‘Hey, mate,’ Rhodri shouted over the pulsating beat. ‘I think you owe the lady here an apology.’ He glowered over the culprit, a spotty chap who barely filled his boxers. He looked young, Isabel thought—barely legal, and if she hadn’t of been so aggrieved, she’d have found the multiple emotions crossing his face as he weighed up his options amusing. It was like reading a book watching him toss up on whether he should tough it out to look big in front of his mates. He was tempted to puff up and prod the big Welsh man back but knew he’d likely wind up with a fat lip. He’d get a slap around the head too when he got home and was forced to own up to his mum as to what he’d been up to on his weekend away. He hesitated for a couple of beats, or, he could do the right thing and say sorry. He took the latter option, and Isabel accepted his apology eager to put a halt to any further altercation.
‘Thanks,’ she mouthed to Rhodri, before shoving her way back to the bar to dig out the dustpan and brush, she didn’t want any injuries on her watch. Rhodri hadn’t finished though. When she returned he took the cleaning apparatus from her and shoved it toward the puny chested punter. ‘Here you go, son. It’s time you put that hand of yours to some good use. Clean that mess up.’
‘Al right mate. We’re out for a good night, not a fight night,’ he muttered not keen to argue with the Welsh man. He took the pan and brush and set about clearing up the shards of glass while his mates made a few half-hearted jests at his expense. They were a few degrees less boisterous, and Isabel guessed they’d clean their drinks up and that would be the last they’d see of that little drunken group of yobs for the night. They were already edging their way towards the door. She smiled her gratefulness at Rhodri.
‘Come on. I think you just earned yourself a pint on the house.’
Chapter 9
The next morning Isabel hung up the last of her clothes and shut the door on the wardrobe catching sight of herself in the mirrored panels as she did so. She’d dressed in jeans, boots and her favourite pink T-shirt with its yellow Hard Rock Café logo, bought on a particularly memorable night out on the Gold Coast. She had an aqua coloured cardigan she could shove in her bag if it got nippy too. She scooped her hair back into a ponytail, securing it with the band on her wrist and eyed the sore, weepy patch on her neck covered in greasy salve with distaste. A scarf day, she decided fishing it out of her bag.
It was yellow silk, and the flecks of bluish green in it, she liked to think matched her eyes. If not her eyes then her hair, and definitely her cardi she thought, tying it at a jaunty angle. That was better, and the silk was gentle against her irritated skin. She stood in front of the wardrobe mirror giving herself a final once over—she’d do. It was Monday morning and today was the day she would go to see Constance at Sea Vistas. Would she be Ginny’s Constance? A shiver coursed through her. It was still too early to call on her, but in the meantime, a cup of tea would go down a treat. Hmm so would something to eat. Perhaps she’d make a brew and take a cuppa down to Rhodri; he’d said to make herself at home, but did that include helping herself to his milk and tea bags? It was all very murky waters this business of flat sharing, she thought, chewing on her nails before deciding to make the tea.
He was very neat; her first impressions yesterday were reconfirmed as she opened the overhead cupboards and peered inside in search of tea bags. She hoped he didn’t have OCD. The contents of the cupboard, however, were well ordered but not in perfect alignment, so she breathed easier locating the tea bags. She filled the kettle and flicked it on, wondering if he was a bit of a health nut as she waited for it to boil. That she knew nothing about him was clear, but seedy, nutty things had been abundant in the cupboard.
Would he have sugar given all those healthy seedy things? Probably not she decided taking a risk and adding milk to his mug, hoping he wasn’t the type to have a squeeze of lemon in his tea. She picked up the two steaming brews and carried them downstairs being careful not to spill any.
‘Knock, knock,’ Isabel said, raising the two mugs she was carrying as he looked up from where he was sitting at the counter staring at his open laptop.
‘You read my mind; I was just thinking it was time for a cuppa. Cheers.’ He took the proffered mug from her, and she placed her tea down on the counter. ‘Did you sleep all right?’
‘Yes, it’s a comfy bed. Um, I wasn’t sure if you took milk or not, so I took a gamble.’
‘You hit the jackpot. Jaffa Cake, or is it too early?’ He smiled and went up in her estimation as he produced a packet of the chocolate treats from the drawer beneath the counter. Not too much of a health nut then!
‘It’s never too early for Jaffa Cakes.’ Isabel took one and munched it down glancing around the gallery. It was busy given the early hour but then if the blue skies she’d spied outside her bedroom window were anything to go by the day was going to be a corker. Holidaymakers
