Chapter Three
GEORGINA
It couldn’t have been simpler. She wouldn’t deny that she hadn’t enjoyed herself. He was definitely as experienced as she’d hoped, and his willingness to bend so easily to her spontaneous behaviour had certainly helped turn her on.
But then Georgina would do anything for her boys; her dad and Blake were her world.
Of course there was the not so small matter of pre-empting Blake finding out about the sudden career change. But it turned out that was nothing but a minor kink to which she could turn her expert hand at manipulation.
“You are not working for him in that bell-end of a bar. For crying out loud, George, have some dignity.”
“Blake, can’t you see, I’m doing this for you. What’s that saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer? I just know I can get you something out of this; a long overdue upper hand to make up for his betrayal.” She paused and transported herself and her steaming coffee mug to the window for effect. “Think of all the dirty secrets I can extract about his rock star days,” she said gazing trance-like at the earthy mounds where her dad had sewn his cauliflowers in haste before summer made a mockery of his efforts. Her father’s depression had notably eased since the promise of eau de sweet pea, backyard barbecues and Georgina’s shabby apple crumble. Things were on the up now for all of them. She could sense it.
And if nothing else, River was paying her more (significantly more) than all her odd jobs put together, meaning she could wave sweet farewell to bathing oldies and their unsavoury bits, her clothes stinking of hideous wet dog fur, and an organic café full of shitty ‘cultured’ tourists and their yawn worthy complaints, backchat and measly tips.
She turned to her brother who had just finished his night shift stacking shelves at the local supermarket, and by all accounts looked ready to drop into an early grave.
“Please. Just trust me on this, I’m almost thirty. I know what I’m getting myself into. River wouldn’t dare try anything on with me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Blake’s laugh was a snort. He grabbed the TV guide from the nest of tables, positioned himself along the length of the sofa and started flicking through its pages.
“Course he wouldn’t. He’s hardly going to be interested in a local after all the international beauties he’s bedded. You wouldn’t as much as get a look in. No offence, Sis.”
I wouldn’t be so certain about that.
“No, of course not,” she said, smirking to herself as she caught the image of the Tor rising in the top left hand window pane, high above the rooftops. She took a sip of strong coffee, enjoying the bitterness and heat as she replayed her role of dominatrix last week. “None taken, Bro.”
If there was one thing nowadays that was rocket fuel to Georgina and her aspirations, particularly when it came to getting the attention of the opposite sex, it was her family’s reluctance to acknowledge her metamorphosis from Ugly Duckling to Elegant Swan. In Blake’s eyes, in her dad’s eyes, she was still climbing trees and knocking a football about in the garden. And if she wasn’t still doing that she was scurrying into Blake’s bedroom to steal his Bristol City football stickers for her ‘secret’ album, or hashing out a riff on his drum kit before he was back from footie practise, before it was mobbed by the bailiffs that fateful year when both her parents had lost their jobs and they’d had to start all over again.
Not that she’d particularly want either of them to be cooing over her physique; flawless skin, or choice of attire for a Friday night pub crawl – that would be freaky. But still. It would be nice, just for once, if they could get with the times, open their eyes to the sexy creature who’d blossomed before them, stop insinuating she was nothing but gamine.
And then there was the envelope. Obviously Blake hadn’t a clue about that either. In truth neither had Georgina, for she’d only loosely translated the letter inside.
Last Wednesday’s shenanigans had evidently left River a little jaded. When Georgina had spied the rectangular manila shape falling from his cocktail book as they’d finally stood to descend the Tor’s symmetrical terraces, and had wasted no time stuffing it into the back pocket of her jeans, remarkably, he hadn’t noticed a thing.
“Damn,” she’d said as she’d opened it carefully with a cheese knife once she was sure she had the house to herself. “I should have known it was too good to be true.”
She’d guessed it contained money, or something juicy and confidential about the band, in return for which OK Magazine or The Daily Mail would reward her handsomely.
She’d stared at the senseless Spanish words; that much she could tell about their etymology. Probably some hippie-dippy saying, like you get on those pathetically whimsical memes doing the rounds on Facebook; or the artificial ‘Dance like nobody’s watching’ style tableaus adorning just about every home in the UK. Even her former boss at the café had fallen prey to them. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to stare at ‘I cook with wine…’ the word ‘organic’ added to it in red marker pen ‘… sometimes I even add it to the food,’ anymore as she offloaded empties in the kitchen. All hail one W.C Fields for that cruddy attempt at humour.
But she was also smart enough to realise this was no Spanish shopping list of cocktail ingredients. Chances were it was a couple of lines of highly inconsequential nothingness. That’s why it took her so long to get the note translated. But then one day indifference could distract her no longer and she headed online to the Google Translate site. She was well aware of the pitfalls of not doing things the old-fashioned way with the aid of a dictionary, but she was also switched on enough to fill in the missing gaps, to spot any words whose context was questionable.
“Remember not to tamper with fate. You are entrusted with the destiny of this bottle, with the blessing of the Toltex Indians. Let the three Chosen Ones come to you. Do not chase them. And then watch the magic unfold. Ten drops exactly. No more, no less. Repeat as and when a new destination calls.”
She bit down hard on her lip in excitement, so hard she almost drew blood.
“There’s a little bit more to this coming back and setting up a cocktail bar gig than meets the eye, it would seem,” she gasped, her eyes bulging out of their sockets as she frantically scribbled the copy down, stashing the original paper and its English meaning into the note compartment of her purse.
So now the million dollar question was: How to dig deeper, and more specifically, without River noticing?
Although, when it came to the latter, he’d already more than proven himself a prize-winning numpty. She’d just have to get good – very good – at encouraging him to let his guard down. She’d build up the trust and then bingo… she could really root around. But for now not a word would she utter to Blake. It would only complicate things. No point in him rushing in all guns blazing, patience had never been his strong point. She’d be the one searching for this elusive bottle, and she’d be searching for it alone.