Page 83 of The Cocktail Bar
“Okay, okay.” River held his hands up like a criminal turning himself in. “I trust you, I’ll do it, I’m going.”
He knew the drill by now, much as any normal person would have locked him up months ago. And so he marched up the path, on tiptoes, dodging the icy bits, eager to see how this mystery would play out. It was pretty clear that Mercedes knew something he didn’t, something that was soon to reveal itself. So far her track record had been accurate enough, so what other option was there but to put his faith in her once again?
“I’m back,” he almost sing-songed to Lee.
“About time, what was that all about? Forget to put something on the inventory?”
“No, no, everything’s good. I just wanted to… y’know, have a moment.”
“You are sure about this, starting over so quickly, leaving me here to steer the ship?”
“As sure as I’ll ever be… you, me, the bashing up of the bar… it was written in the stars that day.”
They both smiled, River simultaneously cringing at himself for nabbing Mercedes’ quote, but under the current circumstances, it was wholly appropriate. And then Lee surprised him completely by going in for a semi-man hug which didn’t quite take off in the way man hugs were intended but ended up as several slaps on the back.
“All right, calm down!”
They stood there awhile like that; a silent metaphor for out with the old and in with the new, a friendship restored to something even better than its former glory. Lee’s eyes were ablaze with joy and fixed on his wife, River’s were transfixed by Alice, wondering where life would take them, relinquishing the very thought of worrying about the current location of one bottle, lest Mercedes boom out over the loudspeaker next, scaring them all out of their wits. He let his eyes move over to his Aunt Sheba as he took a drink of his final cocktail in this bar – damn that Frisky Bison for making its way into his glass again – but he’d allow himself approximately a third of its goodness, he was driving soon, after all. Aunt Sheba stood a distance from Heather and Terry, the spirituous apples danced on his tongue, and Sting’s ‘Free’ began to blast out on the sound system.
“Right, that’s it. If that isn’t a flippin’ sign, I don’t knowwhatis,” he overheard a voice sounding very much like Heather’s declare. And sure enough as his head followed its direction, there she was, abandoning her Ginger Rabbit on a table like an exclamation mark, walking over to grab her long lost sister, rigid crab-like pincers held out before her, the kind that would not take no for an answer.
River swore his jaw was about to hit the floor. This was unbelievable, a decades-long feud on the brink of becoming history, all because of a song. But then someone made a grab for him, and it didn’t take him long to work out that it wasn’t Alice, whose arms were otherwise engaged as she topped up trays of Irish Cream at the far side of the bar. The two spindly hands continued, threatening to tickle his chest through his thin white shirt:
Cassandra.
Ooh, that woman. Forever creeping up behind him when he least expected it.
“I’m starting up a travelling library service again for the local villages,” she said, letting him go at last and spinning him around as if they were about to take to the floor onStrictly, which she could flaming well forget, he’d played the charming Anton du Beke with her for long enough.
Tonight he was Alice’s. All Alice’s, and in many ways their ‘going away car’ moment, a piece of cinema he had endlessly visualised over the past couple of weeks, couldn’t not put his beloved in mind of one of those vintage after-the-wedding-reception cars, a move he thought portended well for their new life together. Of course, there was the slight issue that he still insisted upon driving a mustard rust bucket. Some things, reassuringly, never changed.
“And I just wanted to let you know,” Cassandra continued, bringing him right back down to Earth as she’d clearly intended, “that actually, it’s with the help of Lord and Lady Rigby-Chandler. You see, they don’t know that I know that they know that this little charitable, do-good PR stunt of theirs is going to help more visitors tune into the TV to see their castle in ruins appearing on that documentary soon with your future stepfather, but if you can’t scratch one another’s backs from time to—”
“Oh absolutely, Cassie, I couldn’t agree more, what a wonderful idea.”
And it was, though he was loath to admit it. But never mind that, who in God’s name had he left in charge of the music?
Just as Sting morphed into Mariah Carey, who began to croon out about all she wanted for the festive season, the door to the bar opened with an almighty bang. Lee welded himself to the far corner of the bar, an act that told River all he needed to know – in both senses of the word.
“Veryhigh-gurrthis is; isn’t it?” said the outsider.
River was sure Blake was trying to say ‘hygge’, the Danish word for ‘cosy’ as he set foot inside The Cocktail Bar for the second time since River had made it his. Behind him, Georgina revealed herself, clad in a cranberry-red coat, her hand clutching at her swollen stomach – its shape now an ever-expanding figgy pudding.
Here we go again.
But then he remembered Mercedes’ reassuring words and a strange but welcome calm descended upon him.
Everyone else fell quiet then too, except River. Because unlike the last time Blake took issue with his right as a human being to be, do and have what he wanted; to live his life, River was no longer scared.
“So… you found out I made Lee a manager, and now you’re here to let us know about it. Let’s give him a round of applause everybody.”
All around him people slowly began to clap, faces looking from one to the other, clearly unsure where any of this was going; all excluding Terry who just looked utterly miffed at the audacity of his grown children to keep throwing not so much spanners, but entire toolkits in the works.
“You’re sounding a bit surer of yourself than last time, Jackson. But what did I tell you? Should’ve taken heed of my warning: I’m the mallet, you’re the mole, remember?”
“Then go ahead and do your best.” River stepped forward, a willing volunteer.
“Yeah,” Lee echoed confidently all of a sudden, un-gripping his limbs from the bar’s counter, “I’m not your puppet anymore. Bring. It. On. Hopkins.”
