Too Good Girl

by Eleanor Lloyd-Jones

  I watched a dog walker saunter across the beach, throwing a stick periodically for her mutt to fetch and return. I watched them together, so in tune, so smitten with one another. There was a boundless joy that seemed to connect the two of them—the little black cockapoo hanging on every word and every movement of her owner.

  “Luna!” The woman chased the pup as she chased her tail, zooming across the sand to the edge of the water and back again with an energy I’d never seen. Laughing, the owner grabbed the pup’s face, rubbing her ears before she darted off again to splash in the waves.

  It was an unbreakable friendship; it was an inseverable connection.

  But I would never have that.

  Everyone leaves eventually; everyone lets you down.

  I was better off on my own. That way, I could protect myself from any more of this bullshit. It was good that Jack was gone. It was good my mother didn’t want me except when she was trying to score. It was good that I was cutting ties with Liam. I was answerable to no one, and that was going to suit me down to the ground.

  I stood and wandered back up to the town, making my way to the one place I’d always felt I could be myself without hurting, and without hurting anyone else. I knocked on Christine's office door, hoping she would be on a break between patients. There was no answer, so I pulled a scrap of paper from my bag and scribbled a note on it for her, sliding it under the door and walking away.

  I didn’t get far before she was calling me, the note in her hand and a frown on her face. “Syra?”

  I looked over my shoulder at her and gave her a tight smile.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  I shook my head and kept walking towards the stairs, reaching out to pull open the door.

  “Syra, please.” She was behind me, her hand on my shoulder.

  I stopped and squeezed my eyes closed. “It’s okay, Chris. I’m going to do this on my own. I’ll see you. Thanks. Y’know. For everything.”

  There was a pause as she searched my eyes for something. I gave her nothing. Her mouth lifted in the corner slightly. “Okay. Well, you know where I am. My door is always open if you change your mind.”

  I nodded and left, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

  When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I slumped against the wall and scrolled through my contacts, hitting call. It rang three times before I heard the click.

  “Princess. How nice to hear from you.”

  I swallowed and closed my eyes. “Hey, Doug. Um. I wondered If it would be possible for me to start earlier.”

  He chuckled quietly before he spoke again. “Of course. I’m always in need of an extra pair of hands. When were you thinking?”

  I paused, licking my dry lips and swiping under my nose. “Tonight?”

  ***

  “So the dishwasher is here. We need to keep it stacked and on the go all the time to keep the stock of glasses high, especially at weekends—it can get totally manic, like. We keep fruit in this fridge: limes, lemons, cherries and all that shit, and the ice freezer is over here. We have a stock of it behind the bar, but if you see it running low, grab the bucket and come get more.”

  I nodded as I tugged at my shirt uncomfortably in an attempt to cover myself up a little more, and Amber popped her gum, curling her lip at me.

  “Through here—” She led me into the next store room. “—is all the spare booze and liquor. The bottles are clipped up behind the bar for your generic crap, but the specialised drinks stand on the shelves. Everything is in here, though, so if you can’t find something or something has run out, this is where you come get more from. All the beer is on draft, and the lads are in charge of changing the barrels, cos they're heavy and management don’t want the girls getting mucky and chipping nails and shit.”

  “Bit sexist.”

  “Wha’?”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Never mind.” I smiled sweetly and let her continue.

  In here is the safe and where the bar managers cash up. If you ever run out of change, you’ll need to come and ask. Hey, Freddie.” She winked and batted her eyes at a guy sitting at a desk counting out bags of money, chewing noisily on her gum.

  “Hey, sweet-cheeks. You working tonight.”

  “Sure am, sugar. Looking forward to it.” She slid her arse onto the desk beside him. “This is Syra. She’s new.”

  I lifted my hand awkwardly and waved, pressing my lips into a thin line. “Hey.”

  Freddie looked me up and down, nodded and gave me a look that I knew exactly how to interpret. “Nice to meet you, Syra. I’ll be the bar manager for tonight. If you need anything, anything at all, you come and find me. Okay?”

  His eyes were a dark chocolate brown and they were fixed intently on me.

  I nodded and smiled again. “Thanks.”

  “Right. I’d better continue the tour and the training. See ya, Fred.” Amber slid off the desk and shimmied out of the office ahead of me.

  I looked back over my shoulder and Freddie winked at me.

  “Anything.”

  I smirked and followed Amber into the bar area where she proceeded to run through how everything worked, how to ring orders through the till and how to pull the perfect pint.

  Once I’d been shown the ropes, she led me back to the break room where she showed me the changing rooms. The far wall had a tall shelving unit crammed full of hair accessories, products and makeup. Along the side, there was a huge dressing table, like the ones actresses and models use, lights all around the mirror, where three other girls sat pouting at themselves, preening and fluffing up their hair.

  “This is where we get ready for our shifts.”

  “Get ready?” I looked down at my uniform and fiddled with the end of one of my dreads. “I’m—I’m ready, right?”

