following on from the December series I ran on Discovering Diamonds...
Read the story. Guess the song.
Clue:
“You look good,” I said with a smile, but my hands were shaking, my knees were knocking. I wasn’t a kid anymore, but I felt that this was a first date, that awkward one where you’d waited weeks to pluck up the courage to speak to the girl you really liked in your class. And when she said yes, you’d spent the next day scared because you didn’t know whether to kiss her or not. And if you did, how did you kiss. [laugh] Cripes, do you remember thinking ‘where d’you put my nose?’
OK, that was a l.o.n.g time ago. Even so, as I sat down at the table in the bar I felt nervous.
“You look good too,” she said. “I bought you a beer, I assume you still like beer?”
I did. Three years had passed, but some things, like a liking for a pint of beer didn’t change.
“And you’re still hooked on red wine, I notice,” I said pointing at her large glass. I grinned. “No one converted you to white wine then?”
“I do occasionally have a gin and tonic as a tipple.”
“Want one now?” I asked, half-rising from my chair.
She shook her head, raised her glass of red in the gesture of a toast. “No ta, I’ve got this."
An awkward silence. Now, what did we talk about? The weather? There was a band playing in the next room, not too badly as it happened.
“Want to dance?” I offered.
She laughed. “We both know that you have three left feet. I’ve still got the bruises!”
I didn’t answer, I just sort of side-nodded my head.
I looked around, it was a normal Friday night in the Bull and Bear, not packed out, but not empty. A couple of guys were laughing with the barman. Two girls, OK, young women, went off to the ladies. Why do females always go to the loo in pairs?
There was a couple sitting in the corner, about our age, the wrong-side of mid-twenties. He was frowning as he downed yet another whisky. She was crying into her wine. I know how that feels, pal. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.
“So what are you doing now?” my girl asked. She didn’t say ‘are you still working for your dad’. I wondered if she knew that he’d passed away last year.
“I run the company now,” I answered, with a bit of swaggering pride. “Took over from Dad when he died.”
She bit her lip, looked sad. “I heard about that. I’m so sorry.”
I shrugged. He’d had the Big C. It was a relief all round, for him and me and Mum, that he hadn’t suffered for long.
“What about you?” I said. “Did you get to the US?”
Her face lit up. She had. Toured all over by Greyhound bus. I was happy to let her talk about it, the sights she’d seen, the people she’d met. Her hopes to use what she’d seen and learnt for the new job she’d taken on.
That’s why we were meeting up. She was back in town, here to stay because she’d landed one of those Ace dream-of-a-lifetime jobs.
I ordered more drinks. Another pint for me. Wine for her. A couple of bags of crisps each.
I ordered another round a short while later.
She was as beautiful as she was back then. Back when I so stupidly messed up. I was ashamed of what I’d done. How could I have been so utterly, utterly, idiotic? I’d hurt her so much. She’d dumped me of course. I didn’t blame her. I could have explained, made excuses, but how can you say sorry for something that saying sorry just wasn’t enough?
We didn’t talk about the past. I ordered food, chips and a burger each. They served good food here at the Bull. And a refill. I was already over my limit, but the drink was helping to keep the awkward words away. The regrets, the past. It was the future we talked and laughed about.
I didn’t tell her that I still loved her. That I’d never stopped loving her. Didn’t tell her because I was scared that she didn’t feel the same.
Our last round. The pub would be closing soon and that would be that.
I went to the bar. The place was quieter now, the band had packed up and gone home ages ago. The girl crying in the corner had left. On her own. He’d followed, the worse the wear for drink. Mind you, I could talk!
“Bartender,” I said with a faint smile and a lot of longing as I gave him our empty glasses, “fill these up one last time and add a generous pinch of devoted love will you?”
It was chucking it down outside. I got my phone out. “I’ll get a cab for you,” I said. Did she hear the regret in my voice?
“I'm not far," she pointed left, "easier to walk. A bit of rain never hurt no one. What about you?” she answered.
I pointed to the right. “I’m only round the corner.” Well, about a five-minute jog. “I’ve still got the same flat above the business on the High Street. " I kissed her cheek. This was it then. Goodbye.
She looked at me, her head cocked on one side, her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, sparkling.
“You were an idiot,” she said. She took my hand. “And if you are ever an idiot again I’ll…” She kissed my cheek.
