Chapter Forty
RIVER
A few days before the Christmas party at the one and only cocktail bar on Glastonbury’s High Street, the one and only cocktail bar in Glastonbury, and Somerset’s cocktail bar of the year, Lee had not only worked his notice at the supermarket, but was made manager of River’s establishment, in a move which raised more than a few local eyebrows. And stock control had never known a swifter way of life.
But of course none of this came as a surprise to River. In fact, it had all been part of his master plan, concocted fairly recently, all things considered, but since when did a plan require a four year BA Honours degree to be a good one? Lee’s love of cocktails couldn’t have been plainer for all to see, he had certainly been frequenting the bar with all the gusto of a zebra visiting a watering hole, he’d learnt every process and procedure of every fusion on the menu under River’s steely gaze – admittedly only for home recreational purposes, but still, those skills were transferable. The Magical Mañana had worked its regional magic, and so had River. It was time to move on, and what better send off than a Yuletide bash?
The party was in full swing already, despite the doors only having opened half an hour ago. The book club had started a little too early on the cracker pulling, fifty pound notes hitting the floor like confetti – Lee had secretly funded those, no more tacky plastic festivities for anything he linked his name to, being more or less his precise choice of words when River had caught him tying gold and silver bows around their middles. The travel agents were bopping away in a corner whilst intermittently supping on Lee’s delectable Homemade Irish Cream, their actions slightly less frantic than they had been during their first visit to the bar, their garments slightly more in keeping with the fashion too. And the Rigby-Chandlers had not only insisted on paying for their own drinks, but standing outside the door gifting the Christmas shoppers with free champagne cocktails, causing River to rub his eyes more than a dozen times.
River and Alice had gathered everybody back inside so he could make a thank you speech, before things got too chaotic, the crowd of well-wishers had clapped and whistled – many with momentary tears in their eyes for it was the first they’d heard of River and Alice’s departure – soon dissipating once they learned Lee and Jonie would be the new faces behind the bar.
And then in breezed Aunt Sheba.
It wasn’t that River hadn’t invited her, rather he hadn’t expected her to put herself in the way of forgiveness’s temptation, and after all the recent drama in his own life, he’d rather she stayed at home if there was even a smidgen of a chance of round two of the dreaded Sting Thing.
“Well, it is the season of goodwill to all men and women,” said Aunt Sheba, removing her spruce green fingerless gloves. “And I want to spend as much time with you both as I can now you’re off on a new adventure… wherever that may be, although, I can’t deny the thought of having my roomiest caravan back to advertise online for anybody wishing to purchase a late Christmas break at high season prices, doesn’t delight.”
“Don’t ask me where we’re headed,” said Alice with a grin. “I swear your nephew’s brainwashed me, but I’m learning to go with it, I guess it was always going to happen with a mother like his… I mean your sister… I mean—”
“Come on, that’s enough waffle, group snog under the mistletoe,” Aunt Sheba insisted in an elaborate ploy to change the conversation.
River and Alice found themselves cocooned in her henna tattooed bosom beneath one of the scant sprigs in the bar. Thankfully Lee hadn’t gone to town on the flora, much as he’d threatened.
Aunt Sheba released them at River’s insistence they’d be back for the holidays, upon which he made his escape to the bar to admire the gathering, to take some discreet and un-staged snaps of the partygoers for old time’s sake.
“You did good in this place, I only hope I can be a fraction as successful,” said Lee, as River clicked away, angling his iPad this way and that, intent on capturing not just the people but the bar’s every nook and cranny. “Who’d have thought it though, hey, me… a cocktail bar manager, with my gorgeous wife by my side? If you’d told me that this time last year I’d have spurted my pint of cider all over you.”
“You and me both,” River laughed, and then, quite without warning, his laissez-faire attitude of the past couple of months caught up with him. “I’m just heading down to the skittle alley, something I need to check up on… keep doing your thing.” He double clucked his tongue and winked at Lee in the manner of a vexing uncle.
