Page 50 of The Girl You Left Behind
Greg rings up some money and arrives back in front of Paul.
“Look, I know how it sounds. But she’s a nice woman. And it’s just horrible having to fend her off all the time.”
“Sucks to be you.”
“Like you’d understand.”
Greg puts another glass on the shelf. “Look, why don’t you just sit her down, tell her that she’s a really lovely person, yada yada yada, but you’re not interested in her that way?”
“Because it’s awkward. Us working so closely together and all.”
“And this isn’t? The whole ‘Oh, well, if you ever fancy a quickie when you’ve finished this case, Paul’ thing.” Greg’s attention shifts to the other end of the bar. “Uh-oh. I think we’ve got a live one.”
Paul has been dimly aware of the girl all evening. She had arrived looking perfectly composed, and he had assumed she was waiting for someone. Now she is trying to climb back onto her bar stool. She makes two attempts, the second sending her stumbling backward clumsily. She pushes her hair out of her eyes and peers at the bar as if it’s the summit of Everest. She propels herself upward. When she lands on the stool she reaches out both hands to steady herself and blinks hard, as if it takes her a couple of seconds to believe she has actually made it. She lifts her face toward Greg. “Excuse me? Can I have another wine?” She holds up an empty glass.
Greg’s gaze, amused and weary, travels to Paul and away. “We’re closing in ten minutes,” he says, flicking his tea towel over his shoulder. He’s good with drunks. Paul has never seen Greg lose his cool. They were, their mother would remark, chalk and cheese like that.
“So that leaves me ten minutes to drink it?” she says, her smile wavering slightly.
“Sweetheart, I mean this in the nicest way, but if you have another drink I’ll worry about you. And I really, really hate ending my shift worrying about customers.”
“A small one,” she says. Her smile is heartbreaking. “I don’t even usually drink.”
“Yeah. You’re the ones I worry about.”
“This...” Her eyes are strained. “This is a difficult day. A really difficult day. Please can I just have one more drink? And then you can call me a nice respectable taxi from a nice respectable firm, and I’ll go home and pass out, and you can go home without worrying about me.”
He looks back at Paul and sighs.See what I have to put up with?“A small one,” he says. “A very small one.”
Her smile falls away, her eyes half close, and she reaches down to her feet, swaying, for her bag. Paul turns back to the bar, checking his phone for messages. It is his turn to have Jake tomorrow night, and although the thing with him and Leonie is now amicable, some part of him still worries that she will find a reason to cancel.
“My bag!”
He glances up.
“My bag’s gone!” The woman has slid from the stool and is gazing around at the floor, one hand clutching the bar. When she looks up, her face is leached of color.
“Did you take it to the ladies’?” Greg leans across the bar.
“No,” she says, her gaze darting around the bar. “It was tucked under my stool.”
“You left your bag under the stool?” Greg tuts. “Didn’t you read the signs?”
There are signs all over the bar.DO NOT LEAVE YOUR BAG UNATTENDED: PICKPOCKETS OPERATE IN THIS AREA.Paul can count three of them just from where he sits.
She has not read them.
“I’m really sorry. But it’s not good around here.” The woman’s gaze flickers between them and, drunk as she is, he can see that she guesses what they’re thinking.Silly drunk girl.
Paul reaches for his phone. “I’ll call the cops.”
“And tell them I was stupid enough to leave my bag under a stool?” She puts her face into her hands. “Oh, God. I’d just withdrawn two hundred pounds for the council tax. I don’t believe it. Two. Hundred. Pounds.”
“We’ve had two already this week,” says Greg. “We’re waiting for CCTV to be installed. But it’s an epidemic. I’m really sorry.”
She looks up and wipes her face. She lets out a long, unsteady breath. She is plainly trying not to burst into tears. The glass of wine sits untouched on the bar. “I’m really sorry. But I don’t think I’m going to be able to pay for that.”
“Don’t give it a thought,” says Greg. “Here, Paul, you call the cops. I’ll go get her a coffee. Right. Time, ladies and gentlemen, please...”
