were selling the restaurant, I planned to take you out somewhere nice, for old times’ sake, to say goodbye and wish you well.”
“Laura put it to me in just those words.”
“That’s sneaky.”
“What story did she feed you to get you here?”
“Well, actually she didn’t. It was Bruce.”
“So, Laura engaged him as a confederate.”
“He said you’d heard I’d recently had some bad luck with a woman, and you wanted to take me to dinner to cheer me up. It struck me as a bit odd, if I’m honest. You and I have never really got into the nitty-gritty of one another’s personal lives.” He scratched his chin and looked sheepish. “But maybe I was feeling gloomy enough about things to treat it as a nice, and very welcome, surprise.”
“What bad luck are you talking about?”
He drank some whisky before continuing. “I was seeing this woman for a while, and to tell you the truth, I quite liked her. I had a good feeling. Well I get that good feeling too often for my own good, and I build up my hopes, and then they come crashing back down. Anyway, she ended it. She sent me a text message while I was waiting for her in a restaurant.”
Natalie gasped. “That’s awful, Keith. What a terrible thing to do. She didn’t deserve you.”
Just like none of those appalling women you married deserved you either, she thought but didn’t say.
“I’ll learn my lesson some day,” Keith said.
“You’re a romantic. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“You hit the jackpot with Angelo. Or, more accurately, he hit the jackpot with you.”
“Now you’re just flirting.”
“Maybe a wee bit, aye.”
They held one another’s gaze for a moment. Natalie was the first to look away.
“So, why did Laura do this anyway?” he asked. “Does she really think we could get together?”
“I doubt it. She’s upset I’m selling Valentino’s. She thinks that if I had things going on in my life again, I wouldn’t want to sell. She’s young, yet, I suppose. And while I have no doubt she cares for me and wants what’s best for me, I suspect she can’t face up to how things will be once I’m gone. You may remember she joined the restaurant staff not long after her parents died. I always assumed it was a temporary thing, a job with decent pay to get her through the first year after losing them while she thought about what to do next.”
“Yet she’s still there.”
“Indeed she is. I wonder if Angelo and I didn’t do her a disservice by not sitting her down a long time ago and telling her straight that it was time for her to move on and get her plans back in motion, whatever those plans had been before tragedy struck. Maybe the world scares her just a little more than it should. But when I’m gone from Valentino’s, and things change there as they inevitably will, she’ll have to start making decisions again in her life in order to become unstuck. I don’t think she can face that. Hence why the two of us are here on this date together.”
“Bruce is in the same situation. He’s had a bad time since his marriage ended, and he’s gone to ground to lick his wounds. If he doesn’t pull himself back together soon, I’ll have to give him a push. I can’t have him still hanging around with me, ten years down the line, like poor Laura.” He drained his whisky glass. “That said, Laura’s meddling has got us here together tonight, so it can’t all be bad. I’m enjoying myself.”
“Me too.”
“In that case, how about we get our table, order a couple of big juicy steaks and a good bottle of red, and take it from there.”
“Lead the way.”
Laura glanced at her watch, yet again. It was ten to midnight. Another day spent clock-watching. Sad. Very sad.
“Do you think they’re back yet?”
Yvonne glanced up from the drawer she was rummaging through. “I have no idea. Probably. They’re old. Old people don’t stay out late.”
Laura clicked her tongue. “They’re not old, for God’s sake.”
“Have you seen my little vest? The red one with the lacy bits?”
Laura pointed at the clothes drier hooked over the radiator. “Is that it?”
“Yes! You’re a star. What about my silky robe with the leopard print?”
Laura glanced around. “On the hook, next to your wardrobe.”
Yvonne plucked the tiny robe from the crowded hook and tossed
it into the overnight bag on the bed, beside the rest of the racy underwear she’d already packed.
“Anyone would think you’re an actress auditioning for a part on Dynasty.”
“I’d love a part on Dynasty.”
“I meant the original 1980s series.”
“Me too.”
They grinned at one another.
“Olly won’t know what hit him when he sees me in this stuff.”
