Cock & Bull - Laura Barnard Page 0,8

local shops. Everyone must be gagging to see what we’ve done with the place.

Ella pins back the door letting in a cool night breeze. I’m still getting used to the weather here. I thought the UK was cold, but the air in Ireland has a special bite to it. One you feel deep in your bones.

I wait. And then I wait... no people. What the hell? Where is everyone?

‘Everyone must be wanting to make a fashionably late entrance,’ Ella says, nodding as if to reassure herself.

Yeah, that must be it. I mean, we did decide to do it on a Tuesday night. We figured people would be bored on a Tuesday and looking for something to do. Now what to do while we wait…

‘Shot?’

By ten o’clock there’s still no one here. And we may have be drowning our sorrows in sambuca and Sex on the Beach cocktails, while dancing to Rita Ora. She just always makes things seem better, doesn’t she? I think I’m actually hallucinating when two men in their fifties enter in tennis gear. People!

Ella looks to me, her eyes lit up in wonder.

‘Welcome, gentleman!’ she sings like Julie Garland from the Sound of Music. ‘Would you like to try one of our complimentary cocktails?’ She points to the tray of Woo Woo’s waiting. We’ve drunk all of the Sex on the Beaches.

They recoil as if she’s just asked them to shit in a bowl.

‘No thanks, love. We’ll have two pints of bitter.’

Oh. Well that’s a disappointment, but then I guess we were expecting more women to turn up. I can’t really imagine these two with a cocktail. The idea makes me giggle.

Ella takes charge, pumping the bitter into the glass, overflowing the foam into the basin underneath. She really needs to practise more. When she presents it to them they look less than impressed.

‘So you’re the new girls running this boozer, then?’ the one with greying hair asks, completely un-impressed as they hand over their money.

‘Yep, that’s us.’ I smile, trying to be friendly, and sober. ‘I’m Phoebe, and this is my sister Ella.’

‘Well you’ve done it up all wrong,’ the other man states with a frown.

I narrow my eyes at him. Did he really just say that? I just assumed he was going to wish us luck with our new venture. Not insult us. This “Irish are friendly” rumour is a load of bollocks.

‘Excuse me?’ I ask, praying desperately that I don’t look as put out as I feel. I don’t want them to know they got a rise out of me.

‘It looks like my granddaughter’s bedroom,’ he scoffs. ‘All pink and girly.’

Ella looks personally offended. No-one offends her favourite colour.

‘And what the hell is wrong with that?’ she slurs, attempting to lean on one hip but missing it and almost falling.

‘They’ll be others up soon.’ They smile at each other, as if sharing an inside joke. ‘The town meeting has just finished.’

God, right now? I could do with just closing up. I’m a little inebriated, and all signs point to the fact I’ve lost all my money on a failing business. I fancy just falling into bed and drowning my sorrows with a hot chocolate. Hopefully it’ll sober me up too.

Only that isn’t how it goes. Suddenly there are hordes of people coming in, each one of them giving their very unwanted opinion on the new decor. We work our arses off to serve everyone, but it’s hard while you’re under a Sambuca cloud. Nobody wants our trendy cocktails, it’s just a load of old men who want lager or bitter, and women who want wine. We get no young people of our own age.

A portly man with greying brown hair in his fifties walks in, eyeing up everything critically.

‘Hi, can I help you?’ I ask, with a grimaced smile.

He puts his hand out for me to shake. ‘I’m Fergus. Owner of The Dog and Duck. Thought I’d come and introduce myself. Check out the competition.’ He laughs, as if the idea is so ludicrous.

I politely shake his hand, recoiling slightly when I find it’s sweaty.

‘Well, it’s nice to meet you.’ It’s not, but that’s what you say, isn’t it? ‘What would you like to drink?’

‘Oh, I’m not having one.’ He laughs again, his beer belly jiggling all over the place. He’s so bloody condescending. ‘I just wanted to let you know that when your business fails, I’ll buy it from you.’

Possibly the rudest man in the world. I hate him and his bushy black