When you were in the pub with Paul, you only ever had half his attention. ‘Excuse me, ladies, one of our regulars is calling me over. Back in a minute.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I muttered. The reason the Drift Inn did so well was because Paul made his customers feel like his personal friends. They came to drink in the bar because it was lovely – he had based the décor on a Manhattan-style lounge. It had mood lighting, low chill-out music playing in the background, the floor was covered with deep red carpet and it had individual booths along one wall. It had lots of smoking chairs and bookshelves, big comfy sofas and open fireplaces that kept the place cosy in winter. The bar stools were covered with calfskin and had high backs – but customers came to drink here because they liked hanging out with Paul.
Sally looked over at him – he was laughing at something the regular had said. ‘You’re lucky, Ava. Paul’s great.’
‘Everyone’s always telling me that. Whenever I come into the pub all the staff go on and on about what a genius he is at business and what a great boss he is. Of course he’s good at his job – he spends his life here. The pub always comes first,’ I said, the mojitos loosening my tongue.
‘But he’s mad about you.’
‘If he’s so mad about me, why is he never home? I’m not even competing with another woman! I’m competing with the pub. He never puts me or our relationship first any more. He’s always working. We never go out together on our own. He works most nights. He takes Sundays and Mondays off. We usually take the girls out on Sundays for dinner or a movie, which leaves Mondays when I’m working and he goes surfing, and by the time we get home we’re both too tired to bother. We’re in a rut, Sally, which at forty-two is a bit scary.’
‘At least you’ve got someone not to go out with.’ Sally swayed a little on her stool.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be giving out, especially not tonight after your crappy date.’
‘It’s just too much hard work. I don’t have the energy.’ She stood up and made a toast. ‘To a happy, peaceful life on the shelf.’
I finished my drink and watched Paul laughing and joking with his customers. He didn’t look over at me once.
12
I was worried about Ali. She still wasn’t back to herself. She seemed very down and she never talked to me. Autumn was always a really busy time for Happy Dayz, with birthday parties, Hallowe’en and Christmas events, so I was often late home and working at weekends. She was always in her room studying when I got in. I decided to make a conscious effort to be back in time to cook dinner and try to draw Ali out. I spent ages making her favourite dessert – profiteroles and hot chocolate sauce. I wanted to cheer her up any way I could. But when I produced it, she refused to eat it.
‘It’s your favourite. You always have seconds.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You haven’t eaten much at all.’
‘I have. I ate chicken and vegetables and I’m full.’
‘You’re a bit peaky. I’m worried about you, pet.’
‘No self-respecting man likes a skinny girl,’ said Charlie. ‘You need something to hold on to, something to cuddle up to.’
‘Thank you, Charlie,’ I said, before he could go into further detail. ‘Come on, Ali, eat some dessert.’
‘What’s the big deal? I’m just not hungry.’
‘I’ll have her profiteroles if she doesn’t want them,’ Sarah piped up.
I ignored her. ‘Just have one, Ali. I’ll leave you alone then.’
‘Come on, Ali, your mum spent ages making them for you,’ Paul said.
‘OK, OK, I’ll have some.’
‘There – isn’t that delicious?’ I encouraged her.
She nodded.
‘Have another.’ I spooned more onto her plate.
‘No, thanks, I’m really full now. I need to go and finish my homework – I’ve got a history essay to hand in tomorrow,’ she said, rushing up the stairs.
I looked at Paul. He shrugged. ‘She’s obviously still
‘Yeah, right,’ I muttered. The reason the Drift Inn did so well was because Paul made his customers feel like his personal friends. They came to drink in the bar because it was lovely – he had based the décor on a Manhattan-style lounge. It had mood lighting, low chill-out music playing in the background, the floor was covered with deep red carpet and it had individual booths along one wall. It had lots of smoking chairs and bookshelves, big comfy sofas and open fireplaces that kept the place cosy in winter. The bar stools were covered with calfskin and had high backs – but customers came to drink here because they liked hanging out with Paul.
Sally looked over at him – he was laughing at something the regular had said. ‘You’re lucky, Ava. Paul’s great.’
‘Everyone’s always telling me that. Whenever I come into the pub all the staff go on and on about what a genius he is at business and what a great boss he is. Of course he’s good at his job – he spends his life here. The pub always comes first,’ I said, the mojitos loosening my tongue.
‘But he’s mad about you.’
‘If he’s so mad about me, why is he never home? I’m not even competing with another woman! I’m competing with the pub. He never puts me or our relationship first any more. He’s always working. We never go out together on our own. He works most nights. He takes Sundays and Mondays off. We usually take the girls out on Sundays for dinner or a movie, which leaves Mondays when I’m working and he goes surfing, and by the time we get home we’re both too tired to bother. We’re in a rut, Sally, which at forty-two is a bit scary.’
‘At least you’ve got someone not to go out with.’ Sally swayed a little on her stool.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be giving out, especially not tonight after your crappy date.’
‘It’s just too much hard work. I don’t have the energy.’ She stood up and made a toast. ‘To a happy, peaceful life on the shelf.’
I finished my drink and watched Paul laughing and joking with his customers. He didn’t look over at me once.
12
I was worried about Ali. She still wasn’t back to herself. She seemed very down and she never talked to me. Autumn was always a really busy time for Happy Dayz, with birthday parties, Hallowe’en and Christmas events, so I was often late home and working at weekends. She was always in her room studying when I got in. I decided to make a conscious effort to be back in time to cook dinner and try to draw Ali out. I spent ages making her favourite dessert – profiteroles and hot chocolate sauce. I wanted to cheer her up any way I could. But when I produced it, she refused to eat it.
‘It’s your favourite. You always have seconds.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You haven’t eaten much at all.’
‘I have. I ate chicken and vegetables and I’m full.’
‘You’re a bit peaky. I’m worried about you, pet.’
‘No self-respecting man likes a skinny girl,’ said Charlie. ‘You need something to hold on to, something to cuddle up to.’
‘Thank you, Charlie,’ I said, before he could go into further detail. ‘Come on, Ali, eat some dessert.’
‘What’s the big deal? I’m just not hungry.’
‘I’ll have her profiteroles if she doesn’t want them,’ Sarah piped up.
I ignored her. ‘Just have one, Ali. I’ll leave you alone then.’
‘Come on, Ali, your mum spent ages making them for you,’ Paul said.
‘OK, OK, I’ll have some.’
‘There – isn’t that delicious?’ I encouraged her.
She nodded.
‘Have another.’ I spooned more onto her plate.
‘No, thanks, I’m really full now. I need to go and finish my homework – I’ve got a history essay to hand in tomorrow,’ she said, rushing up the stairs.
I looked at Paul. He shrugged. ‘She’s obviously still
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