Chapter 11
She knew Rosemarie would be going for colour – probably some frilly off-the-shoulder top – so she couldn’t betray her friend by dressing down.
The solution, she decided, was to show more skin.
She pulled out a cropped denim waistcoat that looked casual but effortlessly sexy.
At least she’d feel relaxed and confident, which she was going to need in spades to pull off ‘casually’ bumping into William and his hearty hikers.
She added a pair of dangly retro earrings, plenty of smoky eye makeup and red, but not too vivid, lipstick – no point in looking like a lighthouse – all set off by her hair, glossy and thick, following a trim the previous day.
Result! She swung round to catch sight of herself ‘accidentally’ in the mirror and acknowledged that she looked ‘fine’, which was a big deal for Ally.
Throwing on her brown faux-fur coat, she swanned past the aquarium.
‘Don’t wait up!’ she called to Harry and Sally and vanished out the door.
* * *
Through the steamy glass door, she could see the pub was already hopping, what with Thursday being the new Friday, while the ultra-early Christmas lights twinkled alongside kitschy tinsel.
She felt a quick flash of trepidation, then took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
Battling her way through a forest of tall men’s elbows, she spotted Rosemarie sitting at the bar, looking tense.
She waved, causing her friend’s face to light up with relief.
Ally hoisted herself up on a bar stool and ordered an Aperol spritz, before slipping out of her coat.
‘Oh Jesus, look at you with the denim.’ Rosemarie looked genuinely alarmed.
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘There’s a crowd of off-duty Guards over there – they must be over here from Garda headquarters in the park – and you’ll be giving them The Sign.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Denim. A woman in denim is a Garda magnet. Everyone knows that, and tonight we’re supposed to be after the IT lads. I don’t know what to do with you at all.’
There did seem to be an inordinate amount of very tall, well-built young men with fresh faces and short hair, laughing loudly into each other’s faces.
‘They’re not minding us, Rosemarie, would you stop.’
‘Not yet . . .’ she observed apocalyptically.
Apparently, William’s crowd weren’t due in until eight, so that meant they’d a little while to wait and – as Rosemarie put it – they’d be warmed up but not plastered.
It appeared the rest of the patrons had started well before them, and the noise, not to mention the testosterone level, in the air was on the way up.
At one point Ally distinctly felt a large hand on her backside, as a guy allegedly righted his balance as he passed.
‘Sarry.’ A Heineken breath hit the side of her neck. Unfortunately, he’d got himself out of range, or she’d have aimed an ‘accidental’ kick at the back of his leg.
Just then she heard a squeal. ‘Ally, would you just look at you. You look ameezing!’
Ally did her best to swing around, only to come face to face with someone she hadn’t seen in a while. She checked with Rosemarie, who was looking guilty and trying to convey through her eyes alone that it hadn’t been her idea.
‘Hiiiiiii . . . Crystal.’
‘Wow, look at that figure. Why were you hiding that under all those dowdy clothes?’
Ally flinched.
‘We’ve all reeely missed you,’ she blabbed.
This was so clearly a lie and Ally nearly laughed but, frankly, there wasn’t any spare air to waste, so she plumped for the easy option.
‘You look great too.’
‘Thanks, I borrowed this top from my daughter who’s . . . seventeen . . . but we’re the same size. Can you believe it?’ she squealed.
Ally couldn’t.
Crystal was clearly delusional. The plunging silver top was bravely holding its own but likely to explode at any moment under the strain of her eye-popping cleavage.
‘I’m on my girls’ night out, so let’s partaaay,’ whooped Crystal, waving her drink in the air and swivelling her hips in the direction of the young guys, hoping to attract as much attention as possible. Rosemarie rolled her eyes.
‘Sorry, Al. She must have overheard me,’ she mouthed.
The atmosphere was getting hotter, largely due to the lads, who were starting to get down and boogie to the background music. Their night had obviously started a few hours previously, and Christmas was on the way. Suddenly, Ally became aware of a dark figure blotting out the light.
‘Do ya know wha’ . . . you’re buootiful ’n’ I luvva wummin ’n dennimm,’ slurred a chap who looked at least ten years younger than her, sloshing his pint in her direction for emphasis, which she just about managed to dodge.
‘Psssst, here they are,’ mouthed Rosemarie as her pointed boot dug into Ally’s shin. Ow.
‘Just act natural.’
As though she’d any option. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could barely keep her balance among the heaving crowd. Her best chance was to cling onto the bar stool, which felt very far off the ground, with one hand, and her Aperol spritz with the other, and let fate take its course.
