Isabel cut her off. ‘Yes Mum, he seems perfectly nice and normal.’ Isabel scratched at her neck.
‘Stop scratching, Bel.’
She had hearing like that ruddy corgi, Isabel grumped but did as she was told.
‘Well, Dad and I are only a phone call away if you need us. I suppose I should count my blessings that you’ve found yourself some work to tide you over. It's a shame you couldn’t find something this side of the water though, what with you only just getting home. Still, it’s only a ferry ride away. Make sure you ring me as soon as you’ve been to see your Constance tomorrow and let me know how it goes. I won’t sleep a wink tonight for wondering what Ginny was sorry for. I hope she tells you. Oh, bugger it!’
‘What?’
‘The white sauce is all lumpy. That’ll teach me for multitasking.’
‘What are you having for dinner?’ Isabel’s tummy rumbled with more ferocity this time; she’d not gotten her morning tea in because, by the time she’d finished drilling Rhodri about his connection with Constance, there’d been no time for sitting in cafes sipping coffee and nibbling on cake. She might just have enough time to snaffle down a sandwich if she got her A into G, though.
‘Fish pie,’ her mum replied.
Isabel laughed. ‘Not Dad’s lucky night then.’
͠
Isabel dodged the merry punters as she pushed her way back to the bar and dumped the collection of glasses she’d just cleared down on the bar top. The pub was jumping tonight; there’d be a few sore heads on Monday morning, she thought, glancing around. It was 8 p.m. another three hours to go, and she was eager for tonight to be over and for tomorrow morning to roll around. She’d taken her pack down to Pier View House and deposited it in her new room on her dinner break, handing Rhodri a fistful of crumpled notes, her week’s rent in advance. He’d been about to head out to a pottery class; he informed her taking a key from his key ring and passing it to her.
‘It’s for the door to the gallery. I don’t use the back door,’ Rhodri said, grabbing his jacket before telling her he might pop down to the Rum Den after his class for a pint.
Isabel hadn’t stayed in the empty flat long. Brenda had a bowl of mac n cheese waiting for her when she got there.
Now, she lifted the flip top and scooted around to the business side of the bar. The dishwasher needed loading, and she grimaced at the tackiness of the bar top beneath the glasses she’d just lined up. There’d been a spillage, and she’d clean it up in a jiffy. First things first though, she thought, eyeing the glasses, she’d clear this lot away.
Brenda was down the other end of the bar taking orders from a group of lads who looked a motley crew. They’d come in off the street a few ticks ago yahooing, and the young fellow with an earring in his nose and a pink veil atop his head gave the game away. They were on a stags night, over from the mainland for a long weekend and determined to leer up to the best of their ability. It was obvious they were already three sheets to the wind.
Isabel began stacking the dishwasher, and the next time she glanced over the groom was tossing a nip down his throat while Brenda was busy pulling pints for his mates. The group of larrikins were jostling one another loudly, and she debated offering a helping hand, but knew she’d be called over if need be. She was better served up her end of the bar and in keeping the tables cleared and wiped. Besides, Brenda was more than capable of handling a bunch of lager louts in their boxers and boots, and closing the dishwasher door; she set it to run before grabbing a cloth.
The stags do lads were now clutching their pint glasses and attempting to weave their way over to a table another group had just exited. Isabel sighed. She’d best go and clear it, and cloth in hand she lifted the flip top once more, pushing through the crowded space. Fellow drinkers raised their glasses as the boys camped it up, enjoying the attention their semi-nude state was garnering. There were shouted congratulations to the groom to be and remarks about life sentences and such over the thud of the jukebox. Isabel had seen it all before. Hilarious, she thought, sighing again. It was going to be a long night.
‘Sorry boys,’ she said a moment later. ‘Just let me squeeze in, and I’ll get rid of these glasses for you.’ She bent over and scooped up the glasses with a now well-practiced hand. ‘Oi!’ A glass slipped from her hand as she felt a sharp pinch on her bottom. It smashed, splintering as it caught the edge of the table and she heard laughter. Her blood boiled. ‘Hey, not funny! Keep your hands to yourself and stay away from that mess,’ Isabel sniped annoyed at their childish behaviour. She’d have to go and get a dustpan and brush to clear up the broken glass pronto before one of these plonkers cut themselves.
‘Ooh, Katy’s angry.’
She assumed they meant Katy Perry. It wasn’t the first time she’d been likened to the singer with her whacky choice of hair colours. Charity’s comment of the other day sprang to mind. Ignoring them, she moved off with a tight grip on the rest of the glasses, only to feel a hand grab and squeeze her backside this time. Okay a joke was a joke, she thought, but that was plain offensive. She turned around ready to let rip, and the words died in her throat. Rhodri was pushing his way toward the cluster of clowns who were
