Cock & Bull - Laura Barnard Page 0,9

eyebrows. ‘You seem pretty sure we’re going to fail.’

He smirks, exposing crooked teeth. It makes him all the more menacing. ‘Oh, I’ll make sure of it.’

Jesus, the devil walks among us.

I fold my arms across my chest. ‘I hope that isn’t a threat.’

He smiles, but it comes across more frightening than friendly. ‘Just being honest.’

‘Anyway, it was up for sale for three years. Why didn’t you buy it then?’

It would have saved me a whole lot of heartache.

‘I gave Breda my offer, but the stubborn old bat refused to sell to me.’

How dare he insult her! The woman is dead for god’s sakes.

‘That’s my great aunt you’re talking about,’ I snap, glaring at him.

‘Just make sure you don’t make the same mistakes. When you’re willing to take up my offer, call me.’ He turns and saunters out, like he already owns the place.

What a pretentious arsehole. I wonder whether Great Aunt Breda refused to sell just because it was him, or whether he put a ridiculous offer on the table? I intend to email the previous estate agent first thing tomorrow morning to find out. Their details are somewhere in the mountain of paperwork the solicitor gave us.

I don’t have long to think on it because people start complaining. Half of the pub wants the music turned up, while the other half want it turned down. It’s basically impossible to please everyone.

I hear Ella yelling at the other end of the bar. ‘How dare you! My beer is abso-fucking-lutely fine, thank you very much!’

I look down at the pint of bitter she’s pulled. It’s at least half foam. Oh dear.

‘I’m just saying, love, you need to get rid of that foam. I’m not paying for the foam.’

God, how did I not notice him before? He’s gorgeous. His plain grey t-shirt shows off how tall and slim, but muscular he is. His arms are covered with black tattoos. He leans further into my view so I can take in his face. He’s got jet black hair and dark green eyes. Wow. Wait... why does he look familiar?

‘Get out!’ She picks up the pint and I know instantly what she’s going to do.

Oh God, Ella, no. No, no, no, no, no.

She chucks the pint, of mostly foam, all over him. Shit, Ella. Way to scare the customers away.

I rush over and grab a tea towel, trying to pat him down. He smells good this close, apart from the bitter. It’s only now it dawns on me that this is the arrogant prick from the local shop who told me my parking was rubbish. Maybe he did deserve the pint in the face.

‘I’m so sorry. Ella!’ I shoot her an evil eye.

‘Don’t apologise to this wanker. You’re barred, mate!’ she shouts, attracting a small crowd of onlookers. ‘Get out.’

‘Ella!’ I scowl at her. ‘Shut up. The customer is always right.’ Even if I do hate this guy.

‘Not this time. Go on.’ She throws her arm back and motions towards the door. ‘Get the hell out.’

He grabs the tea towel from me and dries his face. ‘Gladly. I wouldn’t stay in this shit hole if you paid me.’

Everyone watches him as he flounces through the door. Oops.

‘Way to make a scene, Ella,’ I chastise. I might not like him, but we’re hardly in a position to be turning people away.

‘Oh whatever,’ she slurs. ‘I’m going to bed.’ She turns and runs off, leaving me completely alone with the crowd of people.

‘Ella!’ I call after her, watching her unflinching back as she ups and leaves me.

The crowd stare back at me, waiting expectantly for how I’m going to handle this. How should I handle this? I have no idea. I can’t help but feel ganged up on, all of these people against little old me. Why do I suddenly feel like I could burst into tears? Hold it together, Phoebe. Hold it together.

A lady in her sixties goes to sit down on a chair, all the drama obviously being too much for her. I wish I could join her with a pint of vodka. Really drown my sorrows. She sits down but something cracks loudly, before I know what’s happening, she’s hitting the floor. Shit!

‘Aaagh! My back!’ she yells with a pained cry.

I run round the bar. By the time I’m there she’s surrounded by a small crowd. I look behind her to see that the chair is broken, snapped clean in half. Damn rickety old furniture, it’s probably riddled with woodworm.

‘I’m so sorry.’ I