The Cocktail Bar

by Isabella May

  “One trot at a time,” she laughed, and then downgraded to a smile of relief as she realised he was – at least trying – to be genuinely happy for her decision.

  “Oh, and by the way, what was that envelope you mentioned earlier? I checked in the pocket at the back of the book,” she put her glass down and picked the giant cocktail book up to demonstrate. “But it’s empty; no trace of an envelope anywhere.”

  Her words cast River to stone.

  “I’m guessing it was pretty important, huh?”

  “Shit,” said River finally. “Oh Shit.”

  Chapter Eleven

  RIVER

  “Well? What can I get you? A tall drink, a classic, mostly spirits, something exotic?”

  “I don’t usually go in for this type of stuff – as you may well remember,” said Lee, eyes blinking left and right, not quite able to match River’s inquiry. “To tell you the truth, I’m uh… I’m what you might call a Cocktail Virgin.”

  River couldn’t have been more surprised when one Saturday afternoon, a short and undeniable – yet curiously interesting with it – Plain Jane, lugged a befuddled Lee into the bar. He whistled car salesman-style, as if Lee’s revelation was going to cost him dearly.

  “It’s about time we made up for lost time then,” said River, passing him the menu, hoping today wouldn’t be the day Lee cut his teeth on anything Mexican.

  Not because he didn’t deserve it, despite his part in smashing up the bar, River knew Lee’s heart had never truly been involved in the massacre. It was a sad thing to see a grown man unable to shake off the school playground ringleader. He could only feel sorry for someone with such a lack of self-esteem. Rather, River didn’t feel ready to witness the unravelling of the alchemy, not quite yet anyway; the bar had only been open a couple of months, and with the envelope still mysteriously missing, he didn’t trust himself to remember Mercedes’ written instructions; despite the fact he had committed them to memory, despite the fact their English translation was simply a re-cap of the words she had spoken to him in Mexico. He could only hope his confidence would somehow be bolstered between now and the revelation of Chosen One Number One.

  “Help me out,” said Lee, eyes bulging widely. “I mean, what am I meant to choose? I’ve finally got myself a bird.” He turned nervously to look back at his girlfriend who was engrossed in her own menu. “What’s an acceptable drink for a male? Last thing I want to do is make a complete tit of myself. Oh, and before I forget, I’m err… sorry… for my part in it all… I genuinely had no idea Blake was going to go so off the rails that day… but you ain’t seen me here, right…? George isn’t working tonight, is she? Please tell me no.”

  “Apology accepted. But you do realise you can do better than that, surely?”

  “Are you trying to run down my woman already?” Lee’s back became ruler straight.

  River laughed. “Not your lady, no, course not, she seems pukka… although, I don’t see any wings; best cut the bird reference out. Chicks don’t like that.” His eyes danced with merriment.

  “Yeah, cheers for the tip.”

  “Lee, mate, what I mean is Blake’s not going to have some neighbourhood watch patrol burst in here any minute. Besides, your life is your own… But tell me, how did you find out about Georgina?”

  “Through Blake of course.”

  River’s blood ran cold, so cold he had to stop himself from straining tea-coloured liquid into the glass of his current order for fear of drowning the cocktail. He exhaled deeply, eyes closed in a bid to compose himself.

  “He definitely knows? And he’s okay with it?”

  “I wouldn’t say okay with it… but he doesn’t seem to be as angry about it as he was when you shelled out for this joint. So that’s gotta be a good sign, right? For you, I mean. Hopefully no more re-decorating for a while.” Lee’s voice was tinged with nervousness, tossing River’s emotional state back to him like a hot potato.

  “So then what’s it to be?” said River, unsure as to what the hidden meaning behind any of that implied. It was pretty obvious that when Blake did let Lee in on Georgina’s professional news, he’d done so with a loaded sting in the tail of his sentence. As was typical with Lee though, that part had been more than lost in translation. “Actually, don’t bother looking. I’ve just had a brainwave.”

  “Great.”