  Amber giggled. “Honey, the boss-man likes us to look good. Y’know. For the punters.” She winked. She was always fucking winking. Her blonde curls bounced as she spoke, blue eyes sparkling with a flirty twinkle. “So he insists we wear makeup and stuff. He provides it all for us, but yeah, we have to wear it. So…” She pointed to the cabinet and then at the bench. “Knock yourself out. You’re on the floor in half an hour. I’ll be over here touching myself up.” She giggled. And winked. “Like, not literally touching myself up. Not yet anyway. That’ll be later.” A laugh floated from her chest and then... she winked. “Touching up my makeup is what I mean.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her. “I knew what you meant.”

  Gingerly lowering myself on the end of the bench away from the other girls, I placed my hands flat on the counter and looked at my reflection in the mirror.

  I’d never worn anything more than mascara in my life.

  Inhaling deeply, I allowed my eyes to roam over each part of me. My eyes were big with long, dark lashes that curled upwards. My nose was small and ever so slightly turned up at the end. There was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of it and the apples of my cheeks and my forehead. I reached out and ran the tip of my finger over them before trailing it across my dusky pink lips. The top one was ever so slightly fuller than my bottom one, my cupid’s bow flat and almost non-existent. I tugged at it with my teeth, dropping my eyes to my exposed collarbone and the way my shirt only just covered the edges of my bright pink bra.

  Standing, I moved to the cabinet, and with inexperienced hands, I picked out a mascara, a clear lip gloss and some pale pink eyeshadow. Lining up the items in front of me, I sat back down and opened the small tub of pink powder.

  The slap of something hitting the counter had my eyes jumping up.

  “There are always new packs of makeup brushes over there in that drawer. You’ll need to stick your name on that—stickers are in the same drawer. Don’t use your finger. Hygiene and shit, yeah?” The voice from behind me came from a beautiful, caramel-skinned girl. Her dark brown eyes were heavily made up with kohl and mascara, a deep purple glitter covered her lids a
nd her lips shone with an almost black lipstick. She leaned over my shoulder, her thick afro tickling the skin on my cheek, and looked at herself in the mirror, catching some stray mascara on her cheek with a face wipe. “Clara.” She stood up and hopped up onto the counter beside me and held out her hand.

  I blinked and took it. “Syra. Nice to meet you.”

  She nodded and reached around to unfasten her bra. She slid it through the sleeve of her shirt and dropped it beside her. Rifling in her handbag, she pulled out what looked like sellotape and broke off a couple of pieces with her teeth.

  “Tit tape.” She stuck each piece on the inside of the edge of her shirt, and then stuck them to her breasts so her nipples were just covered. “Want some?”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  I blinked again and looked up at her. “What?”

  “Do you want some tit tape? If you are bra-less, you get more tips. Some girls like to, some don’t.” She adjusted herself and slipped to the floor, turning back to appraise her reflection. “I like to because I need the money.”

  “Um. No. Thanks. I’m good.”

  She smiled at me in the mirror—a genuine smile. “Good luck. It’s a jungle out there. Just…” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t take any shit, yeah?”

  I nodded and swiveled back round to look at myself, silently and nervously pulling out a brush, stroking it gently across the pink powder before sweeping it over my eyelids. Swallowing, I unscrewed the mascara and leaned forwards, blinking slowly and heavily over the brush until my lashes were laden. I replaced the items, tucking the gloss into the pocket of my trousers, hoping to get away without wearing any.

  I watched the other girls giggling and pouting at themselves and each other and glanced at myself again.

  This wasn’t me. But that was okay, right? I could reinvent myself if I wanted? I could get rid of the old Syra and create something new, something that wasn't ruled by the shit that bounced around in her head.

  Right?

  Behind the bar twenty minutes later, I stood back and observed the others for a few minutes. They moved easily and confidently, smiling and flirting at the right times with the guys who lapped up their attention. But behind that, they were competent and efficient barmaids. They knocked through the queues quickly and, as Clara had suggested to me, they didn’t take any shit. Freddie was always lurking, keeping his watchful eye on all of us, his arms folded over his broad chest, his eyes wise and full of genuine concern.

  He moved to stand next to me. “You okay?”

  I looked up at him. “Just taking it all in, y’know. Lots to learn and I don’t want to fuck it up on my first shift.”

  I watched his eyes drift to my chest before they flicked quickly back to my face.

  “You look like you can handle yourself. Go on, get in there. Start with a small group or couple. Over there, look.” He nodded his head to two older-looking guys who were leaning on the bar chatting and waiting to be served. “They’re regulars. Cheeky, but harmless. They always order the same. Two beers and two whiskey chasers. They’ll drink the first two rounds at the bar and then they’ll move to a table and pay for waitress service.”

  I looked over at the gentlemen, dressed in expensive suits, hair slicked back, gold rings on their fingers and chains around their necks. “What’s waitress service?”

  Freddie moved away from the wall and grabbed a glass from the shelf, pouring himself water from the tap. “People who want to pay to have their drinks brought to the table can do so. They can pay extra to choose their waitress, too.”

  My eyes widened and he laughed. “Don’t worry. We don’t allow new staff to work privately. You have to do at least a month before we release you to the wolves.” He winked and pointed to the men. “Go on. They don’t bite.”

