Chapter 11
Mia
There is nothing easy about bartending.
‘Why would you do this to me?’ I shriek over the music. ‘I thought we were friends?’
‘You just need to get into the rhythm,’ Alice yells back, two liquor bottles in one hand, a soda gun in the other in the other. ‘Can you pass me the lime cordial? Thanks, babe.’
I cannot pass her the lime cordial because I do not know where the lime cordial is.
I’m not even sure I know what lime cordial is.
When I was a little girl, my grandmother always had a box of cherry cordials at her house but I don’t think Alice is asking me for a box of chocolate-covered limes.
Wiping my forearm across my sweaty face, I look up at the clock on the wall.
Eight fifteen. Even though it feels as if I’ve been here since birth, allegedly we have only been working for two hours, and Members is packed, the line at the bar three people deep in every direction.
‘It’s the glass bottle, that one there with the spout.’ Alice points to a spot right in front of me with her foot, balancing perfectly on one leg as she pours a cocktail. ‘Nope, that’s the blackcurrant, the green one.’
‘Green for limes, that makes sense.’ I hand her the bottle and push my bangs out of my eyes. The last-minute makeover was a terrible idea. I don’t need a mirror to know the black eyeliner I’d applied is giving more panda bear than cat’s eye.
It was quiet when we arrived, practically dead, but Alice hadn’t even got as far as explaining which drinks get a lemon and which get a lime when the door crashed open and what looked like every single student on campus descended on us at the same time, and it hasn’t let up since.
‘First year psychology students,’ Alice growls as she hauls another case of beer out from the back so I can restock the fridge.
‘Dr Zaman is famous for destroying his students right out the gate. I remember cruising into my first class thinking I was going to singlehandedly solve the worldwide mental health crisis, then regretting every life decision I’d ever made within five minutes of Zaman starting the lecture. ’
It’s a feeling I can relate to when the zombie-like hordes start to swarm across the dancefloor.
Overwhelmed and understaffed, I’m starting to freak out.
Our third bartender hasn’t shown up for their shift, the beer lines have quit on us, meaning the twenty minutes I’d spent learning to pull a perfect pint were a complete waste of time, and worst of all, we’re all out of dry roasted peanuts.
A crime, Alice assures me, punishable only by death. So much for this easy job.
Two hours and seventeen minutes later, things have gone from shitty to shittier.
Freaking out is nothing but a pleasant memory.
I long for the time when I was freaking out because right now, I’m one made-up drink order away from a full-blown meltdown.
Surely there is no such thing as a Pornstar Martini?
‘Can you grab me three Stellas and a Smirnoff Ice?’ Alice yells and I throw her a salute before diving headfirst into the fridge. Beers are easy. Beers have brightly coloured, clearly legible labels. I can read labels. A task within my skillset, at last.
‘Yes, what can I get you?’ I paste on a fever-bright smile and point at the first customer I see after handing everything off to Alice.
‘What the fuck?’ a loud, red-faced guy barks in my face. ‘I was here before him.’
‘You were? I’m sorry, what can I get you?’
‘Bollocks, I was here first!’
‘You’re both full of it, I’ve been waiting forever!’ a third customer at the side of them wails, and I’m so ready to hose them all down with the soda gun, it’s not even funny.
‘Hey.’
Alice places her hands on both my shoulders and stares directly into my eyes, ignoring all the customers leaning over the bar, credit cards in hand since they learned the hard way that Apple Pay doesn’t work here.
‘You’re doing amazing, sweetie,’ she says, rubbing her thumbs underneath my eyes, confirming what I already knew about the state of my makeup.
‘Ignore all of them. If you don’t know who was there first, just work from left to right, stop when you get to the middle, that’s where I take over.
And if they don’t like it, they can speak to me or …
’ She pauses, turning to look at the waiting customers, and raises her voice as loud as it’ll go without shouting, which is pretty loud, ‘I can bring Angus in from the door and he’ll happily walk them back to their halls where they’ll be staying all term because they’ll be bloody well barred. ’
At once, the voices hush and everyone looks down at the bar. It’s a Members miracle.
‘Thought so.’ Alice winks and turns me around. ‘Go on, you’ve totally got this. I’m so impressed, you’re nailing it.’
I don’t believe her. Nailing it would mean everyone got the drink they asked for in a timely manner, rather than whatever I pull out of the fridge in a cold panic but hey, any drink is better than no drink, right? As a non-drinker, I honestly don’t know the answer to my own question.
