Chapter Eleven #2
‘I’ll go.’ I place my hand on his shoulder and give a gentle push down as he struggles to get to his feet. ‘Why don’t I get you a bottle of water? Or an orange juice?’
‘Nah.’ Conrad shakes his head, his shoulders swaying with the movement. ‘Pint. Lager. And a whisky, please.’ He lifts an empty shot glass and jiggles it in my face.
I give myself a massive mental kick up the arse as I push my way to the bar.
I am a fool. The biggest, most delusional fool on the planet.
Because of course Conrad and I didn’t magically meet because we were destined to fall in love.
Magic isn’t real and these meet-cutes I’ve been having aren’t enchanted encounters.
They’re coincidences. Like Jonah has been telling me.
Applause erupts around me and it feels like a dig, like all these people in the bar knew I was being delusional and they’re chuffed I’ve finally got it.
‘Thank you, Tiffany.’ On the stage, River Storm blows a kiss to the latest participant as they plod down the steps in clunky heels.
‘Next, we have a regular here at Piano Quays. Let’s give a big welcome to Kit Kearsley.
’ The bar erupts in applause again, and there are whoops and feet-stamping as the next participant makes their way to the stage.
I lift my hand and attract the attention of the bar staff while everyone’s focus is elsewhere.
‘Where’s my whisky?’ Conrad frowns as I place the drinks on the table. There are only two: a pint for Conrad and an orange juice for me, because one of us needs to stay semi-sober and it’s far too late for Conrad to take on the role.
‘They ran out.’ It’s an outrageous, unbelievable lie, but Conrad accepts it with nothing more than a pout as he picks up his pint.
‘This guy.’ Conrad jabs his pint towards the stage, sloshing lager over his hand and the table. He doesn’t notice. ‘This guy. This guy.’ He shakes his head. ‘This guy loves himself. Prick.’ He slurps his drink, sending more down his chin than into his mouth.
‘He’s good though. Probably the best we’ve had all evening.
’ This isn’t true; the guy on stage has a great voice, but it isn’t Broadway-worthy like some of the others.
My comment was purely a jibe at Conrad, because I am not happy that this date has turned into a babysitting mission rather than a romantic endeavour.
‘Bollocks.’ Conrad spits out the word, his whole body jolting with it.
‘He’s crap. I’m better than him.’ He bashes his pint against his chest, spilling yet more lager.
Still, he’s pissed enough, so it’s probably better down his shirt than in his system.
‘And what is this song? I’ve never heard it. Have you ever heard it?’
‘It’s “If You Believe”.’
Conrad pulls his chin back and frowns at me.
‘It’s a Steps song.’
‘Nah. I know Steps.’ He does the ‘Tragedy’ hands-to-the-side-of-your-face move. ‘This isn’t Steps.’
It absolutely is Steps, but I decide not to argue.
I’ve worked in a bar for enough years to know that it’s pointless debating with someone this far gone.
At this point, I doubt Conrad even knows his own name and there will be no reasoning with him.
In fact, it’s probably best if I try to get him to go home.
‘It’s getting pretty late.’ I look at my wrist, even though I don’t own a watch, never mind having one on tonight. ‘Let’s get a taxi before everyone piles out of here and there’s a huge queue.’
Conrad scrunches up his nose and closes one eye, squinting through the other as he tries to focus on my face.
‘It isn’t late! It’s early, Chris… Christy…
thingy. You haven’t even had that yet.’ He points at my drink, but his judgement is way off and he prods my glass of orange juice so hard it topples over, spilling juice over the table and onto the floor.
‘Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.’ He lunges at the spill, attempting to mop it up with the palm of his hand.
‘Stop. I’ll sort it.’ I grab his wrist to stop him splashing about. ‘I’ll get a cloth and clean it up and then we’re going, okay?’
How on earth did I ever think this drunken dingbat was my one true love? I glance back at him as I nudge my way to the bar and see him draining his pint. Some of it makes it into his mouth.
The bar erupts into applause as the Steps ballad comes to an end and I use the opportunity to surge forward and catch the attention of the bar staff again, requesting a glass of water and a cloth.
It takes a bit of persuading to get the cloth as the barman insists on cleaning up the spill, but I insist harder and I eventually head back to the table with the water and cloth.
