Page 61 of The Cocktail Bar
He had to play hard to get, just for a short while. But moments later, he too had freed foot from shoe, and, whilst trying desperately not to think about the stink of his socks – or the fact that Georgina would be reunited with them at any moment, not to mention the dreaded challenge of eating a heavy slice of cheesecake – he slid his foot slowly, sexily, from the tip of her toe to the length of her thigh. Alice let out a gasp, a gasp which was timed to perfection: the waiter appeared with their dessert, and in the distance, an unusually pale-faced, sweaty Georgina trundled behind.
“Right then,” said Terry, as soon as he’d hacked away the tough recycled cardboard corner from Heather’s special custard carton, and everyone – except Georgina – was digging in. “I’ve got an announcement to make.”
Could the meal get any more eventful? But please, not a marriage proposal. River wasn’t ready to walk his mother up the aisle. Playing Best Man to Lee was marital excitement enough for one year – unless of course Alice cared to flirt with that idea – and now he placed his foot back onto her shin, rubbing seductively, well, as seductively as one could when they were faced with a breaking news story and half a pound of cream cheese.
Faces turned expectantly to Terry. River braced himself for the inevitable, somehow resisting the urge to check up on Alice’s facial expression.
“So… the other day, when I was propped up against the bar, having a good old gas with Jacob and Ryan… this were up at The Pear Tree though… sorry River, hope you don’t think I’m being disloyal, but sometimes I do miss my cider,” – hang on, did he just say what River thought he said… that he was chatting… like a normal,acceptinghuman being… to the very gay couple he was spitting feathers at for their sexuality just weeks ago? – “a certain somebody approached me.”
Here we go: Mum, ever the goddess, had gone and popped Terry the question. He knew it.
“This certain somebody happened to be a TV exec… producer… thingummyjig, whatever you call them nowadays. Well, any rate, he’s working on a brand new show – this is strictly confidential mind, you lot, you’ve gotta promise me you won’t say a word… well,” Terry looked to Heather, “I know you won’t, my love.”
“Get to the point, Dad, so we can get the bill and get out of here,” said Georgina, hand glued to her glass of water which she seemed to be constantly draining.
“All right, love, don’t rain on me parade.”
“Your daughter has got a point though,” said Heather, “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anybody with such a tendency to waffle… much as I love you.”
Georgina could have rolled the cloth from the table with her eyeballs.
Heather snuggled closer to Terry anyway, putting River in mind of a baby animal. He shook his head, somehow simultaneously ensuring his foot was still doing its thing, and Terry went on:
“Okay, okay, so, the TV bloke, well, he’s in the area filming, like. Works for one of them companies that go around doing up posh houses… and he’s looking for people – tradespeople – to star in the show.”
Georgina rolled her eyes again. “Please don’t tell me you’ve put yourself forward—”
“As a matter of fact, George, yes, I have.”
She tutted.
“And, why shouldn’t he?” Alice couldn’t seem to help but grill her.
“Just butt out,” Georgina slammed down her water glass, “you know naff all about my family.”
“Georgina!” That was Heather.
“Oh, so what is this now? Daggers at Georgina day? Am I now not allowed to have an opinion? Do none of you realise I know my own dad better than all of you put together.”
“That’s as maybe, but you don’t know me better than I know myself.”
“Fine, tell your dumb story, I’m going out to wait by the car.” She snatched at her bag and stormed out of the pub, leaving the muttering diners to guess at the roots of her problem behind her.
River instinctively returned his foot to his shoe then sensing things would be winding up here quickly enough.
“I’m sorry,” Terry shook his head. “I just don’t know what’s got into her lately.”
“Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, so myself and Jacob and Ryan, we’re all chatting at the bar and this bloke comes to join us. Course, Jacob is a dab hand at plastering, Ryan runs his own fancy doing up houses business—”
“I think you mean he’s an Interior Designer, Terry,” Heather chimed in, nodding at the details of the story as they replayed themselves for what must have been the umpteenth time.
“Yes, yes, one of them, that’s what I meant. But the funniest thing of all is,” Terry slapped his hand down on the table, laughter creasing the corners of his eyes, “they’re only looking to film and renovate The Rigby-Chandlers’ palace!”
“No way.”
River was astounded, forgetting initially that Terry had drunk the Magical Mañana, that he should already have been able to see the very clear path this story was taking him on.
Like yesterday.
