Chapter 20
Mia
Members is a zoo. It’s my first post-game Saturday and it’s all hands on deck, including me, Alice and Anders.
Nobody is about to crown me bartender of the year but I’m getting better.
I can pour a pint, change a keg and mix up a pint of squadka without retching, the most impressive achievement so far.
I tried one sip on my first night for research purposes and while it tastes exactly like candy, it kicks like a mule, and in the two weeks I’ve been working at Members, I’ve seen it bring down several men considerably bigger than me.
I’m not looking to join them any time soon.
Tonight is like nothing I’ve ever seen, people swarming from the door to the dancefloor, and the line at the bar has been six deep since I arrived.
It’s crazy how much Members changes from day to day.
On a Tuesday afternoon, it’s the most charming space, all dark wood and warm leather, intimate and inviting, but that’s all changed by happy hour, and on a weekend, it’s a different animal altogether.
The intimate lighting shifts into something more anonymous, the cosy booths become the perfect hideaway, and instead of perching on a stool with my required reading, I’m running in and out of the back room, desperately trying to keep the bar stocked.
Tonight is no different. Alice and Anders deal with their customers like the pros that they are, while I offer pained smiles and silently pray for easy orders.
‘One double first, two Smirnoff Ices, three red Aftershocks, one J?gerbomb and a bottle of Becks,’ a student with a ruddy face and glazed eyes calls over at me.
My prayers are not answered. Maybe my mom was right, this is what I get for not going to church.
‘Coming right up,’ I mutter, soda gun in hand for the double first as I bend down and retrieve the Smirnoff Ice from the fridge. It’s after ten, only three more hours until close but I don’t see things calming down between now and then. Another thing I don’t see, Oliver.
‘Watching the door won’t make him magically appear,’ Alice says, handing me a bottle of Becks. ‘And it won’t make your night go any faster either.’
‘He said he was coming is all,’ I reply, tearing my eyes away. ‘Be honest, you think I’m pathetic.’
‘Yes, I do.’ She kisses me on the cheek, leaving a sticky lip gloss stain. ‘But who here hasn’t been pathetic over a man?’
I pour the shots and push them across the bar, receiving a decisive tap of a credit card in thanks. No tip because it turns out people don’t really tip in the UK. Something I wish I’d known before I agreed to take this job.
‘While we’re quiet,’ Alice says, oblivious to the chaos all around. ‘Your birthday is tomorrow.’
‘I know,’ I reply. ‘Comes on the same day every year.’
‘And you said you don’t like a fuss?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Well,’ she scrunches up her face then gives me an apologetic wince, ‘I’m afraid there is going to be a slight fuss. Very mild. You’ll barely notice it. More like fuss adjacent.’
Birthdays make me anxious. Technically, they make me second-hand anxious, because it’s my mom who simply cannot cope with planning a party without having to take to her bed for a month afterwards.
I’ve inherited a lot of great things from her side of the family – easy-to-manage hair, healthy nails that grow super-fast, and the ability to wiggle my ears on command – but those things come at a price.
Being normal about people wanting to celebrate your birthday is not something I’m capable of.
‘Be ready around one-ish.’ Alice slips past me to grab a bottle of vodka. ‘Wear something cute and sit-downable, no spike heels.’
‘You’re not going to give me any other clues?’
She mimes zipping her mouth, pauses, then unzips it again.
‘Bring a light layer. I just know you’re a cardigan owner.’
‘Wait.’ I frown. ‘Is that an insult?’
‘It’s a fact,’ she replies before nodding to the bar behind me. ‘You have a customer.’
When I turn around, Oliver is standing directly in front of me.
‘Oh look, it’s my favourite barmaid,’ he says, resting one elbow on the slick wooden counter, chin propped up in his hand. ‘I thought you’d run off without me.’
‘No, no way!’ My hands fly into my hair as I bite colour into my lips. Something else I can’t be normal about. This guy. ‘You missed a good game this afternoon.’
‘And you missed ninety minutes where you could’ve been doing anything else.’
‘Like my Bleak House paper?’
He scoffs and taps his fingers along his high cheekbone.
‘I didn’t say ninety minutes you could’ve spent torturing yourself.’
The room is swirling with activity, so many people dancing, grinding, leaning in and talking, it’s as though Members is alive, but Oliver leans against the bar like the eye of a hurricane.
Twenty people are waiting for drinks and he just stands there at the front of the line, commanding all my attention.
I can only imagine how he must look on stage, guitar strapped across him, microphone up against his lips.
‘Something wrong?’ he asks when I momentarily black out.
‘Not at all.’
I slap the top of the bar and smile at him as though I’m not imagining him singing to me, shirtless. The shirtless part was a late addition to my mini fantasy but it really made the whole thing work that bit harder.
‘What can I get you to drink?’
‘Old Fashioned.’
‘Old-fashioned what?’
He laughs and I laugh along with him because what else am I supposed to do?
‘Long shot I know but if you’ve got Four Roses, I’ll have that. Otherwise, anything that isn’t Jack Daniels.’
Fuck.
