Page 22 of The Cocktail Bar
Chapter Ten
ALICE
Alice finally moved into The Guinevere on a Sunday morning, the sun throwing a spotlight of new beginnings on her slender frame as she hopped out of River’s retroCitroen 2CVand onto the doorstep of her new home.
“Tell me something, Riv: why did you never treat yourself much when you were in the band? I mean, that’s your old car parked out by the pavement, from the days before we got famous. Didn’t you ever think of upgrading it, going for something a little more swish or reliable?”
She found River such a curiosity in that way. Obviously, Heather’s matriarch and flower power influence helped to keep him down to Earth, but to all intents and purposes, the bar was his biggest luxury after all those years earning all that money. He put her in mind of one of those hoarders who won the lottery, yet still carried on working at the local D.I.Y superstore, still holidayed in Blackpool every August, only splashing out on a slightly upgraded Skoda – oh, and a new garden shed. If you couldn’t enjoy what you had, what was the point? That elusive Rainy Day might never ever come.
“There’s just one very small thing I need you to be aware of,” said River, completely disregarding the interrogation as he helped her with her case up the stairs, the lift having allegedly broken for the seventh time that week. “I hadn’t mentioned it before because, well, it didn’t seem relevant.” He strained to haul the case’s heavy bulk onto the final step and rolled up his sleeves before attempting it again, like that might make all the difference to the power of his biceps. “Georgina will be flitting about.”
“And why would I have an issue with that?”
Alice wasn’t even completely certain who this apparently infamous Georgina was. Sure, River had inserted her name into conversation here and there, paper clipping her like a convenient accessory. And sure she had also noted the spare toothbrush and girlie-packaged shower gel adorning the bathroom in River’s hotel room when he’d let her stay there, giving more than a hint that ‘love was in the air’. She knew that Georgina was working in his bar, and gathered she was the attractive younger sister of Brooding Blake, the guy whose pubescent and constantly ogling eyes used to freak her out – especially the one and only time she was stupid enough to take that LSD tablet – his desperate face having swum around her ‘trip’ all night. But try as she might, she could not remember him having a sibling. That’s what also freaked her out, the extent of her gruelling years on the road, boozing, schmoozing and light recreational drug dabbling at parties, meant that now she was back, all those faces from her past morphed into remnants of a dream, so that she half-remembered one person, and only vaguely recalled another.
“But from your perspective, it’s probably best to keep a low profile anyway… what with photographers, reporters, and I hate to say it…him, Lennie.” River’s insistent tone brought her back to the present. “Just for the time being, I haven’t mentioned to Georgina that you’re back yet, you see. Not that there’s anything going on between you and I… or me and her, I mean we’re all just good friends… you and I,” he scratched at his beard, “and she and I.”
“River, you don’t owe me a rundown of your private life,” said Alice impatiently, inserting her key into the lock and entering the front door to her new home, for however long that might be. After the headache-inducing décor of River’s bedroom (how had he ever coped with the assault of that luminous pink tie-dye?), her ‘penthouse’ at The Guinevere was positively paradise. Completely incomparable to the kind of pampering she’d grown used to elsewhere, of course, but a Shangri-La all the same – and all paid for by River. Would any of the excuses for men in her past have gone to such lengths? She doubted it. Unless they’d netted themselves a golden handshake in the process, or a tennis match on the helipad of theBurj Al Arabwith Federer, or a freeLamborghini Huracán. One gave to receive in the world she’d just left behind, and quite often one simply did the taking. The man stood beside her now couldn’t be more different, even in spite of his stretch in the limelight.
“I made a pig’s ear of explaining that,” said River, hiding his face in his hands.
Alice threw him a stern look, momentarily forgetting how much she adored him.
“Sorry, not the right terminology… how could I forget you’re a veggie? What I mean is, Georgina might pop up to my room from time to time, but it’s nothing serious, she just needs a place to escape from her brother… and her dad and his depression; a bit of downtime since she’s turned into the mother figure of the house.”
“Like I said, your private life is just that: private. Mine too… not that I’m going to be remotely interested in men for a very long time.” She peeled back the voile draping the windows and realised she was going to like this view a lot. What better way to reacquaint herself with this ditzy little town than via a spot of people watching?