Once outside in the snappy air, River ran, careful to avoid skidding along the slippery path in his tread-free party shoes. He panned the horizon as usual, unlocked the skittle alley door and let himself in, creeping, quite unnecessarily, in the air with which he’d grown accustomed, over to the cupboard in the corner.
“Shit, no!” he almost screamed.
Everything looked as it always had done, except for one very minor but important detail; the lock was on back to front. He’d never have hung it like that. Somebody had been in there, or at least made an attempt. He took the small key from his pocket, opened the padlock and cursed himself, this time with every expletive under the sun. At first everything seemed perfectly normal, but a quick scan confirmed his suspicions: The tartan blankets were in a different order. And he knew this because the top one should have been Bruce Modern, which in red tartan terms was a pattern with sizeable squares. But instead he was looking at Heather’s Cochrane Modern blanket, its tartan pattern made up of smaller lines and squares. Only someone with the attention to detail of a cocktail bartender would notice this, but to River it spelt one word.
Trouble.
All of which led to the inescapable fact that he’d been robbed of the bottle, as well as the world’s greatest idiot for not having bothered to check up on its status and condition since Terry had knocked back his Magical Mañana. River removed the top blanket anyway, heart thudding, rendering him queasy, dizzy at the thought of the elixir being in the wrong hands.
Who could have done it? He’d been meticulous with the keys. The only possible explanation had to be the picking of a lock. As with the missing translation, naturally his mind was rife with accusations for Georgina, and yet he couldn’t quite find the facts to stack up. She’d never shown a single sign of knowing what he was up to, her only venture into the backyard being to park her rear on a deckchair to read trashy magazines.
Then perhaps somebody had followed him from Mexico, had been on his case ever since day one? It was the only feasible answer.
Great.
So he was like the guy in The Celestine Prophecy now… or Tom Hanks in The Da Vinci Code, with the perpetrator always too many steps ahead of him.
“It is true, you’ve been a little… hmm… shall we say ‘haphazard’ this time, but then you are still serving your apprenticeship.”
“Mercedes?”
River stepped back from the cupboard and spun around several times, head flitting up and down, around and around, in a bid to locate her elusive voice. For he swore he wasn’t imagining that trickle of words, whatever it was coming from.
“Get back in the bar, get ready to leave and trust me. All will come good in the end; all will become clear very quickly. Rights wronged in moments. But for goodness sake, mi chiquito, tell Alice this time and let her be in charge of the bottle’s hiding place.”
“But the bottle’s gone, someone’s stolen it.”
“Did you miss the first part of my instruction? Get back in the bar, get ready to leave and trust me.”
“Okay, okay.” River held his hands up like a criminal turning himself in. “I trust you, I’ll do it, I’m going.”
He knew the drill by now, much as any normal person would have locked him up months ago. And so he marched up the path, on tiptoes, dodging the icy bits, eager to see how this mystery would play out. It was pretty clear that Mercedes knew something he didn’t, something that was soon to reveal itself. So far her track record had been accurate enough, so what other option was there but to put his faith in her once again?
“I’m back,” he almost sing-songed to Lee.
“About time, what was that all about? Forget to put something on the inventory?”
“No, no, everything’s good. I just wanted to… y’know, have a moment.”
“You are sure about this, starting over so quickly, leaving me here to steer the ship?”
“As sure as I’ll ever be… you, me, the bashing up of the bar… it was written in the stars that day.”
They both smiled, River simultaneously cringing at himself for nabbing Mercedes’ quote, but under the current circumstances, it was wholly appropriate. And then Lee surprised him completely by going in for a semi-man hug which didn’t quite take off in the way man hugs were intended but ended up as several slaps on the back.
“All right, calm down!”