‘Here. Drink this.’ I thrust the glass at Conrad, barely able to look at the man. I am so annoyed with the way the night has turned out. I usually get paid to handle guys like this and I’m irritated that I’m having to do it in my free time too.
‘Whazit?’ Conrad eyes the water suspiciously.
‘Drink it.’ I ignore the question and start to mop up the spilled orange juice, watching Conrad out of the corner of my eye.
Part of me wants to just slip out and head home but another part of me – a part I despise right now – can’t leave Conrad to fend for himself.
‘Drink it, Conrad.’ He’s still gazing warily at the glass of water, as though it could attack at any moment.
‘It’s vodka.’ He takes a gulp from the glass, pulling a face when he realises it isn’t vodka, isn’t any kind of alcohol, and slams the glass down on the table, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Ugh. I need a proper drink.’ He pushes himself halfway up from his seat before slumping back down again.
‘You’re not getting another drink. We’re going home.’
Conrad’s lips spread into a smile that turns into a leer. ‘Back to your place?’
As if. I’d have to be twice as drunk as Conrad for that to happen.
‘I’m going back to my place and you’re going back to yours.
’ I return the sodden cloth to the bar before hoisting Conrad to his feet and guiding him towards the door.
The blast of fresh air is a relief but it does nothing to sober Conrad, who staggers towards the wall and slides down it until he’s a crumpled mess on the floor.
Leaving him there, I order an Uber, sighing when I see there’s a twelve-minute wait.
Twelve minutes isn’t long but it feels like an age when you’re babysitting a drunkard.
‘You are very beautiful, Susannah.’
I look down at the crumpled mess that is my date and hold in another sigh.
‘That isn’t even close to my name but thank you.
’ I check the progress of the Uber: still eleven minutes.
I shove my phone in my bag and pick at my fingernails as I glance up and down the street, as though the taxi will miraculously appear.
I turn when the door to the piano bar opens and the guy I was chatting to earlier, the guy who rightly said that Conrad was crap during his performance, steps outside.
‘Hello again.’ He looks down at Conrad’s slumped form and his eyebrows jolt upwards. ‘Oh. He’s, er…’
‘Insanely wasted?’ I check my phone again. Still eleven minutes for the Uber. Is this vehicle actually on the move? ‘Yes, he is. This has been a fun date.’
‘It isn’t ideal.’ He gives me a sympathetic look as he joins me at the kerb. ‘Is he always like this?’
I shrug. ‘No idea. This was our first date. Our last date too.’
‘Wow.’ He glances back at Conrad and winces. ‘What an idiot.’
‘Understatement.’ The night air is chilly, and I tuck my hands under my armpits for warmth.
‘You were great, by the way.’ I nod back towards the bar, where the muted sounds of the piano and singing can still be heard.
‘I love Steps.’ The jukebox at Rollerz hasn’t been updated for at least a couple of decades, so I’m well-versed in older music.
‘Thanks.’ He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his feet. ‘I’m actually a professional singer. Not famous or anything, I just do pubs and clubs with my band, but we’re starting to get some bigger gigs.’
‘That’s amazing.’
He peeks up at me. ‘Yeah?’
I nudge my arm against his. ‘Of course.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I work in a bar. Not this one. But it does mean I’m used to idiots like this.’ I nod back at Conrad, whose eyes are now closed, while his mouth is gaping.
‘Sucks it’s happened on a date though.’ He nudges his arm against mine, mirroring my action a moment ago. ‘You deserve better.’
‘Yeah?’
He leans in close to me, just for a second. ‘Of course.’
I nod. I do deserve better. Pity I’ve been awarded stinkers for dates lately, though Conrad is making my date with Morgan the pirate fan seem like a dream scenario.
‘Are you going to be okay with him?’ He looks back at Conrad, who’s started to snore.
‘I’ll be fine. Like I said, I’m used to dealing with this kind of thing.’ I check the Uber time: nine minutes. ‘Are you waiting for a taxi?’
He shakes his head and points towards the quay. ‘I’m getting the tram. I’ll wait here with you though, until yours comes.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
He shrugs. ‘I want to. If that’s okay with you?’
I nod. It’s more than okay. It’s lovely, actually.
‘I’m Kit, by the way.’
‘Christina.’ Or Susannah, if you ask Conrad. ‘Thank you, Kit. I appreciate it.’