Page 49 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
‘Don’t go down that road,’ I say.
And Dee realises what she’s said, covers her mouth as if her small hand can contain her huge laugh.
‘What are you going to say next time he comes in?’ I ask.
Because Dee is at the Pheasant five or six nights out of seven, it’s there that she meets the men she goes on dates with. There just isn’t really the opportunity to meet them anywhere else. And when the dates are a disaster, which they usually are, she’s on pins waiting for the men to come in again, and I find myself having to pretend Dee has food poisoning or that she left for another job when she’s actually hiding in the cellar or crouched down by my legs, trying not to laugh.
Dee shrugs. ‘Do you think he will?’
‘Dee, it’s Liam! He’s been coming in every few nights for as long as I can remember.’
‘Oh god, why do I always do this? He talked to me about mortgages.’
I laugh, because I know I am expected to, but I am thinking that Dee doesn’t know how lucky she is. How I would choose boredom over terror any day. How I would always take a chat about mortgages with safe Liam over a shove or a kick from my husband.
‘So what’s the next instalment in Dee’s Dating Disasters?’
‘Who knows?’ Dee goes over to the doors, slides the bolt across. ‘Let’s see who comes through the door, shall we?’
Derek appears as if he’s been waiting there, which he probably has, and both Dee and I laugh so hard we’re bent double for a while, can’t even gather ourselves to serve him while he stands there saying, ‘What’s all this about, then, ladies?’
By the time Liam comes in, it’s gone six and we’ve got our hands full. A group of drunk women staggered in an hour or soearlier, and they’re drinking cocktails. I don’t see him at first, with all the faffing about with crushed ice and sugared rims and slices of lime, and when I do, I realise Dee has disappeared and there are five drunk girls waving glasses at me, Derek looking ready for another pint, and Liam, a bit sheepish, holding a ten-pound note in his hand.
‘Is Dee in?’ he asks.
I’m not sure what to say. I’ve lied for Dee many times, but this is Liam, who I know and like, and I don’t want to say no if Dee might suddenly materialise in front of us.
‘Yes, but she must be on a break or in the loo or something.’
Liam covers his face with his hands, then drags them down as if trying to pull his features into something grotesque. ‘I messed up last night. I’m sure she told you.’
I don’t want to be in the middle of this, so I hold up a finger and go back to the cocktails, and when the rowdy group are all satisfied for a few minutes, I pull two pints of lager – one for Derek, who gives me a nod and slides the exact change across the bar, and one for Liam. Dee is still nowhere to be seen.
‘I really like her,’ Liam says, leaning in close. ‘And I was nervous, so I was just saying whatever came into my head, and I could tell she was desperate to leave. She had one eye on the door the whole time.’
‘She said something about mortgages,’ I say.
‘Mortgages! What the hell was I thinking? Is it too late for me to rescue this, Shelley?’
Dee chooses that moment to come up the stairs from the cellar, and I shoot her a look which I hope conveys both my annoyance at being left to handle all the customers alone and my reluctance to be having this conversation with Liam.
‘Hi Dee,’ Liam says.
Dee holds a hand up in greeting, and it’s the most awkward thing I’ve ever seen her do. But she looks sort of bashful, too. Is there actually something here, between these two?
I go over to the other side of the bar, because for the first time with Liam and Dee, I feel like I’m in the way.
It’s later, maybe approaching ten, when I go upstairs to see David. He likes me to go up to the flat on my breaks, because I barely have time to say hello when he comes in from work and we never get to eat together.
I find him in our bedroom. Not in bed, just standing as if waiting for me.
‘Hi,’ I say.
I know from the way he’s standing, from the tautness of him, that there is something wrong. I wish I’d stayed downstairs, but the drunk girls had left and Dee and Liam were flirting across the bar for ages.
David looks at me, and there is something like hatred in his eyes. I know this look. He has found or seen or imagined something, and then he’s gone over and over it until it is the only truth in his mind. I think about turning around and going straight back downstairs, but it will be worse later if I do that. At least now he knows I have to go back down, so he’ll have to be careful about what he does to me.
‘Are you sleeping with him?’ David asks, his voice cold.
