Cock & Bull - Laura Barnard Page 0,10

try to help lift her, but she throws me off.

‘Get off me. My back could be broken. You can’t just have furniture falling apart.’

‘I’m so sorry. I thought it was okay.’ Don’t cry, Phoebe, don’t cry.

‘Well it wasn’t,’ she snaps, clutching at her back as her husband helps her up. ‘And I’m going to sue.’

She turns to limp out, the entire pub following her, casting disgusted glances my way. I sink down against the bar, pulling my knees into my chest. What the hell have we done?

Chapter Six

Wednesday 16th September

I wake up hungover to hell. My head is banging and my throat is as dry as the Sahara. Suki is sprawled out next to me, her little black shiny nose pressed against my bum.

When I first thought about owning a pub I thought we could just wake up at 11.30 to open up at 12, but no. I need to re-stock the bar, clean it, get the cash out of the safe and throw away that battered chair. Ugh, and we could do all of that and still not get one person through the door. The idea is exhausting.

By the time me and Ella are opening up, I’m already shattered. Every limb in my body is crying in protest. I’m not used to all of this manual work. We can only hope that today is a good day, and we actually take some money. God knows we need it.

Ella managed to find the details for the previous estate agents so I go for a quick walk to get internet coverage and send a quick email asking what Fergus’s offer to Great Aunt Breda was. I shouldn’t have raised Ella’s hopes before I knew what the offer was, but with being hungover I wasn’t thinking straight.

As soon as we unlock the door, two men wander in. Well, look at this! Barely opened and already we’ve got two eager customers. The tall one walks straight towards the toilet. The other short guy stands by the bar. I go round, ready to serve him.

‘Hi, what can I get you?’

Now I look more closely, I see that he’s not actually looking at me. He’s staring past me. I turn around to see what he’s looking at. There’s nothing there. I look back at him. He lifts his hand up and looks like he’s typing numbers into some invisible ATM machine. What is going on here?

‘Err... are you okay?’

No response. Ella walks up to us, frowning.

‘What’s up with this dude?’ she asks, not caring if he overhears.

‘Sssh!’ I hiss. I don’t want to offend the guy. ‘Actually, I’m not sure if he can even hear us?’ I lean closer and wave my hand in his face. ‘Hello?’

‘He’s fucking nuts,’ she states

‘They’re from the looney bin down the road.’

Who said that?

We both spin to see the arsehole from last night sat at the end of the bar. Jesus, when did he sneak in?

‘Are you a ninja or something?’ I blurt.

His brows meet, obviously confused by my random choice of words.

‘I mean, you snuck in here without me hearing.’

Tiptoed more like.

He rolls his eyes. ‘I just walked in, it’s not my fault you’re unobservant.’ He has tattoos all over his forearms and hands; my gaze is drawn down to them.

‘What are you doing here anyway?’ Ella demands, arms crossed over her chest. ‘I thought I couldn’t pull a decent pint?’

‘You’re right.’ He nods with a grin. ‘You can’t, but I thought I’d give you a chance to apologise.’

‘In your dreams,’ she snorts, hands on her lips.

I grab hold of her arm and whisper in her ear, ‘Apologise now. We can’t afford to lose customers.’

She throws me off her and stomps to where he’s sat on a bar stool. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbles, like a child forced to apologise.

‘I forgive you.’ He smiles and shows off perfect teeth. Of course they’re perfect. ‘Now can I order a coke or should I ask your sister to handle that?’

‘Phoebe! Your customer,’ she calls, going back to asking the weirdo what he wants to drink. I begrudgingly walk down the bar to him.

‘Nice to meet you, Phoebe,’ he says, his voice a deep Irish husk. He smiles, all cavalier, leaning back on his bar stool as his eyes roam over my body. I half hope the stool will fall down. He has the most perfect jawline covered in stubble and cheekbones many women pay good money for.

I get a glass and start pouring from the machine.

‘And what is it they call you?’