Page 4 of Don't You Want Me, Baby?

They headed back to work, her last cryptic comment hanging in the air between them like a dust mote. Everyone was tucking into their food, the regular lunch crowd nursing their pints, playing cards, laughing and chatting. The usual mix of workers, locals, retirees. ‘Everyone good here?’ she called out to a couple of the regulars.

‘Yup.’ George grinned back at them. ‘Bill just took Eddie for twenty quid on the darts. He’s demanding a rematch. I think we might have to referee at some point.’

‘I am not taking any of them to the emergency room again.’ She kept her voice low, so only Sharon would hear. ‘The nurses laughed for a full ten minutes the last time.’

Sharon giggled. ‘Yeah, well, a dart stuck in a forehead is pretty funny.’

‘Not for the brewery it wasn’t!’ Amber protested, but her chiding held no heat as she addressed her regulars. ‘I am not losing my licence for you two chuckleheads. They still owe me for the pool table incident. The finance department did not quite buy that the leg “just fell off”. Next time, it’s coming out of my paycheck.’ She leaned against the counter, resting her tired calves for a second. The long shifts had been taking a toll on her lately.Bradley rubbed them for her usually, running his soft hands along her knotted muscles. He hadn’t done it for a while, she realised. Aside from the odd quickie, it was a while since they’d been intimate at all like that. ‘Shaz, do you think Brad’s a Daniel Cleaver?’

‘What?’

‘You know, a Daniel Cleaver type. Good on paper, slippery in real life.’

She watched her friend bite at her lip, a sure-fire sign that she was trying to be kind with her answer. Sharon always shot from the hip. Even when it hit like buck shot, she was honest when she fired off her opinions.

‘Well.’ Diplomacy won. ‘Like you said, he won’t always be so tied up with work.’

‘Right.’ She nodded sadly, lifting the glasswasher handle and feeling the steam hit her face. The pair of them started with the pint pots, polishing them one at a time. Three glasses in, she was still turning over the conversation in her head. The doubts were starting to gnaw at her positive attitude. Sharon’s wariness was chipping away, along with her own strong glimmers that something was off. ‘But it has only been a year. You had a point. It’s still new, right? Shouldn’t we be ripping each other’s clothes off or something?’

‘Well, you’ve had sex. It’s not like you don’t.’

‘Yeah, but I mean the honeymoon stage, you know? The one where you can’t live without sending the other a text or a daft message. Wanting to hear how their day went. Telling them you’re missing them. We don’t have that, not any more. The last one Bradley sent me was to remind him about booking his car in for a service. It should be all sexting and miss you baby’s, shouldn’t it? You know. You talk about them all the time, think about them, the usual.’

‘Yeah, in books and movies.’ Sharon scoffed. ‘The last text I got from a date had a dirty picture attached to it.’

‘Gross. Martin?’

Sharon tittered. ‘Nope. That would have required a microscope and some pretty damn good lighting.’ The women cracked out laughing when their eyes met. ‘Not everyone’s like that, anyway. No-one would get anything done, for a start. If everyone was just screwing each other, fuelled by lust, civilisations would crumble in months. No-one’s living like that, ruled by their loins.’

‘Of course they are!’ Amber countered, lining the clean glasses up just so. ‘Where do you think the inspiration comes from for the movies and books? All that stuff people love comes from real life. Every love story comes from something in real life, experiences people live!’

Sharon laughed. ‘Yeah, cos the world is full of sparkly vampires, bat boys and spank-loving billionaires who love literature-obsessed virgins.’

‘Who’s spank-loving?’ Bill asked, walking up to the bar at the wrong moment with his empty bitter glass. Sharon took it from him and refilled it, pulling the wooden handle to pump the creamy brown bitter.

‘It’s from a book, love.’

Bill nodded knowingly. ‘Ah right. The missus reads those. All lip biting, innit?’

Sharon smirked, taking his money. ‘Something like that, Bill.’

‘Cheers duck. She loves those books. Always puts her in a good mood too. Every lass likes a good fairy tale.’

He went back to his mates, and Sharon mouthed, ‘Told you so’ at her.

Amber bristled. She wasn’t going to give up that easily.

‘How did you meet your wife, Bill?’

He looked up from his pint, a wistful look on his face.

‘Ah well, that was a story.’ Amber waggled her eyebrows at Sharon, who stuck her tongue out in reply. Bill’s gaze had turned all wistful, and Amber held her breath. ‘We met in the dance hall. I was out with my muckers from the gas board; she was out with the lasses from the factory. She fancied my mate Ronnie, but I wasn’t having that. Flash git he was, always one for the ladies that one. I put on my best bib and tucker, shined up my shoes and, the minute the music started, I went over to her.’ He laughed softly, seemingly lost in the memory. Amber leaned over the bar, propping her chin on her elbow. Sharon made a vomit noise under her breath. Amber shushed her with a bar towel to the face. ‘I said, “You might not have been looking for me, my love, but I sure have waited a long time for you. Dance with me and put a poor man out of his misery.”’

‘Wow,’ Amber breathed. ‘And that did it?’

Bill huffed, the wistful look disappearing like a light going out. ‘Did it buggery. Ronnie, the smooth-talking blaggard, walked in right in the middle of my speech and she ended up seeing him for a couple of months. She cried on my shoulder for a full week when he ran off with another bit of skirt.’

‘Ha! In your face!’ Sharon crowed. ‘Sorry.’ She winced in Bill’s direction.

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