They stood there awhile like that; a silent metaphor for out with the old and in with the new, a friendship restored to something even better than its former glory. Lee’s eyes were ablaze with joy and fixed on his wife, River’s were transfixed by Alice, wondering where life would take them, relinquishing the very thought of worrying about the current location of one bottle, lest Mercedes boom out over the loudspeaker next, scaring them all out of their wits. He let his eyes move over to his Aunt Sheba as he took a drink of his final cocktail in this bar – damn that Frisky Bison for making its way into his glass again – but he’d allow himself approximately a third of its goodness, he was driving soon, after all. Aunt Sheba stood a distance from Heather and Terry, the spirituous apples danced on his tongue, and Sting’s ‘Free’ began to blast out on the sound system.
“Right, that’s it. If that isn’t a flippin’ sign, I don’t know what is,” he overheard a voice sounding very much like Heather’s declare. And sure enough as his head followed its direction, there she was, abandoning her Ginger Rabbit on a table like an exclamation mark, walking over to grab her long lost sister, rigid crab-like pincers held out before her, the kind that would not take no for an answer.
River swore his jaw was about to hit the floor. This was unbelievable, a decades-long feud on the brink of becoming history, all because of a song. But then someone made a grab for him, and it didn’t take him long to work out that it wasn’t Alice, whose arms were otherwise engaged as she topped up trays of Irish Cream at the far side of the bar. The two spindly hands continued, threatening to tickle his chest through his thin white shirt:
Cassandra.
Ooh, that woman. Forever creeping up behind him when he least expected it.
“I’m starting up a travelling library service again for the local villages,” she said, letting him go at last and spinning him around as if they were about to take to the floor on Strictly, which she could flaming well forget, he’d played the charming Anton du Beke with her for long enough.
Tonight he was Alice’s. All Alice’s, and in many ways their ‘going away car’ moment, a piece of cinema he had endlessly visualised over the past couple of weeks, couldn’t not put his beloved in mind of one of those vintage after-the-wedding-reception cars, a move he thought portended well for their new life together. Of course, there was the slight issue that he still insisted upon driving a mustard rust bucket. Some things, reassuringly, never changed.
“And I just wanted to let you know,” Cassandra continued, bringing him right back down to Earth as she’d clearly intended, “that actually, it’s with the help of Lord and Lady Rigby-Chandler. You see, they don’t know that I know that they know that this little charitable, do-good PR stunt of theirs is going to help more visitors tune into the TV to see their castle in ruins appearing on that documentary soon with your future stepfather, but if you can’t scratch one another’s backs from time to—”
“Oh absolutely, Cassie, I couldn’t agree more, what a wonderful idea.”
And it was, though he was loath to admit it. But never mind that, who in God’s name had he left in charge of the music?
Just as Sting morphed into Mariah Carey, who began to croon out about all she wanted for the festive season, the door to the bar opened with an almighty bang. Lee welded himself to the far corner of the bar, an act that told River all he needed to know – in both senses of the word.
“Very high-gurr this is; isn’t it?” said the outsider.
River was sure Blake was trying to say ‘hygge’, the Danish word for ‘cosy’ as he set foot inside The Cocktail Bar for the second time since River had made it his. Behind him, Georgina revealed herself, clad in a cranberry-red coat, her hand clutching at her swollen stomach – its shape now an ever-expanding figgy pudding.
Here we go again.
But then he remembered Mercedes’ reassuring words and a strange but welcome calm descended upon him.
Everyone else fell quiet then too, except River. Because unlike the last time Blake took issue with his right as a human being to be, do and have what he wanted; to live his life, River was no longer scared.
“So… you found out I made Lee a manager, and now you’re here to let us know about it. Let’s give him a round of applause everybody.”
All around him people slowly began to clap, faces looking from one to the other, clearly unsure where any of this was going; all excluding Terry who just looked utterly miffed at the audacity of his grown children to keep throwing not so much spanners, but entire toolkits in the works.
“You’re sounding a bit surer of yourself than last time, Jackson. But what did I tell you? Should’ve taken heed of my warning: I’m the mallet, you’re the mole, remember?”
“Then go ahead and do your best.” River stepped forward, a willing volunteer.
“Yeah,” Lee echoed confidently all of a sudden, un-gripping his limbs from the bar’s counter, “I’m not your puppet anymore. Bring. It. On. Hopkins.”
