Page 102 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

I laugh weakly. ‘You think? Because from where I’m standing, my love life looks like one big car crash. Speaking of which, how’s Josh doing?’

‘He is OK,’ says Reyes. ‘There is new receptionist who is liking him. He say he not ready but I can see he is already flirting with this woman in staff canteen.’

‘That’s good.’ I feel an overwhelming sense of relief, and just a smattering of unjustified envy. ‘I hope she’s nice. Josh is such a lovely guy. He deserves to find someone who’ll treat him really well.’

‘She is nice,’ Reyes confirms. ‘And so are you, Chica. You are also deserving of meeting someone good. Maybe you should try the online dating?’

‘Great idea!’ Dylan nods enthusiastically in agreement. ‘And we can vet them for you.’

‘OK, you two, calm it,’ I instruct them. ‘Just because it’s all worked out for you, doesn’t mean you need to push it my way.’

Chapter 29

6 weeks later

‘Guys, wait.’ I suddenly falter in my stride.

‘What’s up, Squirt?’ Dylan stops and looks at me with concern.

‘I… err… I’m not sure about this after all. Maybe it’s not such a good idea.’

‘Hey, you’re fine,’ Dylan soothes me. ‘You’re already here on the estate. You’ve made it this far. Just a few more steps, and you’re gonna be welcomed by people who have been dying to see you for years.’

‘I’m glad you’ve got the fairy tale all worked out in your head.’ I raise my eyebrows at him sceptically, feeling my pulse quicken. ‘But in mine, the story goes like this:Oh, there’s that snobby cow who thought she was above us all and has been pretending we don’t exist for the last eight years.’

‘Chica, no!’ Reyes approaches me and takes me by the wrists. ‘They are not thinking this. You let your mind drive you to crazy. Dylan is telling me these people are all friendly.’

‘If that’s the case, then where’s your big fat sparkler gone?’ I eye Reyes’s ring finger suspiciously.

‘Reyes isn’t wearing it out of respect for me,’ Dylan jumps in. ‘Nothing more than that. Quit looking for problems that aren’t there.’

‘Right.’ I feel my insides tighten. ‘OK… then just give me a minute.’

As Dylan and Reyes obediently move away to give me some space, I take some deep breaths to calm my rising anxiety. The entrance to the Broken Arms is just as I remember it: in desperate need of repainting, the same sludge brown colour theme and dingy signage I remember from years ago. It’s like a time warp. I notice that one of the windowpanes in the door is broken, and has just been taped over. I wonder which of the locals put their fist through it, and for what reason. It really couldn’t be a less welcoming place if it tried. Even the draping of purple Christmas tinsel and the festive Christmas lights framing the entranceway do little to freshen its appeal.

‘This is Broken Arms?’ I hear Reyes ask Dylan quizzically from behind me. ‘This sign, it say Ridgemore Arms.’

‘It gained the nickname, Broken Arms, because of the number of fights that used to break out there.’ Dylan replies in a low voice. ‘It’s not like that anymore though, don’t worry.’

Tuning them out, I continue to breathe deeply, inhaling the familiar smell from the nearby industrial bakery, memories rapidly flood my mind; some with a grim fondness. Rolling old tyres in the dusty, uneven car park as child: seeing how far they would go, and who could make them go the fastest. And as a teenager, whipping Dylan’s and most of the regulars’ backsides at pool; something they could never accept from a girl, driving them to re-challenge me over and over – though with little success.

But mostly the memories are painful. A glass ominously smashing against the wall as my dad lost it with one of the locals yet again. Being dragged home, a vice-like grip on my arm leaving me with painful bruises that I ashamedly hid from my teachers and friends. Seeing the empty, soulless look in my mum’s eyes after years of drinking to escape the physical and emotional abuse.

My brain hurts from trying to fight against the tidal wave of haunting, sinister flashbacks; my eyes sting and my throat aches from holding in the emotion. Voices circle like sharks in my mind.

‘Where the hell have you been, you nasty little waste of space. Put the pool cue down and get your arse home – now.’

‘Too good for this family, eh? I’ve got news for you, darlin’. You’ll no’ fit in anywhere outside this place, so don’t bother yer backside tryin’.’

‘Say that one more time. Go on, I dare you…’

It’s almost too much. I’m dizzy with fear just at the thought of who’s beyond that door. Just as I’m on the brink of calling this off altogether, another voice creeps into my head.

‘My only true barrier is myself.’

My mind suddenly switches to that moment of self-liberation on my balcony months before.

‘My only true barrier is myself.’

---