  River headed for his Bible, under pleasant sedation at the idea of introducing Lee to his very first cocktail, and concurrently cursing himself for still keeping his treasured book in public view. Yet what else was he supposed to do? He could hardly keep running off to the skittle alley for a furtive glance. Yes, he should have kept the envelope somewhere safer once he’d read those words and sealed it for a second time. But he operated on trust, he had to, especially given the amount Mercedes had instilled in him. If he changed his stance now, the mission would never get started, let alone completed. In any case, her Spanish words would read as complete and utter tosh to anyone who understood them, or bothered to get them translated.

  Of course, his first thought was the culprit might be Georgina, but there was no way it could have been her. She thought the world of him… already, a visible fact which slightly freaked him out, for at some point he knew he would have to let her fall. He was far from in love with her. If that kind of magic was going to happen, it would have happened already. So then his next thought had been this was an act of the Rigby-Chandlers. But Lord Pervert was too sloth-like to operate covertly, and as for Her Ladyship, the notion of her putting herself in such a lower class position as to be stood behind a bar was utterly preposterous. And so for the moment he could only draw a blank.

  “Don’t go being scared of the cocktail,” he said, throwing his words over his shoulder and back to Lee at the bar, the serving of a brand new customer sweet salvation to the chaos in his mind. “It’s all in the mixology… not only what I’m doing stood here, but what your body is asking to drink. And I think I have just the thing for it today, The Woodstock.”

  “Sounds strong.” Lee began to rifle through the pages of the menu.

  “Nah, it’s really not. Gin, vodka and rum are the least hangover-inducing of the spirits, but you won’t find it in there, this one’s a little bit special.”

  River turned to see Lee’s eyes bulging out of their sockets again, this time with terror. “Ha bleedin’ ha… I think,” he said finally.

  “Do you honestly think I’d have a licence if I meddled all three of those together and served it up to you in a glass?” River knew anybody else but Lee could reel off endless cocktail varieties containing that particular combo as their base, but therein lay the beauty of his school buddy’s naivety. “Geez, you really are clueless. But it does have a kick. Perfect tipple to get you acquainted with good taste. Before you know it your pint of cider will be a thing of the past and your girlfriend – what’s her name?”

  “Jonie.”

  “Jonie will be declaring her undying love and making you an honest man.”

  “Chance’ll be a fine thing,” said Lee. “Cupid’s never taken much notice of me before, why should it be any different this time?”

  And there it was. That was the moment.

  River saw it like he’d never seen anything before. Lee was going to be one of the three, his fate sealed, just like that bloody envelope should be. And when Mercedes’ voice whispered ‘yes’ into River’s ear, a tickle on the breeze quite from nowhere as he cruelly jazzed his friend’s inaugural cocktail up with the Full Monty décor of swizzle sticks, umbrellas and star fruit slices, he was sure of it.

  With Lee now back at his table and glued to Jonie’s conversation, and Georgina on a break, he made his way excitedly to the lovebirds, laden with a tray that produced ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ from fellow drinkers, whilst its smitten recipient hadn’t the foggiest of how embarrassed he was about to get.

  River served Jonie her somewhat solemn in comparison Mai Tai first, then turned to Lee, who still hadn’t noticed he wa
s expected to imbibe a Rio Carnival of a spectacle, slap bang in the centre of the bar’s main window, for the entire High Street to see.

  “You really are a toss—”

  “Etiquette,” said Jonie, cutting Lee’s undoubted expletive off before it was airborne. “Thank you, these look stunning… mmm…” She took a first sip through her straw and encouraged Lee with her spare hand to do the same through his completely unnecessary four pink stripy straws.

  “Get used to the high life,” River couldn’t resist dropping Lee an early hint, “you’re going to love it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  GEORGINA

  Georgina almost dropped her tray laden with Pimm’s and glasses, but not because of its weight. The perks of this job meant her biceps were firming up nicely, thank you very much, not in a weird female bodybuilder type way – and thank god for that – but she was definitely keeping those blessed bingo wings at bay for at least a decade by her reckoning. And her arms didn’t almost give way through lack of nourishment either; Georgina was lucky in that respect, she’d always been able to eat more or less what she wanted, Zara’s Organic Raspberry Tartlets seeing her through until clock off time (she’d treated herself to two from the bakery next door, figuring that if she was ‘acting as if’ on the floozie front in real life, she may as well do it with her food as well). No, the reason she almost covered herself in sticky liquid strawberry, cucumber and mint leaves was the sight of her father walking in through the front door of the bar.