“Oh yeah… back for round two are we? Some people never learn, do they?”
A thunder that was unmistakably Hayley’s threatened to take down not so much Blake but the entire bar as well. But River wasn’t about to let her play Wonder Woman today. Blake and his sister were his excess baggage and if they’d chosen to set the scene here, he was more than prepared to deal with it.
“Do his best? Do our best, I think you’ll find… oh yes, there have been any number of us involved in this little Operation dubbed ‘Payback’,” yelled Georgina, fire crackling in her eyes as she attempted to woo the crowd. “How’s about this then ladies and gents, will this do you?”
She opened her coat to reveal not just another layer swaddling her rotund stomach, but a bottle; River’s bottle, strapped to her side with a belt. She yanked it free and held it up high as if she were in a courtroom defending her brother: “River Jackson here… the town’s beloved former indie swooner… he’s only been contaminating your drinks.”
River knew it was crucial to keep his cool now despite the inevitable shockwave of this image. Somehow he had to keep hold of Mercedes’ assurance; somehow this was all going to blow over in moments.
He hoped.
Voices chirped and gasps rang out around the room. Alice looked to her love for an answer, he couldn’t give her one. Heather looked downright ashamed taking him right back to the teenage time when he’d furtively added dope to her vegan brownies, getting all of her kundalini yoga class completely off their heads. Everybody else just merged into one single being, reeling at the way he had let them all down. And Georgina began to open her mouth to carry on, at which point those former chirps and gasps became loud ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ and ‘did you just see thats?’ – with a whole range of colourful expletives thrown into the mix besides.
In the slowest of motion, her bump – or more precisely, the expandable, flesh-coloured stage prop that had been posing as her pregnancy all this time – slipped down her maternity trousers and fell in a heap on the floor, circling her feet.
The bar was engulfed in the kind of silence that only sudden shock can provide.
River was a Punch and Judy puppet, minus the helping hand, gulping at air like the oxygen might convert to words, offering up some kind of sense to put to this diabolical scene from the Callous Crocodile. But out of his mouth came nothing.
It had been Georgina all along. She was a schemer and a liar, an evil, ridiculous piece of work. Even Blake raised his eyebrows then, began to step back from his poisonous sister and her latest ludicrous scam.
“Georgina Hopkins!” Terry burst out, almost on the verge of tears, “I think I could just about disown you for this.”
But then in a moment seemingly more choreographed than pro-wrestling, Lennie burst into the bar before anybody else could even think to add their two pennies worth.
“Sorry I’m late, guys,” he fell about, coughing, spluttering and panting all at once. “It was…” he just couldn’t seem to get his words out, laughter consuming him now, giant exuberant guffaws, the annoyance that is a private joke the recipient refuses to share, yet refuses to stop cackling at either.
“I say it was… it was water!”
“You say what?” said Georgina.
“Could it ever have been anything else?” He started up again with his ghastly noise. “He’s a River… and he’s been serving you all up water.”
No wonder it had been tasteless when River had asked Mercedes for a little. His mouth remained agape, unable to process what he thought he had just heard Lennie declare. And how did he know anyway? He’d never even met Georgina.
“Give me that flaming lab report.” Georgina yanked it from his hand, pregnancy bump still framing her matching cranberry-red high heels, showing her up as her own unmistakable piece of evidence. “You’ve got to be lying out of your giant backside, fat use you’ve been to me since day one.”
“Now, now, I rather think that’s a little uncalled for, darling. It has been my absolute pleasure to double cross you.” He handed her over a piece of paper as would a gentleman. “Why else do you think I jumped at the chance to get involved? As soon as I twigged I might be River’s daddy; that was it, everything changed. See, the real reason I came back to try and patch things up, Son—”
“Do not… call me… that word,” said River. “You have absolutely zero proof.”