As if on cue, a car horn began honking out on the street. Yvonne ran to the window and threw it open. “I’m nearly finished!” she called down.
Peering out the window, Laura saw Olly’s head pop out the driver’s side. “Hurry up, Yvonne. How long can it take to pack a few things for a couple of nights away?”
Yvonne gave Laura a look. “Men. They have no idea.”
Since she was at the window anyway, Laura looked down towards Shaw Street, where she could see part of The Crooked Thistle pub. There was still no sign of a taxi arriving with Keith inside, home from his big date with Natalie. Maybe she’d missed him coming back. It wasn’t like she’d sat staring out the window for every single minute of the past hour and a half.
Just most of them.
“I thought Bruce was texting you when his uncle got home?” Yvonne said, choosing make-up from her dressing table.
“Maybe he was busy working in the pub when Keith got back and forgot.”
Yvonne zipped up the cosmetics bag and added it to the overnighter. “You need to get out more, Laura.”
“Probably.”
“I’m surprised you’re not out with Movie Boy tonight.”
She shrugged. “Didn’t feel like sitting through another superhero film.”
“Thank God, she finally sees the light. Okay, I’m out of here. See you on Tuesday.”
“Have fun.”
“Count on it.”
Yvonne slammed the front door behind her, as usual. A few seconds later, Laura saw her barrel out the tenement door into the street, throw her overnighter into the back of Olly’s car, and get into the passenger seat. The car tore off, music blaring from the open windows, and turned the corner before disappearing. As relative quiet descended once more, Laura heard a dog barking somewhere, and faint laughter from a nearby flat, and the distant sound of the guy who played the saxophone further along the block.
Down on Shaw Street, a taxi pulled up outside The Crooked Thistle. She scrambled to press her face closer to the glass. Maybe Keith would emerge with Natalie in tow, invited upstairs for a nightcap.
But no one got out of the taxi. Instead, a couple emerged from the pub, veered drunkenly towards the vehicle, poured themselves inside and departed.
Sighing, Laura picked up her phone, and after a brief moment of debate, sent a message to Bruce.
Is your Uncle Keith back yet?
She waited for a reply, but none came. At the pub, a flurry of activity began as drinkers started leaving the premises in a swarm, ejected now that last orders had been served and consumed. Then Bruce appeared in the double doors of the entrance, throwing the deadbolt on one side and disappearing behind the other to do the same. The lights went out inside not long after.
And then her phone pinged. When she glanced at the screen, she saw a reply from Bruce: Not yet.
That had to be a good sign. Although Laura couldn’t be sure if Natalie had already returned to her own place, leaving Keith to his own devices, she didn’t think that was a likely scenario. They were both still out together, she just knew it.
She grabbed her phone again and dialled. Bruce answered after three rings.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey yourself.”
“Your Uncle Keith and Natalie must be having a great time together.”
“I guess so. He mentioned something about a jazz club he’d suggest if they had fun at dinner.”
On the other end of the line, she heard the clinking of glasses. “Am I disturbing you while you’re cleaning up in the bar?”
“I was just shifting a few empties. We don’t clean up until morning. The last thing you want to do after working behind the bar until midnight is work for another hour scrubbing up.”
“You must be tired. I’ll let you go.”
“No, don’t go. It’d be nice to unwind for a bit. If you didn’t mind talking.”
Silence filled the line, a strangely comfortable silence. Leaving Yvonne’s bedroom, Laura walked to the living room which overlooked the same view, and sank into the old armchair by the window.
“You know, I can see the pub from my flat,” she said.
“I’ll see if I can spot you.”
A light came on in one of the rooms above The Crooked Thistle, then the blinds were opened, and she saw Bruce’s outline in the window.
“Where should I be looking?” he asked.
“Bottom of Drygate Street, the main door past the laundrette, third floor. I’m waving to you.”
A moment later, Bruce returned her wave. “You really do live close to work.”
“Not as close as you.”
“True. Although this isn’t really work. More like a sabbatical.”
“What do you mean?”
She could just make out his shrug, lit by the lamp he’d turned on in the room.
