Page 7 of Take My Hand

“Me? What about me?”

“How on earth do we resolve this unrequited love?”

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” I replied. “There’s no unrequited love.”

“No,” Ana said, over her shoulder. “Just an innate desire for him to smash your back doors in.”

As my friends all burst out laughing again, I couldn’t be bothered to argue with them. They were pathetic and didn’t want to hear the truth. That was what I was telling myself anyway.

Chapter Three

Will

When the bar came into view, my breath caught as it usually did. Still unable to believe that it was mine. I knew I’d had a leg up from Miriam, but I’d still put my heart and soul into it. It hadn’t been the best of places when I’d bought it. It had been a pet shop at one time until the owner had done a bunk, leaving behind a load of birds and guinea pigs. Being abandoned for years, it was run down, full of rotten wood and an infestation of rats, courtesy of the bird food still stored in there. That almost made me throw the towel in—I fucking hated rats. It was the tails and those beady little eyes. The place was mine, though, and when it came on sale in the little town that I lived with Mrs Powell I knew that I had to have it.

I knew that the cash from Miriam would only go so far with the money pit that I’d decided to buy. That meant for a long time I carried on with my pub job in the day and a little night security work at a factory that made steel valves. Thankfully, my old friend and neighbour, Sam, and his wife Louise were morethan happy to have Maddy stay with them a few nights a week. It wasn’t ideal, but for a couple of years it was necessary.

Now, though, the bar was finished, and aside from Maddy, it was my biggest pride and joy. Finished to a quality standard, it was a cool place to hang out for a whole range of Norford inhabitants. It wasn’t like a typical pub, so we tended to get the younger crowd at night and the older ones during the day to drink coffee or the odd bottle of wine. We also seemed to be on a good route for minibuses of hen and stag parties going into Manchester, so unlike a lot of pubs and bars, we were doing okay.

Flicking through the post that I’d picked up on my way in, I lifted the bar flap and made my way to the back office. I could hear the clinking of bottles coming from the cellar and knew that Marcus, my head bar tender, had already arrived. Going to the door at the top of the stairs, I shouted down to him.

“Marcus, you want a brew?”

His blond head appeared, and he looked up at me, wiping the sweat from his brow. Cellar work was hard, and I didn’t envy him in the stifling heat of the cellar. I made a mental note to look into a portable aircon machine for down there.

“Yep,” he replied. “Make it a strong one.”

I grinned. “Heavy night?”

“Could say that.” He winked and then disappeared.

Marcus was me twenty years ago, before I knew I had a daughter. I’d lost count of the number of women I’d seen leave his flat, which was above the bar. Women of all ages and sizes had been in the guy’s bed, and he showed no shame for it. And why should he, if they were willing? Each one I’d seen looked happy, leaving with a smile on her face.

I threw the post down on my desk and then doubled back to the kitchen to get us some tea. We didn’t do meals as such, mainly because it was a pain in the arse trying to find and thenkeep a decent chef in such a small place. Those who were any good didn’t stay long because they got poached by one of the big bars in Manchester or Liverpool. We therefore served chips, bacon and sausage butties, and the odd burger that the bar staff could easily throw together.

When I saw the dirty dishes on the side, I sighed heavily. Dylan was our dish washer and glass collector and wasn’t supposed to go home until the kitchen was clean of plates and glasses. This was the third time in two weeks, and I was getting a little pissed off. He was a thin, wiry guy who I had a feeling had a drug habit. If he didn’t, he had the longest lasting cold in history. He never stopped sniffing.

“Fuck,” Marcus said from behind me. “Did he leave dirty plates again?”

I half-turned to him and sighed. “Yeah, I think I’m going to have to give him a warning.”

“Let the fucker go,” Marcus replied, reaching for two mugs from the shelf. “He was late twice last week as well.”

I set about making us a cup of tea each, thinking that I needed to find a new dish washer like I needed to a hole in the head. Norford was small, once upon a time being just a small village of about three thousand people. It had grown over the last fifty years but was still small. With two major cities only one or two hours away, and the nearest large town only eight miles up the road, the place was not awash with people who wanted to work for minimum wage and free booze six nights a week.

“I’ll have a word with him,” I said as I watched the kettle boil. “Unless you know someone who’d like the job.”

Marcus laughed. “Sorry, boss. Although I think my grandad is looking for something to get him out of the house. Grandma is hormonal as fuck apparently.”

I groaned inwardly because Marcus’ grandparents were only twenty five years older than me. When I thought about how fastthe last twenty five years had gone by, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I could be in their shoes. Not that any guy would be getting his hands on my little girl until she was at least forty or fifty.

Marcus nudged me. “You’ve got that look on your face. The one you get when I tell you how pretty Maddy is getting.”

I narrowed my gaze on him. “I will cut your dick off, believe me.”

“As if I’d even attempt to go there,” he scoffed. “Like you said, you’d cut my dick off.”

“She wouldn’t look twice at you anyway.” I turned back to the kettle, which was ready, and poured water into both mugs. “Sugar, seeing as you had a big night?”

---