River Deep (14 page)

‘Oh, er, yeah. I’ve just moved in with Falcon.’ Pete felt the earth shift slightly beneath him and wished he had made them stop for something to eat on the way. ‘He’s showing me the best pubs in town, and this is his favourite.’ Pete looked around. Even for a Monday night it was as dead as a dodo.

‘Won’t be for much longer,’ Jim interrupted. ‘My sister’s turning it into some godawful yuppie bar.’

Falcon turned his head and caught Sheila’s eye.

‘Is that true, She?’ he asked her. ‘Cos if it is, I’ll get a protest going or something. We can’t let that happen to this place. It’s the only decent pub left in the city!’

Sheila shook her head and lit a new cigarette from an old one. ‘No choice, love. We’ve been going under for years. His sister,’ she pointed her cigarette forcefully at Jim, ‘is going to keep us all in a job. I don’t think it’ll be yuppies or nothing like that. She’s a good girl, is Mag. She’ll see us right.’

Falcon shook his head and leaned on the bar.

‘Bloody travesty. Large JDs all round. Let’s have a wake for the sad demise of The Fleur as we know it!’

As Sheila set the shorts up on the bar, Pete regarded his glass with alarm. He’d never been much good at whisky, let alone whisky on an empty stomach after several pints. But Falcon was impossible to refuse, and besides, there was a tiny part of him still sober enough to be clamouring for Stella. He had to drown that, at least for now, at least until he could get his head together enough to work things out.

‘In one!’ Falcon called out, and Pete automatically sank his shot. His stomach reeled and his head spun, but he noted as he put his empty glass back on the bar he couldn’t feel any pain any more, and that had to be a good thing.

‘Same again?’ Falcon asked him.

‘Why not?’ Pete replied, and in that moment he couldn’t think of a single reason.

The hand had been on her knee for maybe two minutes now, and Maggie had absolutely no idea how to get it off without making herself look ridiculous and Declan feel embarrassed. Declan had sandwiched her into a booth, and as the evening had progressed he’d sidled progressively further along the seat towards her. Maggie looked at her watch. It was ten forty-five.

‘So,’ Declan smiled, his fingers gently massaging her knee under the linen of her dress. ‘Have I managed to take your mind off Christian?’

‘Oh yes,’ Maggie nodded unconvincingly. ‘It’s so nice to have a good
friend
to talk to at times like these. Thank you, Declan, for being such a good
friend
.’ Maggie was hopeful he’d take the hint, but she should have known better. Drunk men with seduction on their mind don’t really do hints. Declan’s face loomed a little nearer.

‘You know, you can work out of my office any time you like if you want a bit of peace and quiet. You’d improve my view tenfold.’ His hand had found its way under the hem of her skirt and his fingers were gently stroking her thigh.

‘Time, gentlemen, please!’ the barman called out, ringing a large brass bell at the same. In one fluid movement Maggie extracted Declan’s hand from beneath her skirt and reached for her bag.

‘Well, Declan, thanks for the drink. I must be off. I have to cash up at The Fleur.’ Declan leaned back in his chair and studied her with a crooked smile. He was quite charming, really, Maggie thought sadly.

‘Surely one of your minions could do it?’ he questioned her, his arm snaking around her shoulders. As Maggie laughed, she heard the note of hysteria in her voice.

‘My only minion is over sixty, and actually she almost owns the place, so if you don’t mind …’ As Maggie tried to rise, Declan gently pushed her back into her seat and closed her mouth with his own in one expert manoeuvre. For a second, Maggie willed herself to enjoy the feel of his lips on hers and the sensation of his fingers on her shoulder, but she couldn’t. Panic and sadness welled up inside and she pushed him away, a single tear tracking down her face.

‘Declan, I’m sorry … I … It’s not you. I mean really, it isn’t – it’s just that all that stuff I said about me and Christian being on a break – it was total bollocks. He was having an affair when we split up. He dumped me.’

Declan picked up her hand and squeezed it lightly.

‘I know, Mags. Everyone knows. Everyone thinks he’s a total shit. And crazy too, if that helps.’

Maggie blinked at him, wishing the bar floor would open up and swallow her where she sat.

‘But why … why didn’t you …?’

‘Say anything? Because I thought you deserved to keep your dignity intact.’ Declan smiled ruefully. ‘And because I thought I might get lucky. You’re a very attractive woman, Maggie.’