  Of course she’d told him about the job, and he’d fessed up to her about the DIY in exchange, (she hadn’t the heart to tell him he was, in fact, clearing up after the destruction of his very own son).

  “I left some paintbrushes here all those weeks ago, thought I’d call in to pick them up before they get pilfered,” said Terry, adding a wink as he approached River.

  “Mate, great to see you… and I’m so sorry, I did notice them, had put them away in the cupboard in the backyard…where I erm… where I keep my other bits and bobs, was intending to get them back to you via Georgina… I um… I just wasn’t sure if you knew who I was at the time when you were patching up for me… it’s not like we did ever properly introduce ourselves.”

  “Well I didn’t know then but I do now, courtesy of Georgie.”

  Georgina cringed. Thanks, Dad, for making me sound like I’m crouching in the tree house again with my bow and arrow, just the kind of image to take me back to first base with River. Blithering idiot! She’d lost count of the number of times she’d instructed him to address her by her full name in public.

  “Just wait there a minute, Terry. I won’t be long,” said River before turning to Georgina and adding, “Gee, will you ask him what he wants to drink?”

  Gee?

  No, no, no, no, no. She did not ‘do’ Gee. Nor George, or Georgie, but definitely not bloody Gee. She’d be having more than a word with him later about that – on or off the mattress.

  “C’mon, Dad, stay for one why don’t you?” she asked obediently anyway.

  And then her short term memory caught up with River’s recent flurry of words. Hang on a minute; hadn’t he mentioned a ‘backyard cupboard’ just then, and hadn’t he spectacularly faltered and bumbled in the process? Hmm, intriguing, her dad’s paintbrushes clearly weren’t the only things he was storing down there.

  “Aw no, this isn’t really my cuppa in here,” said her dad with that wistful look in his eyes, the one she was hoping had now been firmly relegated to the past.

  “Terry,” said River, a tinge of exasperation in his voice, “now that’s not strictly true and you know it… go on… tell Georgina what I fixed you and the others up with that afternoon when you’d finished the painting.”

  “Oh, I can’t remember the posh name of it,” said Terry, face flushing since he’d been rumbled, “t’weren’t too bad though, I’ll give you that, lad, no, t’weren’t too bad at all.”

  “Well then, perhaps it’s time for another,” said Heather, appearing from absolutely nowhere and draping her arm around Terry’s waist as if she were the tinsel decorating a Christmas tree.

  Christ, tonight’s Ginger Rabbit was taking effect a little too quickly, poor Dad.

  “Another G.R for me when you’re ready, sweetheart.” She nodded at Georgina before turning her attention back to Terry. “Long time no see, Terence. How the devil are you? I’m pretty sure the last time our paths crossed, despite our geographic proximity in this town, was at the Year Twelve parents’ evening… both of us solo and navigating the regimented Yes Men – and Women – of academia.”

  “Heather Jackson,” Terry stood back then to make room for the vision that was River’s mother, “well I’ll be damned, fancy seeing you here. Then again, tis your lad’s pub… I mean bar… after all, hasn’t he done well for himself? Wish I could the say the same for my two, then again, they’re earning their keep, that’s the main—”

  “Nice to know I’ve done you proud, thanks, Dad,” said Georgina, pivoting to deposit drinks to the group at the corner table.

  “Georgie, that’s not what I—” Terry gripped at her arm and she very nearly did let go of her tray.

  “Actually,” said River, who still hadn’t managed to venture outside, “I have a little something for you, and it seems like now is the perfect moment.” He pulled a letter from his blazer pocket, a letter whose pale brown hued envelope threw Georgina momentarily, hardly helped by everybody’s undivided attention, and her concern that they could all see the English translation about those Toltex Indians and their sacred Mexican bottle inscribed across her transparent face.

