‘I’m really sorry about that.’
‘I like you,’ Nikki said. ‘I can be honest about it. It’s not that complicated for me.’
‘It’s complicated for me. I need a chance to explain myself. There are circumstances which are quite out of my control.’
‘It’s always circumstances, isn’t it? Some foggy power that guys can’t control.’
‘That’s not fair.’
Nikki went quiet. Jason continued. ‘I like you too, Nikki. A lot. But I need to talk to you in person about where I am at the moment. Can I see you tonight?’
Nikki didn’t want to give in so easily but she also wanted to see him. She let the silence linger. ‘Nikki?’ Jason asked. His voice was soft and uncertain.
‘Yeah, all right,’ Nikki said. Last chance, she thought, though she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Steve with the Racist Grandfather had a girl with him. Her long strawberry-blonde hair swayed across her back as she tipped her head to laugh at whatever he was whispering into her ear. This was worthy of announcement. Nikki texted Olive:
Steve has a girlfriend!
Olive’s immediate reply:
I’d come over to see, but have Parents Evening. Is she inflatable?
A live one! Can’t believe someone would go out with him.
I know! All the good men are taken and all the shit men aren’t even learning how shit they are.
Any luck overseas?
Nope. Lisbon Boy didn’t speak much English. My intellect needs as much stimulation as my other places.
Nikki replied with a winking face and returned her attention to the customers. Grace was taking orders from a group of men in suits on the end of the bar. She gave Nikki a wave. ‘How’s yer mum, darl?’ she asked.
‘She’s good.’
‘Not too cold any more. Tell ’er summer’s coming.’
Grace was right. The chill in the air seemed duller by the day and there were moments of lingering warmth in the afternoons. Soon, summer would arrive. The café next door would open its outdoor courtyard and the occasional American tourist would pop in for an authentic English pub experience and find O’Reilly’s distinct lack of charm disappointing. Nikki would still be working here. This bothered her more than usual. She had a quick vision of herself growing into Grace, her raspy voice chatting up customers she had served for decades.
Steve’s loud laugh broke Nikki’s thoughts. ‘Nikki, check out this guy on TV. Nola’s saying he should drop the musical act and focus on being Osama Bin Laden’s body double.’ A skinny turbaned man wearing a traditional kurta sat on the vast stage and expertly slapped the heels of his palms against a tabla.
The girl shifted uncomfortably. ‘That’s what you said,’ she protested.
The camera closed in on the panel of judges watching the drummer with intensity. It was Britain’s Got Talent. Nikki returned to the bar to search for the remote control. Although Grace was busy with customers, they couldn’t afford to have her crying over some contestant’s heartrending backstory. Where the hell was the remote control? She rushed to Sam’s office and knocked on the door. No answer, but the door wasn’t locked. His desk was a mess of paperwork and coffee stains. Nikki found the remote control on his chair, where he must have absent-mindedly left it. She returned to the bar and switched the channel.
‘We were watching that,’ Steve said.
‘Now you’re watching Top Gear,’ Nikki said.
Customers trickled through the door. None were Jason. Nikki took note of the time – it was past nine now. She checked her phone for missed calls. Nothing. She sent him a text. ‘You still planning on coming tonight?’ Her thumb hovered over the Send button. It sounded whiny. Desperate. She deleted the message.
The kitchen door opened. Garry emerged, balancing two large plates on his arm. ‘You seen Sam?’ Garry asked when he returned from serving.
‘He’s not in his office,’ Nikki said.
‘Tell him I’m going,’ Garry said. ‘I quit.’
‘What? Right now?’
‘Now,’ Garry said.
‘What happened?’
‘Wages here is shit,’ Garry said. ‘I ask for raise – he say, maybe, maybe. Then nothing. Viktor also quit.’
Through the glass panel on the door, Nikki could see Viktor packing up his belongings. ‘Garry, it’s really busy.’
Garry shrugged.
‘Can’t you finish up your shift and then talk to him?’
Viktor came out of the kitchen. ‘Talking don’t work for us,’ he declared. ‘Maybe Sam give special raise to you when you go in his office.’
The comment gripped Nikki in the throat. She saw that somebody had changed the channel on the television again. A close-up shot of the tabla man showed him thanking the judges with his palms humbly pressed together in front of his chest. Steve pointed at the screen and chuckled. Outrage rippled through Nikki like a tidal wave.
‘Listen, you little fuckwits,’ she seethed. ‘I have never slept with Sam. But if I did, it would be none of your damn business. You two can quit if you like – that would make my life much easier. But if you change your minds and decide to stay, I’d suggest you focus on doing your damn jobs properly. Maybe then Sam might consider you competent enough to pay you the wages you feel entitled to.’
A hush fell over the pub. Thin applause crackled on the television screen as the tabla player left the stage. From the corner, Steve let out a low whistle. ‘You tell it like it is, Nikki,’ he said.
Nikki whipped around to face Steve. ‘Oh, don’t you pretend to be any better. I’ve put up with your racist rubbish for too long. I don’t care that you’re a customer. You can pack up your ignorant comments and get out as well.’
Nikki strode to the middle of the room. ‘For everybody’s information, the entertainment in this establishment is decided upon by the management.’ She pointed a thumb to her chest. ‘Me. I decide what’s playing on that screen. Whoever’s got the remote, you have ten seconds to return it to me or at least change the channel because we’re not watching Britain’s Got Bloody Talent.’
Grace stepped forward and produced the remote control with a guilty duck of her head. Somebody in the back of the room started an ill-advised slow clap, which quickly died. Nikki changed the channel and went back behind the bar, where Garry and Viktor shared a nervous glance and retreated to the kitchen.
‘Why don’t you take the rest of the shift off, luv? I’ve got this,’ Grace said.
‘I’m fine. It was just … they say such insulting things and I’ve started getting angry at myself for not saying anything and—’
Grace’s face was wide with understanding. ‘You said what you had to say, darling. No need to explain.’
‘I didn’t mean to be so harsh about the remote control,’ Nikki said.
‘That’s quite all right,’ Grace said. ‘I don’t know what that show does to me but the tears start coming and I just can’t stop crying. You’ve seen it.’