Maggie literally shrugged off the compliment and squirmed in her seat.

‘It’s just, I miss him, Declan, and I … still love him so much. I can’t bear the thought of anyone else kissing me, and I hope that one day soon Christian will feel the same way. Does that make me insane?’

Declan returned his hand to her knee, but this time in a more companionable way.

‘Probably, yes. But it also makes you very genuine and very true to yourself. Maybe it’s not that you only want to be kissed by Christian. Maybe it’s that you need to be kissed by the right man, and I’m not him, worst luck.’

Maggie held her bag over her lap like a protective shield. ‘No, no,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m sure if I could kiss anybody else it would definitely be you,’ she said, and she meant it. She just didn’t believe that eventuality would ever happen.

Declan stood up and walked her on to the street.

‘Well, if that day comes, you’ll let me know, won’t you?’ he asked.

Maggie nodded. ‘Straightaway,’ she said.

‘And if you need to come to the café, don’t feel awkward now, will you?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘Actually, I think I’ll have enough cash to buy my own PC soon, but I wouldn’t feel awkward.’ There was a brief uncertain pause. ‘Right, well, I’d better get back.’ Maggie looked into Declan’s eyes. ‘Thanks, Declan, you are a really nice man,’ she said, before kissing him lightly on the cheek.

They said their goodbyes, and as Declan watched her retreat swiftly up the street he shook his head and thrust his hands deep into his pockets.

‘Too nice, that’s my trouble,’ he mumbled to himself as he began the long and lonely walk home.

Pete felt the dirty wooden floorboards of The Fleur creak and rock below him.

‘Fucking hell, Falc,’ he told his friend, ‘I’m as fucked as a fucking mother fucker.’ He caught Sheila eyeing him coolly. ‘Sorry about the language,’ he added, his voice blurred and indistinct.

Sheila took a deep drag on her cigarette and crossed her arms under her breasts.

‘I’ve heard worse, love. You look right pie-eyed, though. What you need is some food to soak all that lot up.’

Falcon clapped him on the shoulder with a force that Pete felt might hammer him through the floor and into the cellar. His knees buckled slightly and it took him a moment to wobble himself back to a standing position.

‘Nice greasy kebab, that’ll see you right,’ Falcon promised him and then, looking at Sheila, ‘One more for the road, She?’

‘On your bike. I called time ages ago,’ she replied mildly. She looked at Jim, his head resting on the bar, fast asleep. ‘And take him with you!’ she added hopefully, but the group of men seemed to be having enough trouble arranging themselves without listening to her.

‘Right then!’ Falcon rallied the troops with a Buzz Lightyearstyle cry. ‘To the kebab shop and behind!’

Pete joined in the general cheer and as a group they lurched towards the exit.

As Maggie reached The Fleur, a group of lads spilled out on to the pavement, and as they whirled and spun around her she recognised them generically as The Fleur’s only regular customers outside of a couple of old men and the Korean lady that ran the print shop down the road.

‘I wonder if I could keep them coming and still attract the smart City crowd,’ she mused as they lurched up the street. Just as she was about to push open the door Maggie stopped. She had the distinct impression that she had forgotten something, her keys maybe. Or rather that she had missed something she was supposed to do or someone she was supposed to meet. She paused and instinctively looked behind to the crowd of men that had just left. As she looked, the last of them turned the corner singing a very dubious version of ‘Teenage Kicks’ at the top of his voice. Maggie shrugged and went through the door to the now empty bar, then bolted and locked the door behind her.

‘Sit down, She,’ she called out over her shoulder. ‘I’ll cash up and make us a tea before I call you a cab, OK?’

Sheila sat down on one of the bar stools and kicked off her shoes.

‘Already done it, love,’ She replied. ‘It didn’t take long. Just Falcon, Woody and his mates in tonight. Oh, and they had some other one in tow this time. A right looker he was, even got my heart thumping!’

‘Yeah?’ Maggie laughed trying to imagine the kind of punk babe that could get Sheila going. ‘Well, you never know your luck.’ She looked at Jim sprawled on the bar and her heart sank. ‘Did you …?’

‘Nope,’ Sheila pre-empted. ‘He only had a pint, and then he flaked out. He’s been down that cellar since you left this morning. He’s just found out what it means to do a day’s work and he’s knackered.’

Maggie approached her brother and regarded him curiously. ‘I can’t actually believe he did what I asked,’ she said quietly. ‘Amazing. I wonder if he’ll keep it up.’

