Chapter Twenty-Eight
My steps are sluggish, as though my feet are encased in concrete, and each step towards the bar takes considerable effort.
It’s been two days since my ill-fated date with Kit and I feel weighed down with defeat, to the point that Sally ushered me into the office during my shift yesterday, her face lined with worry as she gently enquired about my mental health.
She was less than impressed to discover my malaise was nothing more than ‘mooning over a boy’ and sternly informed me that I should ‘buck up’ before I drove the customers away.
But I’m finding it difficult to buck up, because in a sludge of bad meet-cutes (meet-uglies?), Kit was the one I had pinned all my hopes on.
‘Are you going to do any work tonight, mate?’ Rhys nudges me away from my leaning spot against the fridge and dumps a crate of mixers on the floor. ‘Food orders are backing up, and I need to grab some more vodka from the back.’
It’s like bursting up from the depths of the sea as I focus on my surroundings and discover a world away from Kit. Rollerz is heaving, music is blaring, and the staff are running around in a bid to keep up with demand while I’m standing here feeling sorry for myself.
‘Sorry.’ I grimace, because it’s the only facial expression I can muster, and lurch towards the kitchen hatch, loading myself up with plates and bowls and ferrying them to their tables, sidestepping Rhys as he rushes back to reload himself with orders of his own.
There’s a hen party in on top of the usual Saturday night rush so we’re being kept on our toes and I feel a pinch of guilt that I’ve been distracted with my disastrous love life instead of pitching in.
‘Excuse me.’
I’m about to head behind the bar to help with the drinks orders when I’m stopped by a man who’s just burst inside. I turn, trying my best to shift my grimace into something friendlier, and lift my eyebrows to prompt him to continue.
‘I was in here yesterday and I think I might have left my wallet. Over there.’ He points towards the back of the bar, towards the booths where the hen party is gyrating to Shaggy’s ‘Boombastic’, glasses of Porn Star Martinis held in the air.
‘It’s black, with a red lining, and my driver’s licence is in there. Luca Carmichael.’
I try to push my lips upwards into a smile but fear it is only increasing the grimace and stop. ‘I’ll check the lost property box, see if it’s in there.’
Luca smiles gratefully as I head for the office, hefting the lost property box off the shelf and dumping it on the desk.
There’s all sorts in here: a hot pink clutch bag, a bag-for-life containing three tins of beans, a jar of pasta sauce and a pomegranate-scented candle, plus an assortment of shoes (some paired, others single), a festive jumper with jingly bells, and a wallet that is black with red lining and contains the driver’s licence of Luca Carmichael.
With the lost property box back on its shelf, I return the wallet to its relieved owner.
‘You’re a star.’ Luca puffs out a breath as he flicks through the wad of cash in the wallet. ‘Can I buy you a drink, to say thank you?’
I nod at the bar, where Rhys and the others are struggling to keep up with demand as the maid of honour awaits a fresh round of cocktails. ‘I’m working, I’m afraid.’
‘After your shift then?’
A knot forms in my stomach. It’s happening again, against my will.
‘I’m just glad I could give you your wallet back.
There’s no need for a reward.’ I try to smile again, but my face isn’t working, and I lope off back behind the bar and mentally roll my sleeves up to get working on the maid of honour’s order.
My bedroom is unbearably warm when I wake up, my skin clammy and my hair sticking to the back of my neck.
But I don’t make any attempt to drag myself from my bed, because what’s the point?
It’ll still be hot and sticky in the living room, and I’ll still be single and gullible wherever I am.
The flat is silent, which means Jonah has already left for work, and I’m relieved to have the place to myself, because it means I don’t have to try to appear happy or even content with my crappy life.
I can lie here and wallow and nobody will try to cajole me or, worse, try to rally me into showering or dressing.
If I’m alone, I can be as morose as I like without judgement.
It’s my bladder that forces me out of bed in the end, and I’m contemplating sliding back beneath my covers when the front door opens as I’m making my way down the hallway towards my bedroom.
‘You’re back early.’ I shoot my bedroom door a mournful look as I pass, because there’s no way Jonah will allow me to wallow in self-pity. ‘I thought you had that thing at that school today?’
‘If, by that thing, you mean the circus workshop, I went and did it. You do know it’s almost lunchtime, don’t you?’
I did not, but I decide against mentioning this and head for the kitchen. ‘Want a brew?’
‘There’s no milk.’
My feet shuffle to a stop and I throw my head back with a whiny sound. First Kit is revealed as a cheating scumbag and now this.
‘I’ll go and get some.’ Jonah turns back to the front door, but I stop him.
‘I’ll go.’ The fresh air might help to pull me out of this petulant mood.
Plus, I can grab some pickled onion Monster Munch to scoff on the way back.
That’ll definitely help lift my spirits.
I dress quickly, throwing on a pair of combats and a T-shirt and my sliders, and pulling my hair up into a messy bun.
The sun is in full force and although the shop is only up the road from the flat, I’m sweltering by the time I step inside.
I’m so grateful for the air con that blasts me that I could drop to my knees and thank the gods of ventilation systems. I change my mind about the Monster Munch and head for the freezer section to grab ice lollies for me and Jonah instead.
But I’m not the only one in need of a cooling treat, and my hand bumps against another as they reach for the Twisters at the exact same time that I do.
‘Oh. Sorry.’
The hand is snatched away while I hold in a heavy sigh.
‘It’s fine.’ I take a mini step back. ‘Go ahead.’
He smiles at me as he reaches for the ice lollies. ‘Cool T-shirt.’
I look down at the T-shirt I’d shoved on a few minutes ago. It’s a Nirvana T-shirt and I await the inevitable question: can you name three songs by Nirvana that aren’t ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ or ‘Come As You Are’? I can name them, FYI, if only to wipe the smug grins off the men who ask me to.
But the question doesn’t materialise and he simply adds the Twisters to his basket.
‘My dad saw them live.’ He nods at the T-shirt. ‘Says it was the best gig he’s ever been to.’
‘Right.’ I smile tightly and grab a box of Twisters for myself.
I see he’s about to say something else, but I turn and head for the till, leaving him open-mouthed but silent.
It may seem rude, but I’ve been here before, many times, and while I welcomed the meet-cutes a few months ago, they are no longer required and the sooner the universe catches up to this fact, the better.