Page 85 of The Cocktail Bar
Georgina looked to Blake for back-up, it wasn’t forthcoming.
“I fail to see why any of this is remotely funny.”
Lady Rigby-Chandler scraped her seat across the floor making a sound akin to fingernails running down a blackboard, and all fell quiet again.
Except for Aunt Sheba.
“You’re damned right there. What a heartless, twisted little madam you are. Who fakes a pregnancy? Have you any idea how many of us have baby stories,realbaby stories about our cherished infants who never got to set foot on this Earth. You should be locked up, young lady in my humble opinion. And I’ll tell you what: I hope you never do get to experience the joys of having a child. Why in God’s name should you when you make a mockery of a heaven sent gift not all of us got to see to fruition?”
Heather took Aunt Sheba in her arms. Terry’s face was ablaze. In fact, everywhere River looked – despite his own undeniable relief not to be fathering any baby of Georgina’s – folk were outraged, disgusted, dismayed, seething. What an incredible anti-climax to what was supposed to be the event of the year in this place that had known nothing but his heart and his soul.
Lady Rigby-Chandler stepped forward then and River hoped against hope that somehow order would now prevail. She snatched the report – and the bottle – from the statue that was Georgina, passed River back his property, and surveyed the document for herself.
“Why yes, it is water. Not quite as velvety asEvian. But pretty soft on the palate all the same. And why shouldn’t a mixologist add a little water to his creations? Who else here is qualified enough to tell me otherwise?”
Georgina went to open her mouth.
“Now, Gee, you know that’s not true,” River found himself stepping forward too. “From what I hear, you missed most of the final quarter of the course I invested hundreds of pounds to send you on.”
Georgina bowed her head, finally moving out of her circle of shame which she picked up and tucked under one arm, as if she might put it back in the wardrobe, bringing it out again for a rainy day.
“The head of the Brunswick wrote to tell me he couldn’t issue your certificate, after all,” River went on, “so it wasn’t just the missing money from the till… or you and your gentlemen friends’ gate crashing the premises which led to my decision to turf you out.”
“I’m embarrassed, George,” said Terry, shaking his head helplessly, wiping his eyes with his frayed brown handkerchief. “What’s it come to, eh? I didn’t bring you up a liar, a grasser-upper or a stitcher-upper besides. River’s a good kid, well… man. You had your chance with him; you had your chance of a really great career in this here bar too. But you went and blew both, nobody but yourself to blame. And that’s why River and Alice, you have my blessing.”
“And mine,” said Heather, “woo hoo, I’d been rooting for you two lovebirds to make a nest all along.”
“Oh gawd.”
River put his hands behind his head, a somewhat pointless coping mechanism, and Alice’s eyes grew to the size of flying saucers, as was usually the case when she knew not what to say. They’d dealt with more focus upon them in their past lives, true, but nothing quite compared to the focus of your nearest and dearest – a couple of foes besides – topping your never-in-your-wildest-dreams-wedding-cake with a big fat cherry.
River wondered who’d spark up the next piece of dialogue. Lennie soon answered his question.
“I’m sorry, Alice, about your sister’s involvement in all of this.” Lennie bowed his head as if worshipping a deity. “But the fact of the matter is, there was no way I was prepared to pay for anything myself, that would have felt plain wrong, I merely stepped in to ensure River was protected… in the end that was relatively easy.”
“And what about this weird mystical translation?”
Georgina scrabbled about in her bag, finally revealing a very crumpled piece of paper.
“I think we’re done now, George,” said River. “You must think I was born yesterday… but I knew all along it was you stealing snippets from my cocktail bible… talk about scraping the barrel.”
Which was an outright lie and he knew it.
“She paid me too,” Lennie cut through everybody all over again, visibly wanting to continue to offload his shame. “And the truth is,” he paused then to suck in air as if it were a substitute fag, not before pulling one of those vile E-cigarette things out of his jacket pocket, “the truth is, it was a pretty penny too.”
“Jesus Christ, does everything have to be about money with you?” River cut in.
“Come on, guys, see this from my point of view. I’ve lost a lot. Gigs cancelled, new album postponed, bills to pay, expenses going out on auditions for new recruits, not to mention covering for Bear’s Priory bill. That all adds up.”
“So she was happy to fund you as opposed to lend some money to her sister. Lovely,” said Alice.
“That you are, sweetheart,” said Lennie, treating her to his habitual eyelash flutter. “It’s just like Snow White and the wicked Stepmother.” He enjoyed another drag on his black shiny stick.
“The only wicked Stepmother in this place is her,” said Georgina, pointing at Heather.
It was unbelievable how much lower she was prepared to go, but once the final remnants of your dignity had deserted you, River supposed there were no limits to how far you could exceed yourself.
“I hope you’re not talking about River’s mother like that,” said Alice.
