Page 13 of The Cocktail Bar
Alice, Bear and Alex, they may have been furious now, but in all honesty, Alice was evidently more enamoured with all things L.A., hot-blooded, swanky and size zero, and Bear and Alex had been getting lazier by the day. At the very least, the trio beneath him needed time out themselves. By which time they’d either recognise that one of them could easily take over on the lyrics front, making the spanner River had thrown into the works even easier to resolve, hiring a new guitarist or drummer; a piece of musical cake. Alice, yes, their paths were sure to cross again when she came back to visit her parents, but as for the other two London lads, what had they ever really had in common with River besides a chance meeting at a festival anyway?
Naff all.
But it was no use trying to distract himself, he just had to listen in on the downstairs proceedings. He opened the door to his room so it was just ajar, and instantly heard the unmistakable sound of the lower kitchen window’s eerie creak along with an accompanying tray of clinking china.
“Thanks, darling, appreciate it,” he could hear Lennie saying to his mum.
“It’s the least I can do,” she replied. “So where are you all staying? There’s not a lot of accommodation in town at the moment, what with the festival in full swing.”
“Don’t you go worrying about that; we’ve got an RV with all the mod cons parked down the end of the road. It’s just a quick visit anyways.”
River could no longer contain his curiosity and tiptoed down the stairs to spy on their dialogue behind the kitchen door, where the narrow crack in the hinges revealed Lennie’s brown-nosing mug talking to Heather.
“I know you from somewhere, doll. I’m sure of it. Your face is ever so familiar,” he said unexpectedly, looking at Heather in earnest, offering her a distasteful but light flutter of his translucent eyelashes as she strained leaves into her small green hand-painted teacup.
“I really don’t think so.” Heather furrowed her brow. “Here, take some tea,” she added without looking at him. “Perhaps I can coax him down in a minute.”
Lennie took off his baseball cap, hanging it on the edge of Heather’s window box, resplendent with its flurries of marjoram and dill. He poured some ombre-coloured liquid into his own teacup, which, whilst the same size as Heather’s, suddenly became an accessory from a doll’s house, lifted it to his lips with sausage fingers and took a polite sip. As Heather did the same, and their eyes met properly, minus his Yankees’ peak, she began to tremble. There was no mistaking her reaction. Even from afar. Something unspoken passed between them. What, River had no idea. But it was circuitry enough for Heather to push tray, china and root ginger biscuits outside, somehow also lunging at the window frame in the same sudden movement. And then she pulled the lower half of the frame down in blind panic, secured the lock, drew the peacock feather print curtains together tightly and grappled at the window sill, taking several shallow breaths.
“Mum! What’s up? Did he try to hurt you? I heard a right commotion just then.”
River waited a few seconds for authenticity before bursting into the kitchen.
“It’s nothing, nothing,” she hyperventilated, “just… just one of my panic attacks – that’s all. It’ll pass… in a while,” she added finally, steadying herself. “See… if we’ve got… some brown bags in the top… drawer there.” She pointed to the cupboard next to the cooker. “I’ll try… that… that technique to slow down… my breathing.”
River quickly found her a paper bag, stood to watch her slowly regain control, protective hand on her shoulder as her chest puffed in and out, and then made for the front door.
“He won’t be back, Mum, but don’t answer the door to anybody… just in case. Not that there will be a just-in-case, but you know what I mean. Stay here and stay safe. I’m going to have to give him a piece of my mind, put an end to this shit for once and for all. He’s got to accept that it’s over and stop hounding me. I’ll get the police involved if I have to.”
It had crossed his mind to tuck his teenage baseball bat, still lying beneath his bed, under his arm while he was at it, but then he thought better of it, remembering his naturally peaceful nature; the very reason he must have been reeled in by Mercedes all along.
“River, no!”
But Heather’s delayed protest became a whisper as he stormed out of the house.
Outside in the damp summer evening air, he pounded the pavements near and far for the last traces of Lennie’s RV, a screech of tyres perhaps, a whiff of diesel maybe; the hum of a distant engine.
Lennie and the band may have long gone. But River’s mind burned with curiosity. What in the hell was that sequence of events at the kitchen window really all about?
