Page 82 of The Cocktail Bar
Chapter Forty
RIVER
A few days before the Christmas party at the one and only cocktail bar on Glastonbury’s High Street, the one and only cocktail bar in Glastonbury, and Somerset’s cocktail bar of the year, Lee had not only worked his notice at the supermarket, but was made manager of River’s establishment, in a move which raised more than a few local eyebrows. And stock control had never known a swifter way of life.
But of course none of this came as a surprise to River. In fact, it had all been part of his master plan, concocted fairly recently, all things considered, but since when did a plan require a four year BA Honours degree to be a good one? Lee’s love of cocktails couldn’t have been plainer for all to see, he had certainly been frequenting the bar with all the gusto of a zebra visiting a watering hole, he’d learnt every process and procedure of every fusion on the menu under River’s steely gaze – admittedly only for home recreational purposes, but still, those skills were transferable. The Magical Mañana had worked its regional magic, and so had River. It was time to move on, and what better send off than a Yuletide bash?
The party was in full swing already, despite the doors only having opened half an hour ago. The book club had started a little too early on the cracker pulling, fifty pound notes hitting the floor like confetti – Lee had secretly funded those, no more tacky plastic festivities for anythinghelinked his name to, being more or less his precise choice of words when River had caught him tying gold and silver bows around their middles. The travel agents were bopping away in a corner whilst intermittently supping on Lee’s delectable Homemade Irish Cream, their actions slightly less frantic than they had been during their first visit to the bar, their garments slightly more in keeping with the fashion too. And the Rigby-Chandlers had not only insisted on paying for their own drinks, but standing outside the door gifting the Christmas shoppers with free champagne cocktails, causing River to rub his eyes more than a dozen times.
River and Alice had gathered everybody back inside so he could make a thank you speech, before things got too chaotic, the crowd of well-wishers had clapped and whistled – many with momentary tears in their eyes for it was the first they’d heard of River and Alice’s departure – soon dissipating once they learned Lee and Jonie would be the new faces behind the bar.
And then in breezed Aunt Sheba.
It wasn’t that River hadn’t invited her, rather he hadn’t expected her to put herself in the way of forgiveness’s temptation, and after all the recent drama in his own life, he’d rather she stayed at home if there was even a smidgen of a chance of round two of the dreaded Sting Thing.
“Well, it is the season of goodwill to all men and women,” said Aunt Sheba, removing her spruce green fingerless gloves. “And I want to spend as much time with you both as I can now you’re off on a new adventure… wherever that may be, although, I can’t deny the thought of having my roomiest caravan back to advertise online for anybody wishing to purchase a late Christmas break at high season prices, doesn’t delight.”
“Don’t ask me where we’re headed,” said Alice with a grin. “I swear your nephew’s brainwashed me, but I’m learning to go with it, I guess it was always going to happen with a mother like his… I mean your sister… I mean—”
“Come on, that’s enough waffle, group snog under the mistletoe,” Aunt Sheba insisted in an elaborate ploy to change the conversation.
River and Alice found themselves cocooned in her henna tattooed bosom beneath one of the scant sprigs in the bar. Thankfully Lee hadn’t gone to town on the flora, much as he’d threatened.
Aunt Sheba released them at River’s insistence they’d be back for the holidays, upon which he made his escape to the bar to admire the gathering, to take some discreet and un-staged snaps of the partygoers for old time’s sake.
“You did good in this place, I only hope I can be a fraction as successful,” said Lee, as River clicked away, angling his iPad this way and that, intent on capturing not just the people but the bar’s every nook and cranny. “Who’d have thought it though, hey, me… a cocktail bar manager, with my gorgeous wife by my side? If you’d told me that this time last year I’d have spurted my pint of cider all over you.”
“You and me both,” River laughed, and then, quite without warning, his laissez-faire attitude of the past couple of months caught up with him. “I’m just heading down to the skittle alley, something I need to check up on… keep doing your thing.” He double clucked his tongue and winked at Lee in the manner of a vexing uncle.
Once outside in the snappy air, River ran, careful to avoid skidding along the slippery path in his tread-free party shoes. He panned the horizon as usual, unlocked the skittle alley door and let himself in, creeping, quite unnecessarily, in the air with which he’d grown accustomed, over to the cupboard in the corner.
“Shit, no!” he almost screamed.
Everything looked as it always had done, except for one very minor but important detail; the lock was on back to front. He’d never have hung it like that. Somebody had been in there, or at least made an attempt. He took the small key from his pocket, opened the padlock and cursed himself, this time with every expletive under the sun. At first everything seemed perfectly normal, but a quick scan confirmed his suspicions: The tartan blankets were in a different order. And he knew this because the top one should have been Bruce Modern, which in red tartan terms was a pattern with sizeable squares. But instead he was looking at Heather’s Cochrane Modern blanket, its tartan pattern made up of smaller lines and squares. Only someone with the attention to detail of a cocktail bartender would notice this, but to River it spelt one word.
Trouble.
All of which led to the inescapable fact that he’d been robbed of the bottle, as well as the world’s greatest idiot for not having bothered to check up on its status and condition since Terry had knocked back his Magical Mañana. River removed the top blanket anyway, heart thudding, rendering him queasy, dizzy at the thought of the elixir being in the wrong hands.
Who could have done it? He’d been meticulous with the keys. The only possible explanation had to be the picking of a lock. As with the missing translation, naturally his mind was rife with accusations for Georgina, and yet he couldn’t quite find the facts to stack up. She’d never shown a single sign of knowing what he was up to, her only venture into the backyard being to park her rear on a deckchair to read trashy magazines.
Then perhaps somebody had followed him from Mexico, had been on his case ever since day one? It was the only feasible answer.
Great.
So he was like the guy inThe Celestine Prophecynow… or Tom Hanks inThe Da Vinci Code, with the perpetrator always too many steps ahead of him.
“It is true, you’ve been a little… hmm… shall we say ‘haphazard’ this time, but then you are still serving your apprenticeship.”
“Mercedes?”
River stepped back from the cupboard and spun around several times, head flitting up and down, around and around, in a bid to locate her elusive voice. For he swore he wasn’t imagining thattrickle of words, whatever it was coming from.
“Get back in the bar, get ready to leave and trust me. All will come good in the end; all will become clear very quickly. Rights wronged in moments. But for goodness sake, mi chiquito, tell Alice this time and let her be in charge of the bottle’s hiding place.”
“But the bottle’s gone, someone’s stolen it.”
“Did you miss the first part of my instruction? Get back in the bar, get ready to leave and trust me.”