“You’re right there, of course you are. Call it a sixth sense though, your mother and I… you might want to cover your ears at this point,” Lennie advised Terry, whose iron grip had positioned itself either side of Heather and Aunt Sheba, “well, it was a one-nighter, Glasto summer of eighty-three if I recall correctly. I’m not going to insist we do a test on you and me though, like we did with the bottle. I can feel it in my bones: I’m your father for sure, why else would you have such a love of music? I’m here if you want me… always… you’ve only to knock at my—”
“That’s enough,” snapped River. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Everybody’s eyes naturally returned to Georgina now as she studied the document, her own eyes glossed over in denial.
“Composition breakdown – H20,” she read aloud, all her previously put-on decorum a thing of the very distant past. “It can’t be… you’ve rigged it… I knew I should have taken care of that part myself.”
“Too greedy, love, weren’t you… That’s why I had to call in Tamara, get an injection of cash to meet your demands.”
“Tamara, as in my sister?” shouted Alice, unable to disguise her contempt.
“Yes, Alice, and I’m sorry by the way, for hounding you as well… especially now I know my true relationship with my former lead singer—”
“Oh, I am not your anything, quit while you’re ahead, Lennie,” River pitched in.
“As I was saying, now I know the true nature of our relationship,” Lennie continued unfazed, directing his words between River and Alice, “you have my solemn vow that I will leave you alone, the both of you… you make a jolly good couple by the way… especially seeing’s you make that tart,” he swivelled to point to Georgina, who unbelievably had the nerve to still be standing there with the stage prop at her feet, hand now diva-like on hip, “green with envy.”
Georgina looked to Blake for back-up, it wasn’t forthcoming.
“I fail to see why any of this is remotely funny.”
Lady Rigby-Chandler scraped her seat across the floor making a sound akin to fingernails running down a blackboard, and all fell quiet again.
Except for Aunt Sheba.
“You’re damned right there. What a heartless, twisted little madam you are. Who fakes a pregnancy? Have you any idea how many of us have baby stories, real baby stories about our cherished infants who never got to set foot on this Earth. You should be locked up, young lady in my humble opinion. And I’ll tell you what: I hope you never do get to experience the joys of having a child. Why in God’s name should you when you make a mockery of a heaven sent gift not all of us got to see to fruition?”
Heather took Aunt Sheba in her arms. Terry’s face was ablaze. In fact, everywhere River looked – despite his own undeniable relief not to be fathering any baby of Georgina’s – folk were outraged, disgusted, dismayed, seething. What an incredible anti-climax to what was supposed to be the event of the year in this place that had known nothing but his heart and his soul.
Lady Rigby-Chandler stepped forward then and River hoped against hope that somehow order would now prevail. She snatched the report – and the bottle – from the statue that was Georgina, passed River back his property, and surveyed the document for herself.
“Why yes, it is water. Not quite as velvety as Evian. But pretty soft on the palate all the same. And why shouldn’t a mixologist add a little water to his creations? Who else here is qualified enough to tell me otherwise?”
Georgina went to open her mouth.
“Now, Gee, you know that’s not true,” River found himself stepping forward too. “From what I hear, you missed most of the final quarter of the course I invested hundreds of pounds to send you on.”
Georgina bowed her head, finally moving out of her circle of shame which she picked up and tucked under one arm, as if she might put it back in the wardrobe, bringing it out again for a rainy day.
“The head of the Brunswick wrote to tell me he couldn’t issue your certificate, after all,” River went on, “so it wasn’t just the missing money from the till… or you and your gentlemen friends’ gate crashing the premises which led to my decision to turf you out.”
“I’m embarrassed, George,” said Terry, shaking his head helplessly, wiping his eyes with his frayed brown handkerchief. “What’s it come to, eh? I didn’t bring you up a liar, a grasser-upper or a stitcher-upper besides. River’s a good kid, well… man. You had your chance with him; you had your chance of a really great career in this here bar too. But you went and blew both, nobody but yourself to blame. And that’s why River and Alice, you have my blessing.”
“And mine,” said Heather, “woo hoo, I’d been rooting for you two lovebirds to make a nest all along.”
“Oh gawd.”
