Page 74 of The Cocktail Bar
Chapter Thirty-Six
RIVER
River opened up the bar early. He had a sneaking suspicion it would become something of his man cave now they were back. Prague had been a triumph on so many fronts, and yet nothing short of a disaster when it came to his own.
Where had he gone wrong? Why was everyone else enjoying life and getting all the ‘lucky breaks’? Talk about the universe taking the mickey when he was the one who’d got off his backside, walked miles along a baking hot road in Latin America, risked sunstroke and a succession of muggings; taken chances above and beyond what any half intelligent person would have done, all to smuggle a bottle containing Lord only knew what, into the UK. And all to have the love of his life shun him one final time, except on this occasion, she’d banged the nails into the coffin and he couldn’t see any way out.
Georgina was not pregnant. And that was all there was to it.
Admittedly, he was no longer the least bit turned on by anything about her appearance, that alone was reason enough not to let his eyes rest on her for a second longer than was strictly necessary. But even so, he wished Alice would give him some credit, quit labelling him as one of those typical men who wouldn’t even notice if a woman had got her hair cut.
But then Georgina did walk into the bar, earlier than early for her shift which began at two that afternoon.
“Hi,” she said, as if they had never fallen out precisely half a dozen times. “How was Prague? Did it bring you any inspiration for new drinks? You must tell me all about it.”
She unbuttoned her navy trench coat and hung up her red polka dot umbrella, droplets of water danced across the floor and River couldn’t help but be drawn to the new and peculiar curves of her body; the soft rounded stomach which had previously been toned, easily fitting into a pencil skirt, now clinging to the edges of something suspiciously elasticated and unflattering, the bust which seemed to spill out above the rest of her, creating a sudden and indisputable muffin top.
“Yeah,” he heard himself reply, feeling quite as if he’d left his body. “It was good, great, fun, lots of fun, I’m sure your dad told you all about it.”
“So lovely he and your mum are moving in together, isn’t it?” A Georgina far friendlier than even the slightly more chilled out version he had left behind to run the bar replied.
“Hmm?” said River, eyes not only glued, but super glued to Georgina’s contours.
“Are you okay?” she asked, unable to mask her worry as her voice warbled, or was that just the ringing in his ears as he decided he needed to lay, very quickly, upon his favourite bar couch? “River? You’ve gone a slightly whiter shade of pale.”
***
The last thing River Jackson recalled before his head hit the pile of cushions was a fuzzy weeble-like person standing over him, a strange figurine brimming with concern. And she was the first thing his eyes regained their focus on when he did come around.
“I’ve called in Lee,” she echoed, as he attempted to sit up and then thought better of it. “You just stay there. I didn’t know what else to do. You fainted, River! You poor thing,” Georgina moved towards him with a cold dishcloth from the sink.
“Not one of those, health and safety,” he muttered. But she was already dousing his forehead with it and he could only succumb to the relief.
What a lightweight he was. He guessed the stress had done it, followed by the shock of Georgina’s changing shape, the realisation that Alice was right; the growing likelihood that he was, in fact, soon to become a dad.
Dad. Daddy. Father. Pops.
The words reverberated through his skull then, bouncing off the edges, vibrating north, south, east and west, until Lee arrived with a small amber bottle of something which he appeared to wave under River’s nose, causing his body to contort as the assault to his nasal passage caught up with his brain.
River sat up immediately, coughing and spluttering, clutching at a fluffy cream cushion which he used as armour to ward off the intruder from his face.
“Oh man! Why did you have to do that? That smell is mental, like ammonia or something.”
“Spot on,” said Lee, “my nan’s smelling salts.”
“Yeah? Well next time just make me a Frisky Bison or something.”
“You sound like you could do with one,” Lee laughed. “But at least your colour’s coming back.” He raised his brow as if that would give River a clue as to his former shading. “I don’t think we need to call in an ambulance after all. Let’s see if something purely medicinal will help. Georgina, can you prop him up against some pillows, watch your bump of course.”
Watch her bump?
So Lee was in on this sudden pregnancy? Well in that case, Terry must be too – and Heather. Then why had none of them saidanything? River was motionless, cushion still very much in his grip. If he held onto it tightly enough perhaps it would take him right back to his own childhood, a time and a place of zero responsibility.
“Right then,” Lee shouted behind him, “I’ll see if I can remember how to make it.”
River eyed him curiously as he went about his business; he was a natural though, carrying himself in a stance of complete confidence as he measured mixers and spirits, pausing to select the most appropriate glass, tasting his concoction discreetly as he went along. And though River may have felt like the literary Alice suspended in some kind of trippy wonderland, he knew now was almost the time to propose.
***
