Page 3 of Millie & George: Young Love
‘I haven’t seen you in here before.’
‘I only started this evening.’
‘You like it?’
‘I think so.’ The skin between her eyebrows crumpled adorably as she looked at him and added. ‘The customers seem okay. So far.’ She lifted a questioning eyebrow. ‘Are you a regular?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘You live nearby?’
‘Yes, I do. Lived in the area all my life. Just around the corner. Name’s George, George Halcyon.’ He waited, expecting to see the usual reserve, sometimes fear, that entered people’s eyes on mention of the Halcyon name. Nothing happened. She didn’t know who he was.Bonus!
‘Very good to meet you, George. I’m Millicent Mackie, from Edinburgh originally, but I live down here now. Everyone calls me Millie.’ She smiled.
George’s chest exploded. Maybe his head as well, because speech was impossible.
‘It’s quiet in here tonight,’ Millie continued with a sweeping scan of the bar before she looked to George as if she thought he might have the answer to the problem.
‘People aren’t used to the changes,’ he said, finding his voice did work after all, and calling on his superior knowledge of the area and the Fig in particular. ‘My dad included,’ he added, trying not to frown at the thought of his father. ‘Most of the old regulars, like him, have given up on the place. It’s too posh for them now. And the new customers don’t seem to have found it yet.’
‘They will, I’m sure. It’s been done out really well, don’t you think?’
As if to prove Millie correct, the doors swung open and three young men in city suits piled in.
Looking at them, George felt scruffy in his fade jeans and t-shirt, even though his clothes were good brands. His mum never shopped at the market, always bought him the best.
He watched as Millie made her way along the bar, cheerfully greeting the newcomers with, ‘Good evening, gentlemen. What can I get ye?’
George smiled, loving her accent, and the funny way she changed everyday words. You to ye and yes to aye, no to nae. It sent a little thrill through him, just to hear her speak.
The newcomers flirted outrageously with Millie, making comments George would never have dared on a first meeting. They couldn’t have been much older than him, but they clearly had money to splash on sharp tailoring and expensive booze. Ordering a make of gin, he’d never heard of and upping their order to doubles all round. They laughed loudly, too loudly–seemed in perpetual motion, as if agitated–slapping each other on the back or restlessly pacing, looking at their surroundings like aliens just landed from a foreign planet. George didn’t like them.
One of them said, ‘I say, girl, do you have cucumber instead of lemon for our drinks?’
George recognised the superior tone of someone privileged, possibly public school educated, and remembered there’d been a few of the same type at university–looking down their upper-class noses at him and Owen.
Owen had said they were probably Oxbridge rejects.
George wondered what Owen, his best mate, was doing right then, and what he would make of the city types. He’d probably have a cutting barb of some sort for them. Owen was good with words.
A less refined voice piped up from the suits, saying, ‘I’d prefer a slice of lemon in mine, if it’s no trouble.’
‘That’s because you’re uncouth,’ public school man said, laughing and slapping his companion heavily on the shoulder.
‘Whereas you’re full of couth,’ the smaller man replied, and George thought he saw the mask of friendship slip. Testosterone and ego fuelled relationships balanced on a knife edge. These characters could turn nasty. He frowned, worried for the safety of Millie.
‘We have both and lime if ye prefer,’ she said, smiling sweetly at all three men, defusing the sudden tension, before upselling them some food.
George drained his beer and ordered another. He felt better now that the suits were settling, and he’d almost forgotten his dad; now he had Millie to watch and Owen to think about. He must remember to text him. Find out what he was doing, invite him to town, perhaps.
Finished with the other customers, Millie returned to him, her sapphire eyes sparkling as she sauntered along the inside of the bar.
Perhaps she likes me, he thought. But maybe it was only because she thought him a safer option than the three upper class louts, noisily downing their drinks and making sure everyone knew the reason for their high spirits was a big money deal they’d pulled off. But Milliewascoming back to him. She was looking at him as if she expected him to say or do something. Excitement fluttered in his chest at the thought. What would Owen do in this situation? He was never tongue-tied. George held up his empty pint mug, and she took it from him.
‘Refill?’ She tilted her head.
‘Sure.’ Emboldened by her smile, George sprang a question. ‘Do you like curry, Millie?’
‘I do.’ Her pretty mouth tweaked at the edges. She gripped the pump, seeming to concentrate on the task in hand, deliberately not looking at him. George watched her. She licked her lips–a momentary appearance of a pink tongue tip–then she turned and treated him to another open smile, igniting every emotion he’d ever known and a few that were new.
George gulped as if he were at the local pool, about to dive off the top board. Now or never, he thought and took the leap, ‘Can I take you for a curry at the end of your shift?’
‘Yes, you can, George.’
He blinked. She’d said yes. It felt as if the earth had tilted on its axis and his life had suddenly changed forever.