River put his hands behind his head, a somewhat pointless coping mechanism, and Alice’s eyes grew to the size of flying saucers, as was usually the case when she knew not what to say. They’d dealt with more focus upon them in their past lives, true, but nothing quite compared to the focus of your nearest and dearest – a couple of foes besides – topping your never-in-your-wildest-dreams-wedding-cake with a big fat cherry.
River wondered who’d spark up the next piece of dialogue. Lennie soon answered his question.
“I’m sorry, Alice, about your sister’s involvement in all of this.” Lennie bowed his head as if worshipping a deity. “But the fact of the matter is, there was no way I was prepared to pay for anything myself, that would have felt plain wrong, I merely stepped in to ensure River was protected… in the end that was relatively easy.”
“And what about this weird mystical translation?”
Georgina scrabbled about in her bag, finally revealing a very crumpled piece of paper.
“I think we’re done now, George,” said River. “You must think I was born yesterday… but I knew all along it was you stealing snippets from my cocktail bible… talk about scraping the barrel.”
Which was an outright lie and he knew it.
“She paid me too,” Lennie cut through everybody all over again, visibly wanting to continue to offload his shame. “And the truth is,” he paused then to suck in air as if it were a substitute fag, not before pulling one of those vile E-cigarette things out of his jacket pocket, “the truth is, it was a pretty penny too.”
“Jesus Christ, does everything have to be about money with you?” River cut in.
“Come on, guys, see this from my point of view. I’ve lost a lot. Gigs cancelled, new album postponed, bills to pay, expenses going out on auditions for new recruits, not to mention covering for Bear’s Priory bill. That all adds up.”
“So she was happy to fund you as opposed to lend some money to her sister. Lovely,” said Alice.
“That you are, sweetheart,” said Lennie, treating her to his habitual eyelash flutter. “It’s just like Snow White and the wicked Stepmother.” He enjoyed another drag on his black shiny stick.
“The only wicked Stepmother in this place is her,” said Georgina, pointing at Heather.
It was unbelievable how much lower she was prepared to go, but once the final remnants of your dignity had deserted you, River supposed there were no limits to how far you could exceed yourself.
“I hope you’re not talking about River’s mother like that,” said Alice.
River didn’t dare clock Terry’s expression, could practically feel the steam emanating from his ears.
“Yeah,” said Hayley.
River had been wondering how long his third favourite woman in the world would be able to stay out of this.
“Your dad deserves a little happiness now… and if that’s with his mother,” she gave River a mutual nod as if to confirm his mutual ranking in her world, “so be it. Anyways Lady Muck, from what I’ve been told, you were the one to come up with the idea of a travel group. You shot yourself in the foot there if you didn’t want Terry mixing with the women.” She threw in a laugh accompanied, of course, by a snort.
“The lady’s right, you can’t eternally blame your parents for the way life’s turned out.”
A man seated towards the back of the gathering, until now hidden completely from River’s line of vision, and, going by the look of glee on Hayley’s face, hers too, stood then.
“Everybody has a shovel load of crap to deal with at some point in their childhood,” TV Exec Bob went on. “I’m living proof of that, and look what I’ve achieved, all despite one of the most working class, broken family beginnings you could imagine.”
“He’s right.” River took over the imaginary baton he felt had been handed to him. “And at least you started out with both parents around; at least you and Blake had each other.”
Blake half-raised an eyebrow at that; sort of conceding River might have a small point.
“Look at me. I’ve probably got any number of half siblings roaming around the planet, and I’m lumbered with a father who up and left before my goddess of a mother had even popped me out – a father who, as it turns out was probably my flaming band manager, unbeknownst to either of us for over a decade, a father who could give your beloved Lord Pervert a run for his money,” the latter slipping out of River’s mouth before he could stop it, but fortunately nobody was any the wiser and so he carried on. “But what would you know, I’m actually relatively unscathed… even after all that.”
“Speaking of numbers,” Terry interrupted, “what she’s not told you is she’s had any number of invites out to sunny Spain from her mother. I’ve told her she should go, learn the lingo, stay a season or two, put the past behind her, and see where the wind takes her.”
