Cock & Bull - Laura Barnard Page 0,90

almost dark by the time I’m walking back. It turns out your thoughts can be a lot scarier than you realise.

It’s given me a lot of time to think about what I really want now that Clooney is out of the equation. Soon he’ll find a new job and then we won’t have a chef or a bar manager anymore. So that’s going to affect the already shocking business. I dread having to change a barrel on my own.

I’ve had to think if I want to make a go of this business, really beg, plead and steal to get it going again. Or if I want to just cut my losses and go back home.

It’s funny how I think of England as my home. That little pokey shared flat with Valerie. Really I grew up like a traveller, my home a camper van.

I have to consider what I want out of life. God knows I’ve never had a career, just relying on temp jobs to pay the bills. My parents’ home schooling meant I never got any proper qualifications. They preferred the ‘school of life’ as they called it.

It’s hard to judge whether I want to stay here, when we haven’t really been given a real chance at it. Just a lot of false starts. I wonder what it would have been like without Fergus out to get us.

As I head back into the warm and toasty pub, strangely the feeling of home settles over me. Am I meant to be here? To make my home in Ireland?

Ella is nowhere to be seen. Clooney is sat with his mates. Just seeing his beautiful face has pain radiating through my heart. How can I even consider staying here without being able to have Clooney? If he asked me to move to the moon with him I would.

I frown, noticing they’re playing poker again. He knows I didn’t want him playing poker here. It wouldn’t be my problem if it wasn’t on my premises. Will he just disregard all previous things I’ve asked of him?

An old man comes to the bar so I run round to serve him. As I’m getting his change I notice the notes in the till. We normally keep one hundred euros in the till, but this doesn’t look that much.

I give the man his change and then open the till again. I quickly and discreetly count up the notes and then the change. We’re definitely fifty euros short. That’s weird.

I look over to Clooney playing with his mates. He said he only played for cents, but what if he’s used it to bet big tonight?

‘Clooney.’ He looks up at me. It breaks my heart every time I look into his eyes and see my hurt mirrored back. ‘Did you take some money from the till for your game?’

His jaw physically drops. That’s when I realise I’ve made a huge mistake. A life altering, humungous mistake. My stomach drops as he stares back at me, his eyes full of betrayal.

He excuses himself quickly from the game, walking towards me, his shoulders tensed up to his ears.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, his voice a ferocious whisper. ‘Did you honestly just ask me if I took money from the till to gamble with?’

I sigh, leaning on one hip. Why the hell did I have to say that out loud?

‘Sorry, it’s just that it’s short.’ I already know there’s nothing I can say to try and take it back.

‘And you just straight away assumed that Clooney, the dumbass gambler, must have stolen the money?’ His tone might sound angry, but his eyes portray his real emotion; betrayal.

‘I’m sorry.’ My voice wobbles, my throat thickening with unshed tears. ‘I just —’

‘Yeah.’ He nods, pushing away from the bar. ‘You just assumed. Well I’m sorry, Phoebe, but you’ve just made this decision really easy for the both of us. I quit.’

No! He might as well have shot me straight in the heart.

He grabs his jacket, gives me one more scathing look and storms out, slamming the door behind him. His friends turn to stare at me with frowned faces, obviously wondering what the hell happened.

God, I feel sick. Why was my first thought that he had taken it? I know he’s a gambler but I also know he’s not a thief. He’s a good person. I’m the worst. The damage I’ve just done will never be undone. I could apologise a million times but I know I’ve fucked up. Used his biggest weakness against