Rosemarie raised her hand and waved theatrically to William. ‘Hiya, Will . . .’
Ally could feel her face flush. Oh God, why had she ever thought this was a good idea – it looked exactly like what it was: an ambush.
She deliberately didn’t look around but waited for him to appear in her eyeline.
But before she could open her mouth, there was a squawk.
‘William, me little darlin’, come here and give me a big squeeze. ’
Crystal hurled herself at William, to the surprise of the regular cast of his Instagram stories.
Since she’d last seen him, so much had happened that Fantasy William had virtually faded away and, with a jolt, she found herself staring at Real William, who, it turned out, was unnervingly attractive in a wiry, confident sort of way.
Calm down, she urged herself – oh well, at least her newly acquired world-weariness could help with that.
He caught her eye over Crystal’s shoulder.
‘Hi, Ally,’ he gasped, finally released from Crystal’s stranglehold and looking actually pretty pleased to see her. The comparison with Crystal mightn’t be doing her any harm, she reflected.
‘Hi,’ she said, feeling genuinely surprised. Part of her hadn’t expected him to actually turn up.
‘Bit of a Garth Brooks vibe going on there, Ally.’ He grinned.
‘Seriously?’
When she’d put the damn waistcoat on earlier, it had seemed like a safe option, not a bat squeak to every culchie lad in the bar.
‘I’m Galway city, like, but at the same time, I don’t mind a bit of country.’
Rosemarie was giving her a thumbs-up signal from behind his back, which she was trying to ignore.
‘Can I get you a drink? I think I owe you one after the last time.’
God, she’d have passed out with excitement to hear those words a couple of weeks ago.
‘Ah, not at all, William, I’m on cocktails, I wouldn’t expect—’
‘Two Aperol spritzes there, Tomás,’ he called to the barman, who nodded wearily, while Rosemarie’s face lit up as she slurped her straw loudly like an eight-year-old at a birthday party.
‘Missed you around the place,’ yelled William into her face.
Ally gave up trying to hear and resorted to lip-reading, which gave her a chance to focus on his face, his lips moving, his faint five o’clock shadow. She cringed at the thought of their previous meeting, with her getting hammered and ranting on about football.
Just then Crystal reappeared through the throng and slapped her hands over William’s eyes from behind. ‘Guess who?’
As though anybody else in the pub was likely to be that clueless. At the same time, the power of Ally’s denim waistcoat was still working its magic on the off-duty Guard who’d previously missed her with his pint. He saw his chance.
‘Heey, I’ve a question . . . if you’d a time machine, where’d you go?’ he breathed.
It was at least a decent shot at starting a conversation; she was on her second cocktail and becoming a lot less critical.
William was stuck with Crystal, who was still covering his eyes, and Rosemarie was being chatted up by one of William’s friends, who for some reason was still wearing his lanyard.
‘You know where I’d go? Hogwarts.’
What? She felt momentarily compelled to explain that’d make it more of a fantasy time machine but it really didn’t seem worth the effort, so she just kept nodding.
Just then she overheard William’s friend announcing to Rosemarie, ‘I know most fellas wouldn’t admit it, but I kind of like a woman who’s a bit mouthy. You know, keeps me bobbing and weaving . . .’ Here he did a little boxing mime.
Oh, God no. Not to Rosemarie. Over the din, she vaguely overheard, ‘Well, you cheeky little bollocks . . .’
A moment later there was a roar as Rosemarie poured the almost-full cocktail over his head, which seemed a shocking waste, apart from anything else.
This triggered a fight response in Mr Time Travel, who banged his pint down on the bar and threw a well-aimed punch at Rosemarie’s dripping admirer, who then stumbled backwards, crashed into a group of off-duty Guards and sloshed the drinks all over them, causing uproar and starting a full-on altercation.
Another of William’s mates, in an apparent – if unwise – surge of loyalty, squared up to the biggest of the group.
The escalating chaos had at least freed William from Crystal’s grip, allowing him to leap into the centre as referee.
‘Ah, come on now, lads, settle down, settle down. We’re all friends here,’ he suggested optimistically, before taking a punch in the gob which felled him like a sack of spuds. Mr Cocktail Head, whose name was Fergus, was outraged by this act.
‘That’s disgraceful,’ he roared. ‘That man was in a peacekeeping role.’ And he threw a counterpunch at the perpetrator. It was a no-win situation: William’s friends were less drunk, but the Guards were bigger.
The poor barman’s night was going from bad to worse.