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He pulls the door open and looks over his shoulder, finding my eyes. ‘Stop looking at my arse,’ he murmurs, and then exits, leaving behind a load of potty female hormones dancing around the bar.
‘What a darling!’ Mum sings, stumbling over to congratulate me. ‘Oh, Eleanor, he’s perfect.’
I wince as she hauls me in for a hug. Perfectly sinful, that’s what he is. ‘You don’t know him, Mum,’ I sigh, breaking her hold.
‘So tell me, then.’
I give her a look, one tinged with worry, and thumb over my shoulder. ‘You saw him.’ How pathetic. I can’t come up with something better than that? Actually, no, I can’t. Unless I tell her the truth. Which I can’t.
‘So why have you come running back to Mummy?’
‘Because . . .’ My words fade, and I frantically search through my mind for the plausible explanation I need. ‘I can’t get involved with my boss.’
‘That doesn’t seem to bother him.’ She clucks my cheek. ‘He seems wonderful.’
She’s known him for all of three bloody seconds. Good God, if only she knew. I really can’t share, and it has nothing to do with my signature on Becker’s NDA.
She rubs my arm comfortingly. ‘Did he cheat on you?’
‘No,’ I blurt out, and immediately regret it. I should have said yes. That would have swayed Mum’s opinion of Becker perfectly. She saw what I went through after what David did to me.
‘Not every man will betray you, Eleanor.’
I adopt something close to a sulky face and turn towards the bar. What does she know? He already has, albeit it in a totally different way. ‘Another, please, Paul,’ I grumble. ‘A big one.’
‘Coming up,’ he agrees easily, swinging into action. ‘Want something stronger?’
My ears prick up. ‘You got an anxiety pill?’
Paul laughs, gesturing to the top shelf. ‘Take your pick, sweetheart.’
My eyes drift from one end of the top shelf to the other. Yes, I should get plastered so I can’t physically walk outside to him. ‘Any recommendations?’
‘Limoncello,’ he suggests, pouring me a shot and passing it over. I neck it at once and slam the glass down, wincing, before I’m quickly baulking at the sight of my mother leaning across the bar kissing Paul.
‘Mum,’ I cry, watching, totally horrified, as she eats Paul alive. ‘Oh God.’ I help myself to the bottle of limoncello and pour another, throwing it back, then immediately another, anything to keep me busy. I come up for air and find she’s still at it, so I carry on downing the sweet stuff like it’s going out of fashion, hoping it might scrub my brain at the same time. Oh my days, this is too much. Trying to accept that she’s found a new lease of life is one thing, even if I’m struggling like hell. Watching her gobble the face off that new lease of life is a whole different story.
I’m all out of limoncello.
‘Mum, please.’
It takes Paul to detach my mother from his shirt and push her back onto her stool, and she doesn’t make it easy for him. ‘Sorry, Eleanor.’ Paul laughs, a little embarrassed. I want to run away but lurking outside is another brain burner.
I signal to a bottle of limoncello behind the bar, but quickly snatch my hand back, thinking I could do with something even stronger. ‘Actually, give me a Jäger.’
Paul fulfils my request quickly, sliding it across the bar saloon-style. I catch it accurately and throw it back, gasping. ‘Perfect.’ I cough, wiping my mouth. I just want to get absolutely shit-faced and forget . . . everything.
‘I’m not sure getting blind drunk is such a good idea, darling,’ Mum pipes up. ‘He looked like he wanted a serious talk.’
I laugh loudly and point to my glass again. Paul obliges, and after I’ve downed another shot, I flop forward and let my forehead meet the bar. Hard. Then I lift and let it fall back down again and again, taking pleasure from the consistent thuds shuddering through my brain. I’m hoping to physically knock some sense into me, because there’s a man waiting outside and I’m having to lock down every muscle in order to stop them from engaging and taking me to him. It’s like a bizarre magnetic pull hauling me backwards, and it defies everything my pounding head is telling me.
I let loose with a few more head thwacks on the bar, causing an audible bang each time, which I’m sure Becker can probably hear from outside the pub.
‘Eleanor,’ Mum cries, pulling me back up and checking my forehead. I let my body sag on the stool while she faffs all over me. Then she takes my chin and holds it firmly. ‘Now, then. Enough of that,’ she says, jiggling my face a little, probably because my eyes are wandering through drunkenness. ‘Paul, water, please,’ she orders as I blink rapidly. ‘Here.’ Mum tips a glass to my lips, and I gulp it all down ravenously, joining her in the urgency to cancel out the alcohol that I’ve just purged on. What was I thinking? Getting drunk would be stupid. I’m better than this recklessness. I pause for thought. Am I really? After all, recklessness got me in this mess in the first place.
