Page 27 of The Cocktail Bar
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, hehadfound 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-31st2017
Dear Miss Hopkins
We hereby confirm your place on the coveted Brunswick Mixology and Cocktail course…”
