Page 62 of The Cocktail Bar
“Yes way, River,” he replied. “But there’s more… there’s more.” Terry simmered to a half-whisper now, suddenly plugged in to the attention of the neighbouring table. He leaned in and encouraged River, Alice and Heather to bring their upper halves forward to almost touch the bread basket too. “After chatting with us three at the bar for the best part of an hour, he only went and offered us contracts to appear on the show. How’s that for a turnout? We’re doing up The Rigby-Chandler’s house… and we’re gonna be on the telly!”
It beat a marriage proposal to his mum that was for sure. What were the chances of any of this sequence of events happening had Terry not had the cocktail? A TV Exec, no matter their pecking order in the hierarchical chain, would hardly choose The Pear Tree as their first port of call under normal circumstances.
The bottle was definitely weaving its wonder. And all of this proved his own past thoughts about the aristocrats’ freeloading right; something was clearly afoot in his Lady and Lordship’s lives. No wonder they’d found a reason to bribe him for free drinks and had then clung onto it for dear life. Their regular jaunts to The Cocktail Bar were quite possibly the only thing keeping them going. And now, presumably, they were going to get paid for their appearance as well, not to mention the great publicity the very public renovation would bring. Next thing the world knew, they’d be seeing Lady R-C gracing the screens ofI’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here.
River excused himself amidst the bubbling enthusiasm of the table, went to the toilets, and was briefly consumed by a bizarre white powdery trail. It seemed to lead into the Ladies; on first glance it resembled talc – the heavily perfumed stuff old ladies use, and for some reason, here it was decorating the busily patterned and carpeted floor. On second glance, he’d convinced himself it was cocaine.
Blimey!
Who’d have thought it, out here in the safe, timid countryside? It was true what they said, as much as Glastonbury was the pigeon-holed drugs capital of the entire nation, in actual fact all that assumption really did was act as a cover-up for what was really going on in the most unassuming of locations.
He walked on into the gents, lifted the seat of the toilet and peed into its rim, more than aware of someone chatting in the car park outside, so he squinted through the small gap where the porthole of a window sat above the cistern, eyes taking in the figure of Georgina, all fired up and talking tosomeoneon her mobile phone.
He finished his business, pulled the flush, and waited several seconds for the silence which ensued. Call it instinct but something told him to hover by that window pane.
“Okay, Ara, yeah, everything’s in place my side. Chat soon, babe.”
Ara?
Frustratingly he missed the beginning part of the name Georgina mentioned – oh, it was definitely a name. Was she out there talking to Tamara on her phone? And then he shook his head and laughed at his crazily warped imagination. Georgina couldn’t possibly know Tamara… Of course, who else? It had to be Zara.
To hell with her anyway.
Yes, they may still work together at the moment, but she’d get the message soon enough once romance started heating up with Alice, as only it could.