“And as for him,” Terry nodded at his son, “he’s got possibilities that could turn into permanent commitments back here if he gets his act together.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Da—?”
Terry walked to the door then, heads following him as if he were the tennis ball in a Wimbledon final, he ignored his son’s question and moments later called in a young boy, a young boy who turned out to be Blake’s son. Blake’s ex-wife trailed, protectively, not far behind him, she stood at the door with arms folded, looking on unconvinced. Ethan ran across to his dad and Blake began to sob.
It was a magical moment, all traces of anger at River’s former friend, dissolving in a heartbeat. Hurt people hurt people, and that was all there was to it.
“I’m sorry… I will sort my head out now, no more letting you down anymore, I promise… I promise you and your mum. I really will be a proper dad to you from now on.”
“Don’t get too used to this, it’s early days, and I am categorically not part of the plan,” said Blake’s ex.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, love.” Georgina just had to pipe up again, one last time. “He’s got himself a Zara now, pop next door if you want to check out the competition… might have to wait until the morning though: shop’s shut at the moment.”
“The only thing that should be shut now is your mouth!” shouted Blake, his eyes finally seeing through the malice of his sibling. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to come out with it like that… I’m just fed up with her butting into my life all the time. Dad’s right, Sis, best thing you can do for yourself now, best thing you can do for all of us is to fly out to Benidorm… tonight. Here.” He released Ethan from his embrace and walked over to Georgina, handing her a bundle of notes. “Take what you need and come back when you’ve got your head straight, but I’m inclined to say preferably never. There’s nothing for you here, all you seem to do is cause everyone grief.”
Georgina accepted the cash in her right hand, and, with the mock bump still tucked under her wing, she turned on her heel, walked out the door, and didn’t look back.
“Pains me to say it,” said Terry, “but I’m kind of hoping that’s the last I’ll see of my daughter for some years, until she’s matured, got her head screwed back on, made a life for herself. All of which is highly unlikely under the influence of the mother who had umpteen affairs when our George was a wee nipper, but still, one lives in hope.”
“You did your best, Terry,” said Heather, looping her arm in his.
“Yes, you did, Dad, you did a stellar job. I, for one, am thankful, it can’t have been easy.”
“Nothing worthwhile ever is, Son.”
“Ha, don’t think you’re off the hook already. You have a lot to prove,” Blake’s ex-wife retorted again, still reluctant to desert the frontline of the bar. “Until I’m persuaded otherwise, until the courts are too, everything’s gonna be through and with your dad, Blake. I don’t trust you without Terry. You’ve got a lot of winning back in that department to do, before I grant you any time alone with our child.”
Blake smiled, acknowledging the truth in her decision. Clearly there was a lot that both had, and hadn’t, gone on behind closed doors in their relationship. He genuinely hoped Blake would make amends, turn his life around now he had been given the chance.
Gradually, with nothing further to publicly announce, individual conversations started to spring up until they became fountains of fun. The travel agents – although only merry – had begun a worm-ish Conga, grabbing at people to join them as they wended their way around the bar, ever hopeful it would grow into a snake; Lee and Jonie were clearing away glasses, providing the last of the Irish Creams to the most recent arrivals, Blake had departed with Terry, Ethan and his ex-wife, unbelievably giving River a Hitler style salute, and perhaps more unbelievably still, not batting an eyelid at Alice, whose magic had inexplicably worn off.
Perhaps Zara really was the woman who had achieved the impossible? He’d choose to believe that anyway, just as he’d choose to interpret Blake’s extremist parting gesture as an olive branch of sorts. Heather hovered a short way behind them at the doorway, waving them off, more radiant than River remembered her ever being in any of the outlandish outfits she had donned for her processions and conventions.
Could anybody be leaving this bar on a better potential happily ever after? New beginnings called for each and every person who’d celebrated and deliberated that particular evening in December 2017. Of course, this was in no small part thanks to one group of very special Toltex Indians, in no small part thanks to one marvellously mystical woman named Mercedes – who River quickly realised shared joint third place on his Favourite Females in the World list.
