Page 50 of The Cocktail Bar
Heather – okay, finally (with the exception of the evening’s unwanted news about Terry’s belief system) she seemed to be levelling out now, the mystery of her involvement with Lennie unearthed; she’d even quit whipping up her weekly Root Ginger biscuits. River never thought he’d see the day, but the appearance of Linseed Flapjacks and Cardamom Prune Scones was looking promising.
Aunt Sheba – how much longer could this ridiculous feud with his mum go on?
And now there was Alice. Like the inventory needed to get any longer!
Before he knew it his ringtone was waiting for Lee’s voice to answer, somehow he had to get him back in the bar tonight, just for a nightcap, just for some reassurance that normality could be found in this place he was desperately trying to call home again.
***
“Okay. So there’s something you should know: the Magical Mañana is kind of different to the rest of the cocktails on the list, and that’s why it’s embedded deep in the menu.”
What was River thinking? He quickly cast his mind back to Mexico, Mercedes hadn’t exactly said he couldn’t tell anyone, in fact she hadn’t said that at all. He’d only tell Lee though, he promised himself now he’d started. That was it, line drawn.
“Only three people are ever meant to drink it,” he continued, taking a gulp of his own drink to quell his nerves. “You, my man, were one of the chosen few; in fact, not just one, but the very last of the chosen few.”
Thirty-seven minutes and sixteen seconds after his phone call, River and Lee had made themselves at home on the bar stools, River on his third Frisky Bison, and all the more open for it – they were going down a little too well. And Lee had finally been persuaded that liquid alcohol apple pie was indeed a very good thing.
“What on Earth are you chirping on about?” Lee smacked his lips after another giant suck on his straw.
“It’s a long story. A very long story and one you’ll no doubt scoff at,” River replied.
“I’ll take the compliment. Carry on.”
“I’m serious.” River scratched his head as if that might trigger his brain to locate the best words. “But if I’d told you before you drank it, the magic wouldn’t have worked. Plus for sure you’d have got all suspicious, thought I was poisoning you.”
Lee’s eyes darted from left to right as the colour drained rapidly from his face. He pushed his current glass aside and hopped off the stool, hands frozen mid-air, as if they might need to grab it on reflex to fend off what was to come.
“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, I promise. It’s all good actually, very good. But first you might want to take a seat?”
Lee eyed him suspiciously, relinquishing the invite at first. But as River recounted his adventures en-route to Tequila that day, the blood slowly returned to his lips and cheeks, until he was back on the stool and almost toppling off of it, clutching at his stomach, howling with laughter in a way that made River wonder if they’d been transported back to their teens and had just shared a super strong joint.
“I’ve heard some questionable patter from you before, Jackson, but this is just ludicrous,” he said finally.
“Well, the proof will be in the pudding, Mercedes assured me.”
River nodded his head to back up his statement, despondency written all over his face. If Lee was going to play ungrateful, indifferent, he may as well have taken his place.
“I’ll go put two pounds on the lottery now then,” Lee teased, torment flashing in his eyes.
“You probably should,” said River.
“Daft bugger, Blake was right. You clearly did take one too many pills on the road.”
