Page 44 of The Cocktail Bar
“Just this once then, I’ll put it on and you put your feet up.” He took that as her hint that he should move now to the kitchen, and he reluctantly left the traces of Alice’s touch behind him. “But I didn’t just come here to confront you, Mum. There’s something else you should know.”
“You’re going to be a father. Oh-em-gee. I’ve suddenly come over all dizzy, see if there are any ginger biscuits in the freezer that you could pop in the microwave for a quick defrosting… radioactivity, I know… but needs must.”
“No, Mother! I am absolutely not going to be a father… and as for those flipping biscuits, can’t you take a little of your own advice and know that all grounding comes from within, not some outside object?”
Heather looked thoughtful, before her face shone with admiration for her son.
“What I was trying to tell you is, I’ve, we’ve – that’s Alice and me – moved into one of Aunt Sheba’slargecaravans down at the campsite. Listen, I know you’ll be far from enthralled, but I had to think fast, he, my father,” River was back to his customary bracket fingers either side of his ears again, a habit so middle-aged it petrified him, but it was something akin to a tube ofPringles– once you started, you just couldn’t stop.
“Well,” he carried on with his story, “he was camped out himself… in the reception of The Guinevere, would you believe it. The receptionist had given him a tipoff. Anyway, we’re safe down there at the campsite. We have more space, more private space… each of us, that is, not moreprivatespace.”
“Good. It’s about time you two got your act together. The caravan park will throw Georgina off your scent for once and for all, much as Terry is a good friend and I probably shouldn’t be talking about his daughter like that.”
“From what I gather he’s a little more than that.”
“I’ll come clean when you do.”
“Touché,” said River, immediately despising himself for regurgitating Georgina’s favourite catchphrase. “Anyway, are you… are you telling me you’re okay about us staying at your sister’s?”
“River, darling, as you very well know, I’d hold my arms wide open to let Sheba back into my life tomorrow. It’s she who’s playing stubborn. All over a man who is quite happily married to the lovely Trudie Styler, and all when she has a husband of her own. I’m sure your Uncle Tony doesn’t know the half of it.”
***
“I’ve a very special ceremonious task to request of you, Mr J.”
Cassandra dazzled River with a smile straight out of The Rocky Horror Show as she leaned over the bar almost toppling over his straw jar, whispering like they were members of some secret society.
“Oh?” he feigned surprise.
“My cat sanctuary, it’s all been officially approved by the authorities, given the royal seal and whatnot. Will you open it? Oh, do say yes, River, please.”
“I—,” River had no doubt this was the work of the recent cocktail, especially since Cassandra’s friends at book club night had left him under no illusion as to how messy her house really was. It had sounded like the last place to be given the thumbs up for anything.
“Since the birth of this wondrous bar, I cannot even begin to tell you about all of the equally wondrous incidents that have woven their way into the fabric of my life, him for starters.” She span and pointed her index Twiglet at a boho-waistcoated guy with a banjo balanced on his lap, sat with the rest of her regular group. He couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five. “It’s no coincidence, I’m sure, never mind that ‘Magical Mañana’, you’re the true magician in all of this.”
River’s eyes were transfixed at the implication of Cassandra’s toy boy. Surely he couldn’t be genuine? The age gap had to be at least forty years. Then again, Mercedes had promised magic. If only Cassandra knew how lopsided her words were.
“That’s—”
“Will you? Well?”
“Of… of course I will. I’d be honoured.”
Well, what choice did he have? Plus it could prove good PR for the bar.
“That’s settled then. Eleven am Saturday, be there or be square… no really…dobe there, or otherwise Madam over there,” she gestured at Lady Rigby-Chandler, who was taking advantage of her second Peach Bellini of the night, “will try to steal your thunder.”
“Oh, Mr Jackson,” Her Ladyship signalled to him in a Mary Poppins singsong, as if she were suddenly telepathic, “I’ll have a third please.”
Bitch… publicly road testing his rules.
“Now what is the deal there with our Dear Friend?” asked Cassandra conspiratorially. “It hasn’t escaped my attention that she seems to be part of the furniture… and as for her husband… I’ve seen John Prescott looking more lively.”
“You could say that,” River snapped. “It’s definitely not through choice.”
“Alice! Alice darling, how simply wonderful to see you,” said Lady Rigby-Chandler for the entire bar to hear, an action River hoped in vain would make her forget about the Bellini. “You’re not working here though, surely?”
He watched the painful scene from afar as Lady Rigby-Chandler rose to look Alice up and down taking in the vision of enchantress clad in crisp white shirt and black pencil skirt, her mouth twisting and contorting as if she’d just bitten into a sour lemon.