“It’s a long story.”
“Tell me.”
“Maybe some other time.”
The silence came again and she saw a grin spread over Bruce’s face. “Hang on. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” He disappeared from the window and returned a few seconds later with a pair of binoculars, which he pointed in the direction of her flat.
“Hey, that’s an invasion of privacy!”
“You’re the one who invited me to look over. I have to tell you, that armchair you’re sitting in is the ugliest piece of furniture I’ve seen in my life.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say!” She glanced down in mock outrage at the armchair she sat in. It was tatty and worn, with stuffing innards spewing from the back of the cushion, and the fabric was a shade of green that surely existed on no colour wheel. But she loved it. “There’s nothing wrong with this chair.”
“You ought to go furniture shopping. Where’d you find that thing? In a skip?”
“This was my father’s chair.”
“Let me guess, he made it seem like he was doing you a big favour by giving it to you, and he’s now relaxing at home in an enormous leather recliner, chortling about how he finally managed to get rid of the armchair from hell.”
Beats passed. Laura watched Bruce lower the binoculars. “And I just put my big fat foot into my big fat mouth, didn’t I?” he finally said.
“No, it’s just ... well, it happened a long time ago. But my parents died – in a car crash.”
“God, Laura, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
She shook her head and smiled. “You weren’t to know. But that image you gave me, of my father relaxing in a big recliner, I liked it.” She paused, and thought for a moment, running her hand along the arm of the chair. “It’s nice to think of him that way. He used to like watching golf on television, and he’d sit in this armchair, his feet propped up on the little stool, perfectly content. But I bet he would’ve loved one of those huge recliners. Yeah, I know he would’ve.”
“I’m sorry, just the same.”
“No more apologising, or I’ll hang up.”
“Okay.” A long beat passed. “You must’ve been young when you lost them.”
“I was. But let’s not talk about sad stuff.” She patted the armchair and grinned. “Let me just say that I love this armchair because my father loved it, and I’m never getting rid of it, and if you want to poke fun at my possessions, find something else.”
“Fair enough. And you’re not the only one with questionable stuff. Since I’m embarrassed that I made a fool of myself just now, I ought to try and make it up to you by letting you take a look at this.”
He pulled the window blinds fully up, st
epped aside and pointed. It wasn’t easy to see details from so far away, but Laura realised that details weren’t necessary.
He was pointing at a large framed painting that hung on the wall above the bed. The painting was dark grey and covered with jagged yellow brushstrokes. As soon as she saw it, she felt cold and on edge.
“What’s it supposed to be?”
“It’s not supposed to be anything. It just is. At least, that’s what my ex-wife told me when I asked her the same question.”
“You don’t like the painting?”
“I hate it.”
“So why is it hanging on your wall?”
“Because my ex-wife loved it, for reasons I couldn’t understand. I bought it for her, even though it made my eyeballs ache. When we separated, I took it, just because I knew she loved it, and told her that if she wanted to fight me about it, she could instruct her solicitor.” He gazed at the painting. “She hurt me, so I hurt her, or at least I tried to. I can’t imagine there’s anything I could’ve done to her that would’ve hurt as bad as what she did to me.” He cleared his throat. “And I’m talking about sad stuff again, so I’ll shut up.”
“Talk about it if you’d like to.”
“We hardly know each other.’
“Seems like we’re starting to.”
Bruce seemed to consider her across the expanse of the street before clearing his throat and waving a hand at the painting. “There’s nothing else to say about it. I took her ugly painting just to spite her, end of story.”
“Now it’s hanging above your bed, so you see it every day even although you hate it.”
“Yeah, that’s twisted. I probably need help.”
“Not help. Just time. They say time is a healer.”
“They do say that, don’t they? Although I can’t say I feel like I’m healing yet.”
“How long has it been since you separated?”
“My divorce just came through, but we split almost five months ago.”
“God, that’s nothing. You’ve got ages to go.”
“Thanks, that makes me feel much better.”
As they laughed a taxi pulled up outside The Crooked Thistle and they both craned their necks to see who would get out.