‘Did somebody call for an emergency bartender?’
An impossibly tall guy with hair so blond it’s almost white appears behind the bar, hands on his hips in a superhero pose.
‘What is going on here?’ he asks, staring at the crowd with disbelief. ‘Are you giving out free shots or something?’
‘The Snug is closed, Zaman’s first lecture ended at six, and every single fresher decided they wanted to celebrate their first full day as a student by getting wankered with us.
’ Alice throws her arms around him, hugging so hard the blond Adonis squeaks in protest. ‘Anders, meet Mia, my new bartending buddy. Mia, meet Anders, my bartending mentor who decided he’s too good for this life. ’
‘I’m trying to pass the final year of a law degree and get on the British Olympic rowing team,’ he replies, playfully shoving her away. ‘Sorry I don’t have time to sling Slippery Nipples with you on a Monday night anymore.’
‘You mean that’s a real drink?’ I feel terrible, remembering the filthy look I gave the guy who tried to order two of them twenty minutes ago.
‘Why don’t you take a break,’ Alice suggests kindly, even though the line at the bar hasn’t gotten any shorter in the three minutes we’ve been talking rather than serving. ‘Anders and I can hold the fort for ten minutes.’
‘I can’t leave when it’s this busy!’
‘Please,’ Anders insists. ‘I need at least ten minutes to tell her everything she’s doing wrong, and I’d hate to embarrass her in front of a new friend.’
‘Is this your polite way of asking me to disappear because I’m making things worse?’ I gnaw on my thumbnail, eyes flicking from Alice to Anders and back again.
‘A little bit,’ Alice replies. ‘Go, now, because in ten minutes, you’re going to come back in and take over while I have my break.’
All the blood drains from my face.
‘Exactly,’ Alice says. ‘So go.’
Without another word, I turn around and walk directly through the fire door that should legally be kept closed but Alice assures me hasn’t shut all the way since 2003.
The blast of cool evening air hits me the moment I step outside, and all at once, the crowded bar is a million miles away.
I perch on a low brick wall and stare upwards, sparkling pinpricks of stars fading up into the darkening sky.
The change in temperature is intense, and I wrap my naked arms around my body.
It’s too hot for anything but a tank top inside but a second layer is more than necessary out here.
A chilly British autumn? Who would’ve believed it?
‘Trying to escape already?’
A figure emerges from the darkness and my heart leaps when I see Oliver, guitar case slung across his back, strolling over from a footpath that winds through the trees.
‘I’m on break,’ I tell him, edging away from the olde worlde-style lantern hanging above the back door and into the shadows. I’m hot, stressed and smudged, far from my best self and in no way ready to have a one-on-one conversation with this beautiful man.
‘Sounds raucous in there.’ He nods towards Members, both hands clutching the strap of his guitar case. ‘Busy night.’
‘The busiest,’ I confirmed. ‘Busiest bar I’ve ever seen.’
‘And you’ve been bartending how long?’
I take a look at my watch. ‘Four hours.’
‘An expert then.’ He grins, that one-sided grin that makes my heart melt and my thighs clench. ‘I’m not a massive Members fan if I’m honest, the music’s shite and it’s always full of pissheads and football players.’
‘If you’re talking about Michael, yes, he is in there.’
He smiles and I’m almost floating. Then it fades, replaced by a frown, and my heart stops.
‘You’re cold.’
With pure grace, Oliver slides the strap of his guitar case over his head, shrugs off his leather jacket and hands it to me.
Oh my God. It’s warm, softer than I thought it would be, and smells divine.
The scent of the leather is cut by a hint of something dark and expensive, and when he speaks, the air between us fills with the warm scent of whiskey.
‘Looks good on you,’ he says, hands still on the lapels of the vintage blazer.
All the flirting advice I’ve absorbed over the years downloads to my brain at the same time.
Play with your hair, smile, don’t cross your arms, point your feet towards him, make eye contact, stare at his mouth, laugh at his jokes, look at him but also look away, touch his arm, ask him questions.
Am I supposed to do all of it at the same time?
Because even an octopus would struggle, and those things have eight arms and a giant brain.
‘Band practice?’ I ask, silently applauding myself with a slow clap. Clever girl, he’s walking across campus, carrying his guitar, right after he told you he had band practice.
He taps the case and nods. ‘What gave it away?’
‘Lucky guess,’ I reply, swiping at my sweaty bangs. ‘Have you been playing long?’