Page 69 of The Cocktail Bar
“If he’s down below then the others are sure to be floating about too.”
“Ha, and hopefully not in the literal sense,” said Alice.
“Perhaps she’s getting ready to go out and he’s sat at one of the cafés on the lower decks, passing the time,” River continued. “In other words, let’s get ourselves out of here now and head for the market, before they spot us.”
His words were a click of the fingers, transporting Alice into ultimate city break mode. She skipped around the room like a character out of a Disney movie gathering scarf, coat, gloves and ear warmers.
“Let’s do this. I’m so pumped! I think it’s just the novelty of being free, no ulterior motive for being here – surprise aside. We’re on holiday, a real holiday, a holiday without the constant fear of the snail trail of the media… sorry, I, erm, the last thing I wanted to do was hark back to thevaycaysof my last relationship. But you know what I mean.”
“Hey, this is me, Al. If this is it now, you and me… possibly… hopefully, for ever and ever, then I don’t want you walking on eggshells. We’re always going to let the odd thing slip out when it comes to the past,” irritatingly, Georgina sprang to mind, “and if you can’t be you around me and I can’t be me around you, then none of this is going anywhere.”
He held his arms out wide, inviting her in for a tender embrace, ever hopeful that this shiny and new, carefree mood would carry its sentiment into an equally carefree evening. It was time. They were almost entering a brand new year, after all. And he had plans for the both of them, plans he couldn’t keep to himself for much longer. It wasn’t that a certain kind of intimacy was a prerequisite to his future announcement, rather that he couldn’t help but feel Alice was holding part of herself back from him, out of protection maybe, or some similar kind of self-deprivation to the way she would frequently refrain from partaking in calorific food perhaps, some unnecessary trace of guilt for winning his heart over and above the infatuation of Georgina? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right.
Still, it made no odds because the only thing he did know wasshewas right.
The One.
It was crazy really that it had taken them both so long to see it.
They left the room, gingerly, it had to be said, River taking Alice by the hand and leading the way along the hideous transcendentally-carpeted corridor to the stairs. Once back down on the ground floor the passageway looked safe, remarkably so given the increased volume of the banjo strumming, whose chords seem to bounce off the tread of what appeared to be a very freshly laid carpet, another seventies creation, this time in buttercup yellow.
“Oh no! It’s Cassandra and friends—”
Alice almost hyperventilated, an over-excitable child in one mammoth game of hide-and-seek.
“Quick, shunt yourself up against the wall next to me.” River had already transformed himself intoFlat Stanley. “We’ve come too far to let them see us now.” He pulled her closer to him and they held their breath against the side of a rather expensive looking grandfather clock, conveniently lining the corridor.
Cassandra and her groupies marched past, giggling, intoxicated in the kind of glee that only a girls’ holiday among ladies of a certain age, can manufacture.
River chanced a peep around the edge of the highly polished heirloom to see them walk through the inner part of the hotel’s café and out onto the deck beyond, presumably to take custody of Cassandra’s lover, chaperoning him en-masse for today’s pre-planned excursion, whatever that entailed. One of these days hewouldfind out Banjo Boy’s name.
“The coast is as clear as it’s ever going to be,” he whispered to Alice behind him, “after three, yeah?”
“One, two, three,” they counted together and then sprinted, past Piet and his second daze of the day, and out onto the quayside.
***
A remarkably short stroll later – short because they’d absolutely pegged the distance from the boat to Prague’s infamous Wenceslas Square, hardly daring look over their shoulders – and they were in what could only be described as utopia. To look at Alice in that moment was to regard a Victorian doll in one of those cute snowstorm globes, the old-fashioned beauties with rosy cheeks and cascades of curls, wearing Santa-red muffs on their wrists, elegantly cast out before them with traditional intent as they skate the vast perimeter of the ice rink. Indeed the only thing that was missing was the snow.
“I’m in love,” said Alice, “in love with life, in love with Prague, in love with you.”
“I can’t even,” River wanted so badly to reciprocate those words but the crowd had grown thick now and so he linked his arm in hers, leading them to somewhere, anywhere for a little privacy. “I can’t even begin to tell you—”
“Look,mulled wine!”
She dragged him back into the cheery throng and he knew then that the moment had decidedly passed but that was fine because he didn’t actually want to tell her what she’d told him, in some kind of pathetically whimsical ‘me too, babe’ half-hearted effort of a retort – what she’d only just gone and flipping well told him…that she loved him!He’d find his own moment sure enough.
And talking of moments, this was another time capsule of absolute enchantment – once Alice had weaved them both through the dawdlers and gawpers with their precariously balanced hot toddies, anyway. Quaint little market stalls stood proudly, exhibiting their handmade wares, and draped in the most promising of red, the red of all his childhood Christmases parcelled together with a giant satin bow. Heather may not have celebrated many conventional English traditions, but unlike Halloween, she always made an exception at Yuletide, so River didn’t feel completely left out compared to his friends. Being here, totally enveloped in this festive spirit, it was to be a boy again, to catch the scent of cinnamon and clove on the air, then emanating from the old-fashioned Aga and the (spelt flour) Christmas cookies Heather used to bake, now from the vapour trail of the mulled wine the stall holder was gently ladling into two cups.
“Here,” said Alice. “Get this down you.”
She passed him a cup and he knew immediately this baby of a punch was going on the special Christmas menu. They were soon planning to throw an end of year party, to thank all the locals for their support over the past few months, and a River-style twist on mulled wine was going to be a must. He tentatively began to sip, almost burning his mouth at the sudden intrusion behind them.
“Well, well, well, fancy bumping into you two lovebirds here,” said a woman’s voice, snapping him immediately out of his creative daydream. She looked remarkably like Hayley, holding aloft several slithers of the juiciest looking ham in one hand and atrdelnikpastry in the other, reminding River that he himself hadn’t eaten in hours. His heart thudded, first through the short sharp shock of being caught red-handed, second with utter disappointment.
“You haven’t seen us!” said Alice, almost choking on her drink.
“And you haven’t seen the half of this yet, you wanna get on down to Old Town Square, guys. That’s where the real buzz is. Flippin’ heck, the Christmas tree is summit else. What are you two even doing here, anyway? Who’s looking after the bar? It’s carnival weekend, are you mad?”
