‘Shall we test-drive the cocktails?’
‘Let’s,’ I agreed, my desire to avoid John from Good Luck outweighed by my desire to get tipsy enough not to worry about my mum having a wardrobe malfunction. The delicate straps of her dress were doing work they were not built for.
Adrian leaned against the bar with a knowing smile on his face while we waited for John to finish rummaging with bottles at the back of the bar.
‘OK, I’ve waited long enough, out with it.’ Adrian reached across the bar and plucked a maraschino cherry from a little black pot while John’s back was turned. ‘What did you text back to Patrick?’
He popped the cherry in his mouth in one, gurning like a madman while he attempted to knot the stalk with his tongue.
‘There’s literally nothing sexy about that, you know,’ I told him. ‘You look like you’re having a seizure.’
‘You’d be amazed at how many times this has worked,’ he replied right as his eyes bugged out of his head and he coughed up the stalk, spitting it elegantly onto the lawn. ‘Answer the question. What’s going on?’
‘Sumi told you?’
‘Sumi told me,’ he confirmed. ‘No judgement.’
A likely story.
‘Maybe I didn’t text him,’ I said with an unconvincing shrug.
Adrian brayed with laughter.
‘Fine, yes, I messaged him back,’ I said, coiling my hair into a high ponytail to get it off my sticky neck. ‘But don’t look at me like that, it’s not that weird. Lots of people are friends with their exes.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Ade replied, nodding. ‘You want to be friends with Twat-Faced Wank Chops. OK, sure, definitely, that’s your plan, is it?’
‘Maybe,’ I shrugged. ‘Maybe not. It actually makes sense to me. Why waste my time, my incredibly valuable time, on dates with complete strangers who are most likely going to turn out to be utterly shit, when I could dig into my contacts and see if there’s anyone worth a second chance?’
Adrian shook his head, refusing to play along. ‘Ros, your contacts are where dates go to die. You only keep your exes’ numbers so you know not to answer when they call.’
‘Speak for yourself. I can think of a couple of people I went out with once or twice but the timing wasn’t right. Including Twat-fac— including Patrick,’ I said, beginning to feel flustered. ‘What if I messed up something good with him when I left? And why not skip all that awful getting-to-know-you stuff and pick up where I left off with someone who’s already seen me naked?’
I gave my head an aggressive toss to make my point and caught a passing pensioner in the eye with my ponytail. ‘Oh, Christ, I’m sorry. Are you OK?’
‘I just had my cataracts done!’ he wailed as I grabbed a handful of napkins off the bar. Behind me, I heard a muted chuckle.
‘Have you thought about wrapping her in bubble wrap before you let her out the house?’
John the bartender leaned against the opposite side of the bar, he and Adrian both wearing the sort of bemused smile that made me feel extra punchy. I pressed my stack of napkins into the older man’s hand, apologizing profusely, as he swiped at his watering eye before a woman in a dusky-blue two-piece rushed up and whisked him away, giving me a filthy look as they went.
‘You look like you could use a proper drink,’ John said, eyeing our empty glasses. ‘Two anniversary specials?’
‘Two anniversary specials,’ Adrian confirmed. ‘And make them strong enough to loosen her tongue. I promised Sumi I’d get it out of you before they cut the cake.’
Ooh. Cake.
‘Fine, yes, I replied to his text to be polite.’ I kept my eyes on John as he mixed our drinks. There wasn’t nearly enough bottle-twirling for my liking, I’d seen Cocktail, I knew how this was supposed to be done. ‘I wasn’t brought up to be rude, Adrian.’
‘Is that right?’ John muttered under his breath.
Adrian grinned as I gave the bartender a double-take.
‘Here you go,’ he said loudly, sticking a steel straw into one of the drinks in front of him to taste his concoction. ‘Two Ruby Wedding Fizzes.’
‘It’s perfection,’ Adrian said, closing his eyes in rapture as he took a sip. ‘John, have I ever told you that I love you?’
‘Son?’
I turned to see Adrian’s less-than-woke dad staring at his only child with a look of intense concern on his face.
‘Not like that, Dad,’ he said, clapping the older man on the back. ‘Please don’t have a stroke during your own party.’
‘Although he could do a lot worse,’ John muttered not-quite-under his breath.
Mr Anderson blustered as I politely looked away, biting my lip to stop myself from laughing. ‘It wouldn’t matter to us, you know that,’ he waffled. ‘Your mother and I just want to see you settled and happy and—’
‘What’s up, Dad?’ Adrian asked, mercifully cutting him off mid-stream.
‘Your mother needs a hand getting the cake out the kitchen,’ he said, lowering his voice to explain further. ‘It’s, uh, quite heavy.’
‘It’s a triple-tier fruitcake,’ Adrian explained for our benefit. ‘She made it herself.’
I nodded, understanding all. Mrs Anderson’s fruitcakes were things of legend. I could have hollowed one out and lived in it and it definitely would have been more of a solid structure than my shed. ‘Do you need me to help as well?’ I offered.
‘I think two of us should be able to manage it,’ Mr Anderson said with an appreciative smile. ‘Lovely to see you back, Rosalind. We must have you over for dinner, I’d love to hear about America. Perhaps you could bring your boyfriend with you? If you’re seeing someone?’
‘Let’s go and get the cake,’ Adrian said with an exasperated sigh. ‘Come on.’
The two of them traipsed off into the house, Adrian slightly taller, his father slightly broader, but both of them cut from exactly the same cloth.
‘I know he won’t thank me for saying it but he’s so like his dad,’ John said as they disappeared into the house.
‘He won’t but he is,’ I agreed. ‘I was thinking the same thing.’
He leaned over the bar, arms resting in between a bevy of bottles. ‘And you won’t thank me for asking this but who did you text when you weren’t supposed to?’
I cast a glance over my shoulder, one eyebrow raised.
‘Bartender’s privilege,’ he said with a lopsided grin. ‘I’m entitled to ask about any and all gossip I hear during a shift and duty-bound never