‘He seemed quite pleased with himself, all right,’ Sheila said. ‘I reckoned he’d worked really hard, but I never let on. Don’t want him getting ahead of himself.’

Maggie smiled. Right now Jim looked about ten.

‘Do you think he might pull himself together one day?’ she asked.

‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ Sheila replied. ‘I think he’s missed you. I think you not being here isn’t good for him.’

Maggie laughed as she picked up a sheet of paper from the bar and saw that Jim had listed each item he had found in neat columns. ‘See what he can do when he puts his mind to it?’ She waved the sheet at Sheila. ‘Right, I’ll read this while I wait for the kettle to boil.’

As Maggie leant against the kitchen worktop, reading through the long list of ancient and modern artefacts her parents had stored below over the years, the strange sensation she’d felt at the door gradually seeped away until she’d forgotten she’d ever had it.

‘Maggie!’ Pete shouted down the street, but his voice was lost in a chorus of raucous singing. ‘Here,’ Pete turned to Falcon. ‘That was Maggie, that really pretty girl just going in there. I need to talk to her, she’s really good at listening and she totally understands about Stella. She’ll know what to do …’ Falcon swung his arm around Pete’s neck, forcing him to stoop a little. ‘What you need, mate,’ he said firmly, ‘is a
ger-reasy kebab
. That’ll sort it, OK?’

Pete realised that at that moment not even superhuman strength would enable him to turn back to the pub and talk to Maggie.

‘OK, a greasy kebab,’ he agreed reluctantly. And that was the last thing he remembered.

This is how Maggie made the best and worst decision of her life.

The morning after Declan’s kiss she woke up thinking about Louise. She considered this to be rather unusual, to say the least. After all, she had at least three more important things to think about. In order of importance they were: getting Christian back, saving The Fleur, which included not squandering Sheila’s money, and working out why Declan’s perfectly nice hand on her knee had not given her the slightest frisson of sexual excitement.

But no. As she dressed that morning she found herself searching through her rumpled collection of clothes – which still resided hopefully in her suitcase – searching for something that Louise might wear. The best she could come up with was a pair of white linen tailored trousers and a short black top with three-quarter-length sleeves and a deep V at the back to expose her shoulder blades. Even then she was fairly certain that Louise would wear both garments with a hint of disdain, wrinkling her pretty nose ever so slightly.

Then, as she went down to the pub kitchen for breakfast where her parents were already sitting, managing to eat Weetabix and hold hands at the same time, she felt herself moving as she imagined Louise would move – swinging out her hips as she leaned on the counter waiting for the kettle to boil, tipping her head ever so slightly to one side so that her phantom blonde hair grazed her pretend gold-dusted skin. She knew that under normal circumstances, if you could call her recent life normal, she’d be eyeing up the dilapidated kitchen, making a mental inventory of all the equipment they would need to overhaul or replace, and thinking of the outlets and contacts she could use most profitably. Problem-solving like this, minding the bottom line and bringing things in under budget, were practically Maggie’s favourite thing to do – it was almost a treat. Christian had had all the flair and the talent, and she had had all the solid practical back-up; he’d often said so. But for some reason, this morning all she could think about was Louise, the strength of her thighs, the subtly lighter shade of her inner arm, the curve of the small of her back above her bottom …

‘Oh fuck, I’m turning into a lesbian,’ Maggie said out loud, causing her parents’ respective spoons to halt abruptly mid-bite, leaving their mouths agape. Marion quickly composed herself and was about to deliver her ‘whatever you do, dear, we’ll still love you’ speech, which she had rehearsed almost hopefully over the years, when Maggie cut her off with a sharp, pre-emptive strike. ‘Oh don’t be ridiculous, Mother, of course I’m not a lesbian.’ Her parents exchanged confused glances and shrugs, which she thought was probably only fair as she was the one being ridiculous. In the interests of scientific exploration, however, Maggie did try to imagine her and Louise naked on a bed kissing and …

‘Ugh!’ Maggie said out loud again. Both parents remained cautiously silent, and Maggie was grateful. Nope, she was definitely not a lesbian. What was she, then? Clinically insane?

It was while she was in Mrs Kim’s print shop waiting for her to colour-copy and laminate her business plan four times that a new explanation hit her right between the eyes. The eyes she was pretending were the smokey grey she thought Louise’s might be.