“I’ve had far too much to drink,” she said. “I’ll need black coffee and an aspirin in the morning. But I guess you will too. Your place or mine?”
OK, that was a l.o.n.g time ago. Even so, as I sat down at the table in the bar I felt nervous.
“You look good too,” she said. “I bought you a beer, I assume you still like beer?”
I did. Three years had passed, but some things, like a liking for a pint of beer didn’t change.
“And you’re still hooked on red wine, I notice,” I said pointing at her large glass. I grinned. “No one converted you to white wine then?”
“I do occasionally have a gin and tonic as a tipple.”
“Want one now?” I asked, half-rising from my chair.
She shook her head, raised her glass of red in the gesture of a toast. “No ta, I’ve got this."
An awkward silence. Now, what did we talk about? The weather? There was a band playing in the next room, not too badly as it happened.
“Want to dance?” I offered.
She laughed. “We both know that you have three left feet. I’ve still got the bruises!”
I didn’t answer, I just sort of side-nodded my head.
I looked around, it was a normal Friday night in the Bull and Bear, not packed out, but not empty. A couple of guys were laughing with the barman. Two girls, OK, young women, went off to the ladies. Why do females always go to the loo in pairs?
There was a couple sitting in the corner, about our age, the wrong-side of mid-twenties. He was frowning as he downed yet another whisky. She was crying into her wine. I know how that feels, pal. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.
“So what are you doing now?” my girl asked. She didn’t say ‘are you still working for your dad’. I wondered if she knew that he’d passed away last year.
“I run the company now,” I answered, with a bit of swaggering pride. “Took over from Dad when he died.”
She bit her lip, looked sad. “I heard about that. I’m so sorry.”
I shrugged. He’d had the Big C. It was a relief all round, for him and me and Mum, that he hadn’t suffered for long.
“What about you?” I said. “Did you get to the US?”
Her face lit up. She had. Toured all over by Greyhound bus. I was happy to let her talk about it, the sights she’d seen, the people she’d met. Her hopes to use what she’d seen and learnt for the new job she’d taken on.
That’s why we were meeting up. She was back in town, here to stay because she’d landed one of those Ace dream-of-a-lifetime jobs.
I ordered more drinks. Another pint for me. Wine for her. A couple of bags of crisps each.
I ordered another round a short while later.
She was as beautiful as she was back then. Back when I so stupidly messed up. I was ashamed of what I’d done. How could I have been so utterly, utterly, idiotic? I’d hurt her so much. She’d dumped me of course. I didn’t blame her. I could have explained, made excuses, but how can you say sorry for something that saying sorry just wasn’t enough?
We didn’t talk about the past. I ordered food, chips and a burger each. They served good food here at the Bull. And a refill. I was already over my limit, but the drink was helping to keep the awkward words away. The regrets, the past. It was the future we talked and laughed about.
I didn’t tell her that I still loved her. That I’d never stopped loving her. Didn’t tell her because I was scared that she didn’t feel the same.
Our last round. The pub would be closing soon and that would be that.
I went to the bar. The place was quieter now, the band had packed up and gone home ages ago. The girl crying in the corner had left. On her own. He’d followed, the worse the wear for drink. Mind you, I could talk!
“Bartender,” I said with a faint smile and a lot of longing as I gave him our empty glasses, “fill these up one last time and add a generous pinch of devoted love will you?”
It was chucking it down outside. I got my phone out. “I’ll get a cab for you,” I said. Did she hear the regret in my voice?
“I'm not far," she pointed left, "easier to walk. A bit of rain never hurt no one. What about you?” she answered.
I pointed to the right. “I’m only round the corner.” Well, about a five-minute jog. “I’ve still got the same flat above the business on the High Street. " I kissed her cheek. This was it then. Goodbye.
She looked at me, her head cocked on one side, her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, sparkling.
“You were an idiot,” she said. She took my hand. “And if you are ever an idiot again I’ll…” She kissed my cheek.
“I’ve had far too much to drink,” she said. “I’ll need black coffee and an aspirin in the morning. But I guess you will too. Your place or mine?”
© Helen Hollick
Can you guess the song?
James Blunt: Bartender
http://tinyletter.com/HelenHollick
© exists for lyrics, but not for an ‘idea’
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for leaving a comment - it should appear soon. If you are having problems, contact me on author AT helenhollick DOT net and I will post your comment for you. That said ...SPAMMERS or rudeness will be composted or turned into toads.
Helen