Though the seed of possibility of ‘them’ tainted the vista, consuming her body in a dull aching thud, Alice was smart enough to know there was indeed something going on. This man was protesting way too much. Yet she also knew – better perhaps than River knew himself – that he didn’t sound remotely enamoured. And as much as she wasn’t here to stir things up, as much as she’d come back because this was her home and ironically she sensed that Glastonbury would re-birth her, help her come to know the Alice she truly was beneath the layers ofDiorandDe Beers; if that journey rewarded her with requited longing from a former band mate, then tough luck, Georgina.
***
At two pm Alice returned from Fishers Hill park, where she had whiled away an hour, a small box of sushi on the swings, contained in her own frazzled mind behind navy bluePradasunnies.
There was much to ponder, her possible new lives all branching out before her like the giant oak whose breadth and beauty she drank in with every soar in the air on the red plastic seat. She counted herself lucky not to have developed those child-rearing hips that most women of her age were now sporting like it was the fashion. How they missed out on great moments like this, only re-enacting them through their offspring, never truly feeling the exhilaration that came from being a five year old girl in a polka dot dress at a birthday party, without a care, agenda, or responsibility in the world.
Now back in her room that feeling had faded fast. She needed to talk, craved some company. But was she brave enough to get chatting with the woman on reception? Was it even a wise move given that anybody could be loitering about downstairs, waiting for that perfect snap, not to mention the possibility that she might be as broke as Alice, with little choice but to cash in her chips, calling the paps for a game of cat and mouse in return for a few thousand to pay off her overdraft? She threw her expensiveLoewepashmina around her shoulders anyway; the last gift Glenn had bestowed upon her, the lightest memento of their relationship, symbolic in every sense of the word, and crept down the stairs like a child checking whether Santa was in residence. But from the upper steps, instinct told her to peer down on the ever-descending spiral before her, where she caught a glimpse of a brunette, so cocksure of herself that the sentiment reverberated through the building and into the stratosphere. This was no regular guest. In fact, she had Georgina written all over her. Alice tiptoed quickly back to her room, pulled the door to, leaving but a hairline crack through which she could assess her rival.
Not that she was back to play tug of war over a heart, she reminded herself. It was just sensible, prudent, and wise to know what one was dealing with when it came to the unpredictable affection of the male of the species.
The flash of confidence strode past her door. It flicked its hair, it stopped for a moment outside the main penthouse door to re-apply its cheap High Street lippy (Alice couldn’t help but notice this girl was noChanelMademoiselle), it even caught its breath in its cupped hand, sniffed at it, rifled through its bag for freshener, sprayed minty vapour into its mouth, and then proceeded to douse itself in equally cheap eau de toilette (again, Alice knew this wasn’t sandalwood or Sicilian lemon, for its paint stripping smell had assaulted her nasal passage within seconds), before putting its very own key in the door.
Just how vulgar could a woman get?
“Hey babe,” she could hear River greet his ‘friend’, “I’ve missed you.”
Clunk.
The door shut and for a moment Alice wondered what had happened to her rank and profile in this world, how had it come to this, that she’d been reduced to rubble, gawping desperately like some pervert of a Peeping Tom?
But then she assessed not just her outer, but her inner beauty in the bathroom mirror. The real Alice was in there somewhere, she was starting to shine back at her, a glint here and a twinkle there. She just needed time, patience, and understanding, as well as a healthy dose of forgiveness. Yes, forgiveness; for beating up on herself, for disappointing her family. Because if this wasn’t her own life to live, then what the flaming hell was anybody’s birth onto this crazy planet all about?
Her recent visit to her parents, just a couple of days ago, had backfired badly. Mummy had evidently hidden Daddy away in the study, the muffling of voices and slamming of doors completely dismissed as she air kissed Alice on the front porch.
“Alice, darling, how simply lovely to see you, yes I did receive your voicemail, Mummy regrets she didn’t have time to return your call.” Alice’s mother had unfathomably never stopped addressing herself in third person. “However, now really isn’t an appropriate time, darling, why I’m about to host a very important Somerset Ladies’ Luncheon in just half an hour… and I’ve yet to even add strawberries to my Pimm’s… or de-crust the cucumber sandwiches. Please excuse me.”
Clunk.
Another door shut in her face.
