Page 16 of Cherry Beats

I closed my eyes and pressed my lips together. Growling deep in my soul, I looked up at Bourbon’s customer and leaned over so he could hear me. “Sorry, doll, but we’re all out of draft. I’m up to my tits in customers wanting drinks, and I think we’re about to get trampled faster than Mufasa in Lion King if we don’t keep serving—you’re included in the ‘we’there, by the way. I don’t have time to sort out the ale for at least another ten minutes. If you want to wait, fine. If you want a bottle, take one, and I’ll get the boss to throw in a round of shots for you as an apology. If that isn’t good enough for you, I suggest the quieter bar down the road, Pear Tree. They do all sorts of ale, beer, cider and none of their shit is served with a side order of attitude or sass from a fiery little redhead like me.”

“Tess!” Bourbon scolded.

His customer burst out laughing.

They always did.

Drunk people loved a bit of fire when they knew there was no real malice behind it.

“Who can refuse an offer like that? Double up my order. We’re staying here for the night.”

I let my head fall in Bourbon’s direction and offered him a smug smirk.

The night wore on…

And on.

And on.

Even when I was certain I was going to be able to take ten minutes to go pee, wash my hands, and grab a packet of crisps, I was proven wrong by another swarm of women rolling in with balloons wrapped around their necks, or a group full of rugby players pushing and shoving each other through the doors, a little worse for wear.

By the time midnight struck, I was a hot, sweaty mess. I looked like crap, stank even worse, and my mouth tasted like it had been chewing on stale bread. Bourbon didn’t have to say anything when he flopped back against the back shelf of the bar. His exhaustion was draped around his features like an ugly balaclava. He stared straight ahead at the double glass doors, and I knew he was praying that the customers had all been sated for the night. The place was still busy, but everyone was either dancing, sitting, or passed out somewhere we couldn’t see them.

I stuck an empty glass under the tap and waited for the water to fill it, so thirsty, I thought I might die.

It was usually moments like that, when I least expected it, thatheturned up. Not in the flesh, but the sound of his heavy rhythm hitting those drums was a calling to me I’d not yet learned how to switch off.

The whole bar erupted at once when they heard him hit those sticks four times.

Then boom. The place was on fire.

And all I could do was close my eyes and let the freezing cold-water spill over the rim of the glass whenhisband’s hit song dragged me under.

God dances in time with the crime.

God drifts with you, judging your fears, your tears, your clockwork gears.

God ain’t the thief.

She ain’t the liar.

She ain’t the boom, ain’t the rat, ain’t the town, ain’t the crier.

She’s whole.

Your soul.

Your goal.

Your partner in crime.

And if you ain’t see the signs of her life,

Then your body’s gonna be on fire.

Fire.

Fire…

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