Yet all of this was also, in no small part, thanks to himself for having the belief to listen to his inner voice that day almost a year ago, when it led him deep into the Mexican campo. Despite the twists and turns that inner knowing had led to, it had proven just about the best life lesson: to think with his heart, not his head. And now, for however many years he had left on this planet, he vowed to remember it. Well, as much as was humanly possible, anyway.
Belief is everything.
Wasn’t that what Felix had said when he’d dropped him off at his hotel? It had been a placebo all along, nothing more than a bottle of water – on paper at least. Except River chose to think otherwise; this was no ordinary water. This wasn’t even water from the town’s Chalice Well, or nearby Bath’s Roman Spa. This was ‘a little bit special’ in the words of one Terry. It was water with one super powerful blessing, all right.
***
River squeezed Alice’s hand. He took a deep breath and started up the ignition.
“So… where are we driving to now, James?”
“God, you are starting to sound Somerset again.”
They both giggled at that, the relief enveloping the Citroën and themselves in a warmth that suggested the craziest, biggest bridge they would ever come to know in their relationship, had been crossed now. Those Three Billy Goats Gruff; Lennie, Blake, Georgina – four he supposed if you counted Tamara and her handiwork, far behind them.
“Actually, that might come in handy… Somerset… Cornish, they’re kind of the same.”
“I’m not so sure anybody from Cornwall would agree with you there,” said Alice.
“We could always put it to the test, what do you say?”
“We are going to Cornwall? Do you mean to say that was the surprise?”
“One of the surprises... I hear there might be a pub up for sale in that general kind of direction… a pub in need of a little cocktail bar conversion… which might just happen to be in the same village as some buildings commonly referred to as stables… with a gert lush farmhouse attached to them besides.”
“Now you’re going all Bristolian on me… and no, no, you aren’t serious… Oh, River, I—” Alice’s eyes filled up with tears.
“I think we’ve both been holed up in that caravan too long, and we’ve both put other people’s happiness first for too long.” Of the latter, River was surer than he’d ever been about anything in his life. “Time to treat ourselves now, I can’t promise I’m going to be the lucky bidder, but I’m sure as hell going to give it my best shot… kind of helps knowing your dad has offered to counterbid, should the offers exceed my retainer.”
“Daddy’s what?”
“He’s popping down next week… your mother’s blissfully unaware though… so Mum really is the word.”
“Ha,” said Alice with a smile. “That’ll be easy on my part… I’m just delighted to think he’s finally making contact, even if it is behind her back. Sometimes I wish it had been Mummy and Tamara in one house, Daddy and me in another. Family dynamics would have been a whole lot better that way.”
“If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that we don’t choose our families… well,” Heather’s reminder flashed before him, “at least not when we’re in this physical incarnation.”
“Que sera sera. Let’s look to the future now.” Alice’s grin grew wider at the very idea.
And it was no ordinary grin, but that legendary spellbinder of hers, the one that had broken Blake’s heart, the one that had broken too many wooden jerks of an actor’s hearts, but the one that hopefully wouldn’t do the same to River’s.
She couldn’t have sounded more like Mercedes when she said that, and that had to stand his vulnerability in good stead, at the very least – the rest he’d make up as he went along. Yet those three simple Spanish words were as true in his life and Alice’s, as they were in anybody else’s, be it a question of labour or love, Blake or Georgina, the world’s most off-the-wall-and-all-the-more-beautiful-for-it taxi driver, or heck, even the Rigby-Chandlers.
Except in English they translate to five words: what will be, will be.
River Jackson would take it one step further than that though: when we want something so badly that we’re scared it might consume our very soul, and then we surrender to that soul’s dark night; when we get out of our own way and stay there just a little while, finally, one morning we rise to see that the universe had our back all along, the dark clouds have parted, the sun is shining, and we have arrived at that perfect place.
THE END