Page 4 of The Cocktail Bar
“Oh my god, get out of here, it’s you!” she said.
“Excuse me? Do I know you?”
River rubbed his eyes with his fists, breaking the terrier’s new fascination with licking his face.
“It’s me, Georgina. Well, George. But I’m Georgina nowadays. Reinvented myself, like Lady Gaga,” she said with a wink.
“George? Georgie George? As in Blake’s little sister, Georgie George?”
“Georgina,” she shouted with a massive grin, so there was no doubt as to her new identity as it reverberated inside the tower, spilling out and rolling down the Tor’s dewy slopes and onto the patchwork quilt of the Somerset Levels beyond.
“Crikey, I should think you have reinvented yourself.” River couldn’t help but whistle as he looked her up and down. She was about as far removed from the shell suit-betrothed teen with the bob, dot-to-dot acne, and tram track braces to match, as could be. How had this transformation happened?
“Oh purlease,” Georgina’s cheeks were ever so slightly more berry-stained than they’d appeared on her arrival.
“I heard you were back,” she said, pausing briefly to summon new breath. “Rumour mill’s hard to escape in this town. Here, girl.” She called the dog back to her side and clipped on its lead. “Sorry about that, she’s always been a bit of a case, and well, at this time of day we rarely bump into anybody else up here.”
“You used to be more of a night owl as I recall. What happened?”
“Reality bit some of us. We weren’t all as lucky as you,” she said removing her hat to further reveal the extent of her beauty, despite a trace of contempt in her watery green eyes.
“Yeah, I was sorry to hear about your parents finally calling it a day,” River lowered his head. “Must have hit you both hard.” He rubbed a couple of loose stones together, unsure whether it was safe to resume eye contact with the Tom Boy turned Vixen. “And um, I kind of bumped into your brother last night too.”
“Really? Where? He never mentioned it.” Her reply came in one quick and breathless succession.
“Oh, he just popped his head into the bar to say hello, as you do. Lee came too, always good to catch up with old friends.” He cursed himself silently for letting out a nervous laugh.
“Hmm, yes, well I did hear about you buying up Dad’s drinking and skittles den. Tut tut. Not exactly the subtlest move in the book.”
“Maybe not but it spares you all from another shop full of crystals and crap.”
Nice one, River. Despite the lack of sleep and the mother of all hangovers, you’re on surprisingly good form this morning.
“Touché,” she said, clearly agreeing with him whilst rubbing and bending the double jointed tips of her digits into the warmth of her fingerless gloves, “but in all honesty it’s hit Dad hard. The pub was his haven, not just for the ale and the opportunity to knock down a few pins twice a week. It’s the company he misses, the friendships. Men of his generation, they don’t do the coffee and cake thing like the women.” She paused to study River with the kind of just-got-out-of-bed-hair that makes a man want to bury his face in it, taking in the remnants of last night’s perfume before a quick round of second helpings.
He pushed the very idea to the back of his mind and pondered his defence, but she was simply too fast to keep up with, her youth giving her quick quips an unfair advantage.
“So that’s what you’ve effectively done, you see, ripped a community apart at its very heart,” she carried on with her crusade.
“Oh come on, surely that’s a tad extreme,” he said, trying to soften the lead of those words, “nothing stays the same forever.”
He clocked those utterly kissable lips beginning to curve into the slightest of smiles. She was damn well enjoying this, bordering on flirting with him. He’d even go as far as to say the challenge was beginning to turn him on, too.
“Okay, I get it, I get it. I’ve put my foot in things good and proper. But don’t knock me down before you’ve given the bar a try.”
Will you just give it up already with the flaming skittles references!
“Even your dad might find he likes it.”
“Ha, so sure of yourself, aren’t you? All those years of stardom have clearly inflated your ego to some wuthering heights. But these are cider drinkers we’re talking about, loyal only to purveyors of the finest Scrumpy. No amount of ‘Sex on the Beach’ is going to lead them astray.”
Why was everyone so hell-bent on stereotyping a mixologist’s repertoire? This conversation was in dire need of a change of direction.
“So, how is life treating you? And why in the heck are you up here of all places so early?”
“I could ask the same of you? Haven’t you got a bed to sleep in?” Her cheekiness batted back her reply.
“I uh, I had a late one decorating the bar last night… yeah. And Mum, Heather, she needed her kip… got some kind of meditation class to give today at that new centre near the Chalice Well.”