  “What is it?”

  “Open it and see.”

  Holy shit, he had found her out, somehow retrieved his weird Spanish text and its meaning from her purse. So that’s why her dad – and now Heather – were here to enjoy the moment, her axe from the bar, back to grovelling for work in another minimum wage per hour café, back to serving up Meals on Wheels, back to five am starts, whining toy dogs and the collecting of their stinking poop in see-through bags.

  She put the tray on an empty table, holding her breath as the liquid in the jug took on the ferocity of stormy ocean waves, took the envelope from River’s hands and tried to suppress her tears, hands trembling as she started to read the letter, silently first, and then aloud.

  “MIXOLOGY AND COCKTAIL COURSE LEVEL 1: LONDON’S ESMERALDA HOTEL, AUGUST 30th-31st 2017

  Dear Miss Hopkins

  We hereby confirm your place on the coveted Brunswick Mixology and Cocktail course…”

  But before she could read any further, the saline was embarrassingly trickling.

  “Oh, come here, love,” said Terry, wrapping his daughter in his arms. “I am beyond proud of you for helping hold the fort together, you know that, and as for this,” he took the paper from her hand and pulled out his old and sellotaped together NHS glasses from the top pocket of his boiler suit to skim read the rest of it, “this is proof of the pudding of your worth. You’re off to London, darling, the Big Smoke… somewhere your Pops hasn’t ever been, that’s for sure. From one generation to the next, you see, things are moving on.”

  She buried her head in his paint-fumed chest mortified at the scene she had created, as well as the fact the entire bar was now au-fait with the alarming fact that at twenty-nine, she still hadn’t visited the capital of her own country. This was so not like her; she was categorically not one for empathy and cupcakes. She wasn’t sure what had come over her but she would not, could not, let her guard down like this again.

  “Stay for a drink. Go on, Terry. It’s the very first travel group meet-up here tonight, an idea I believe that was instigated by your very own daughter to help rustle up more custom.”

  She winced at Heather’s appalling chat-up line.

  “Get on, then,” her dad replied. “Just for the one mind, I’ve gotta be up early for work tomorrow morning.”

  Their toe-curling chat gave Georgina the chance to com
e to her senses and she straightened herself up with a sniffle: “I’ll just nip to the powder room, sort out my face, and take a deep breath or two. But thank you, River. Thank you so much for putting all of your trust in me.” Oh, the irony of that remark, as she felt this prissy little girlie façade fade and the real Georgina kick back into gear.

  Backyard and cupboard: never had two unassuming words been more alluring. She wasn’t sure when and she wasn’t sure how, but she was sure – prestigious mixology course and sugar-coated pleasantries aside – she would soon get to find out exactly what they were all about.

  Chapter Thirteen

  RIVER

  Book club night had proven a roaring success with the fortnightly travel group thankfully lagging not far behind it. As River was becoming increasingly aware, outsmarting Georgina – whose idea the latter fixture had been – went down about as well as a Rusty Nail on top of a Screwdriver.

  Tonight’s crowd almost filled the downstairs part of the bar, just four empty tables remained. It was a record since he’d started trading, but a painful reminder too that Alice hadn’t miraculously changed her mind about his offer of employment. And things were getting way too busy to carry on with just two members of staff, that much was certain.

  Alice.

  He was beginning to wish his mind would adopt the nonplussed sentiment of Smokie’s lead singer in their eponymous Living Next Door to Alice song, but unfortunately, River knew all too well who the eff the Alice in his life was. She was the one who infiltrated his dreams, yes, even – especially – the nights when Georgina lay by his side, running her fingers through his hair as if it was her god given right, edging ever closer to that fine line between lovers and beloved.

  The notion of anything more than friendship with Alice was insane, presumptuous at best, but how he longed to cradle her in his arms, and hell, there was no point denying it, he wanted to do a damn sight more with her besides. But it wouldn’t be like it was with Georgina, lust masking lack, an action to fill a deep void. For the first time in his life, this felt different, it felt real.