With a maniacal nod, I turn to Alice who is furiously attacking a cocktail shaker as though it offended her in a previous life.
‘I need your help!’ I hiss into her ear. ‘Oliver wants an Old Fashioned.’
‘Tell Oliver to piss off.’
‘What happened to the customer is always right?’
‘Babe, you’re in a student union bar on a Saturday night after the first home football game of the season. The customer gets what they’re given and they’re grateful for it. Just give him a whiskey.’
Scanning the three rails behind her, I search for the whiskey selection. The whiskey selection sucks. Alice grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels before I can stop her, pulls out the stopper and pours a double measure into a glass. After adding a shovel full of ice cubes, she hands it to me.
‘Tell him he’s a pretentious wanker and only Satan himself would order a proper cocktail from his friend when the bar is this busy. Or tell him we’re out of bitters. Up to you.’
I take the drink gratefully and deliver it with a flourish.
‘Sorry it’s not an Old Fashioned,’ I say as he gives the glass a sniff. ‘Alice says … we’re out of bitters.’
His grey-blue eyes close as he takes a slow, savouring sip. Licking his lips, he opens them again.
‘Tell Alice she needs to get those giant ice cube trays in while she’s ordering the bitters. It’s practically diluted already.’
‘Will do.’
If he’s noticed he’s drinking Jack Daniels, he’s too polite to say anything, and if he hasn’t, well, who am I to ruin the moment?
‘What time do you think you’ll close?’
He’s still leaning against the bar as though we’re the only two people in the room, in the world, completely oblivious to the sweaty, thirsty masses waiting on their next drink.
‘Fridays and Saturdays, we close at one,’ I say, awareness of all my other customers prickling the back of my neck.
‘You’re stuck here until one a.m.?’
Is it me or does he sound disappointed?
‘And if that isn’t bad enough, tomorrow is my birthday,’ I tell him in a conspiratorial whisper.
‘Right, I heard about that. Picnic down by the river at one, yeah?’
A picnic? It takes a second before I realize he’s accidentally spoiled Alice’s surprise. Since I don’t want her to kill him where he stands, I say nothing. Not that I have the chance.
‘If you’ve got your drink, would you mind getting out the fucking way?’
A big guy with a shaved head and at least fifty pounds on Oliver shoulders his way forward, shoving him along the bar. ‘Bottle of Stella and two double firsts.’
‘It appears you’re busy,’ Oliver says, nursing his whiskey. ‘Have you seen Bryn? He said he’d be here.’
‘In a booth at the back.’ I nod as I pull a Stella out of the closest fridge. ‘With Jenna and Michael.’
‘Knowing them, we’ll probably still be here at closing time. I can walk you home if you want?’
I do want. I want very much.
‘Mate, she’s working, she’s not going to shag you. Well, she might, but not until after she’s made my bloody drinks, so can you jog on?’
The guy with the shaved head sighs audibly and scowls, as though he’s the one who should be offended.
‘I said a Stella and two double firsts,’ he repeats, waving his credit card right in front of my face. ‘If it’s not too much fucking trouble.’
Rolling his eyes, Oliver melts away into the crowd and I know he’s right not to react to an asshole like this. I don’t want to give this guy the satisfaction but I can’t stop the burn of embarrassment that creeps up my neck and threatens to turn into tears.
‘Dude, not cool.’
Oliver might be gone but there’s someone else I know standing in his place. Ethan. He looks my customer up and down, drawing himself up to his full height before folding his arms over his chest. Even though he’s several inches shorter, the bald guy doesn’t back down.
‘Want to make something of it?’ he asks with a grunt.
‘Not really.’ Ethan shrugs. ‘But I would love for you to apologize to Mia.’
‘You want me to say sorry for expecting the bird behind a bar to get me a drink? I know you’re not from here, mate, but—’
‘You’re right, I’m not from here,’ Ethan cuts in, squaring up to him without a flicker of concern on his face.
‘But I know a bunch of people who are and none of them treat bartenders like shit or speak that way to women. At least not in front of me, because if they did, they know I’d knock their teeth down the back of their throat. ’
Whether Ethan’s threat is serious or not, it makes both me and the guy catch our breath. Most likely for different reasons. I’m still staring at my flatmate when the bald guy starts laughing.
‘Fair dos.’ He pats Ethan on the back and turns to me with a bright, sunny grin. ‘Apologies, I was far too close to sobering up for a minute. A Stella for me, two double firsts and whatever this gent is having.’
‘Thanks, but I’m good.’
Ethan looks almost as confused as I am. He threatened to kick the guy’s ass and now he’s offering to buy him a drink?
‘You okay?’ he asks me when our new friend turns to talk to a girl behind him, and I manage a nod, keeping myself busy mixing the two cocktails.
‘Fine. Thanks.’
Mirroring my nod, he backs away, returning to the group of soccer players crowded around the farthest booth.
But I can still feel his eyes on me as I start working my way around my section of the bar, and while I hate that kind of macho posturing, I’m considerably less concerned about anyone giving me shit for the rest of the night.