  I smiled at him gently and moved towards them, wiping my palms down my trousers and digging deep for my confidence and sass.

  On approaching them, the older one lifted his eyes and then stood up straight. “Evening, darling’. Two pints of Amstrel and two double shots of whiskey, love.”

  I smiled to myself and caught Freddie’s eye as he watched on. He winked again and I bit down on my lip. I breathed deeply and clicked into role, a role I would take seriously over the next few months—a role I would slip into easily and one that would become my whole existence, helping me to slide away from my mind and the way it would constantly drag me the fuck down.

  Syra

  Spiral by Rebecca Clements

  “SYRA. YOU’VE BEEN BOOKED.”

  “What?” I looked up from where I was pouring a red wine to Freddie, who stood with his clipboard, and I physically gulped. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Don’t look so surprised.”

  “But you said—”

  “I know what I said, but rules change.”

  “But—”

  “Doug wants you to work a table in VIP.”

  I turned around and plastered a beaming smile on my face as I handed the customer her drink and took payment. After closing the drawer to the till, I turned back to Freddie. “This is literally my fourth shift.”

  “And Doug thinks you’re doing great and wants to you work VIP tonight.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and glanced over the bar towards the stairs. “Who has asked for me?”

  He smirked and then gave me a weird look. “Doug.”

  “Well yes I realise that, but who has booked me, as in who has paid for me?”

  Freddie cocked his head to the side indicating that I should follow him. I wiped my hands on a cloth and glanced over at Amber who was watching me, chewing on her gum, her eyes narrowed. I shrugged, gave a sweet smile and followed Freddie out of the bar area and round to the main room. “What’s Amber’s beef?” I shouted above the noise of the dance tunes as we walked towards the stairs.

  “She’s worked here for two years and never been booked.”

  “Oh.”

  “So you’ll be her least favourite person now, I imagine.”

  “Gee. That’s good to know.”

  Freddie ushered me up the staircase, the noise getting a little quieter the higher we climbed. “Don’t let her bother you. She’s a wannabe and won’t get anywhere with her attitude.”

  We reached the top of the stairs, and I cast my eyes around the familiar scene. I’d been up a couple of times since working there, but never during opening hours aside from the time I was there with Doug. The low lighting and softer music cast an expensive glow over the whole floor. I looked over to the bar and caught Clara’s eye. She always worked the VIP bar, but was never booked because she didn’t want to be. She raised a brow at me and I shrugged before turning back to Freddie. He was chatting to one of the barmen who was returning with a tray full of glasses.

  “So you didn’t answer my question.”

  He slung his arm around me and introduced me to Zach. “Zach, this is Syra, our newest recruit. She’s just been booked.”

  Zach’s mouth turned down at the corners and he nodded his head up and down a few times. “Impressive, Syra. Impressive.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what was so impressive, but I took the compliment as it was intended and thanked him quietly. “Freddie. Who booked me?”

  He looked at me. “Doug.”

  “Oh my God. I know that but—”

  “Syra. Doug wants you to work his table.”

  My eyes were glued to his, a frown twitching at my brow. “What?”

  “Haha. You look scared stiff.” He let his arm drop and started walking away.

  I remained glued to the spot, no idea what was happening. “Freddie, wait.” He didn’t wait, which meant I had to go after him. I followed him along the bar and round the corner to where the VIP area opened up into a dance floor and tiers of plush seating and private booths. He ran up the shallow steps and I cursed him as he turned over his shoulder and shouted for me to hurry up.

 
I eventually caught up as he was unlocking an almost hidden door at the back of the room and followed him through it. It wasn’t much bigger than a stock cupboard, with nothing but shelves and a row of lockers. He reached up and pulled the cord for the light before crouching down to pull a cardboard box out from under the bottom shelf.

  “Here.” He held up a starched white apron with The Release logo stitched into the corner. “Tie that around your waist.”

  I took it from him and did as he asked, waiting for my next instruction, and after standing back up, he began opening another box that was at the back of a shelf higher up. He held up a black shirt, similar to the one I was wearing but with short, cap sleeves instead of long ones. “You can put your white one in one of these lockers once you’ve changed. And here.” He handed me a small roll of tape.

  I scoffed. “Erm. I don’t think so.”

  He didn’t flinch, the tape still dangling from his finger in front of us.

  “Seriously?”

  “House rules, darlin’.”

  “Jesus. H.” I snatched it from him and rolled my eyes. “Anything else I’m going to be forced to do against my will?”

  A small smirk lifted the side of Freddie’s face and I knew he wanted me. I hadn’t had sex for four days, not since Liam, because I’d worked nights and I’d slept all day. The itch under my skin was real, and with Freddie standing there for the taking, I found it hard to resist.

  I mirrored his look and began unbuttoning my shirt, keeping my eyes fixed on his. I saw his jaw tick and his pupils dilate, and it wasn’t long before he had me pushed up against the far wall, his hands in my hair and his mouth covering my breasts.

  It didn’t last long.

  As he thrust in and out of me, I kept my eyes closed and my mouth shut tight lest the emotion that trickled from the corners of my eyes and down my temples into my hair manifested itself as the howling of pain I could hear in my head.