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‘You’re working,’ he said and frowned at himself.Where was his brain?Okay, so he wasn’t Einstein, not a genius like his best mate Owen, but surely, he could string at least one sentence together without stating the frigging obvious and sounding like an idiot.
‘Yes, I am.’ Millie nodded. ‘Pete asked me to come in and do a double shift to help him out. Sandra’s gone off sick. Though if you ask me, she’s swinging the lead. I wouldn’t be surprised if she isn’t on her way to Brighton right now for a day by the sea.’
‘That would be nice.’
‘Yes, it would, wouldn’t it?’ Millie’s bright eyes sparkled. ‘Pity I’m working.’ She lifted the glasses she had been collecting as if to emphasise the situation and then edged her way between customers to get to the bar. George followed her.
‘Wouldyoulike to go to Brighton?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely, especially on a day like today. It’s going to be a scorcher. Now what can I get you, George?’
George ordered a pint, and after serving him, Millie dived into the chaos of the lunchtime rush, and she didn’t have time to speak to him again until his glass was empty, and the city types were going back to their offices. But by then, he had a plan.
‘Are you working at the weekend?’ he asked, as he watched Millie pulling his second pint.
‘No, Pete has given me Saturday and Sunday off as a thank you for helping him out today.’
‘That’s good of him. What will you do with all that free time?’
‘Don’t know. Haven’t really given it much thought, there’s been no time.’
Millie shoved the glass across the bar and George deftly caught it, took it to his mouth and savoured the aroma before taking a thirst-quenching mouthful. He’d spent the last thirty minutes (maybe longer) rehearsing what he was going to say next. He’d better not mess it up.
‘Millie…’ he paused, watching her wipe the ring of beer that his glass had left on the bar. ‘Millie, I’d like to take you to Brighton at the weekend. If you would let me.’
She dropped the cloth and stared at him.
Was that surprise or shock he could see on her face? Was she appalled or embarrassed? Was she…?
‘Oh, George. That is nice of you.’
But he thought, here comes a but… but I can’t because you’re not who I thought you were. You’re a criminal. Although she probably wouldn’t say that. She’d simply find a suitable excuse, flat to clean, hair to wash. That sort of thing. He had to speak now. Stop her saying no.
‘Not a dirty weekend,’ he rushed. ‘I didn’t mean that. Separate rooms. Nice respectable bed and breakfast. Fish and chips on the prom. Swim in the sea and sunbathe on the beach. Walk on the pier and through the gardens. Maybe go to the Royal Pavilion… have you been there?’
‘No.’ She shook her head.
‘No? Good. That’s good. I can take you. There’s a theatre as well in Brighton, so in the evening we can go to a show if there’s something good on. Then back to separate rooms. All respectful.’
‘Oh, George.’ Millie’s eyes glistened. Horrified, George stared. Was she going to cry? He hadn’t meant to upset her. Oh, God… it had gone wrong again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, wanting to leap across the bar like heroes sometimes did in films. Take her in his arms, tell her he hadn’t meant to upset her. He’d just wanted to take her somewhere nice. Spend time with her… that’s all. He hadn’t meant to make her cry.
It was rainingon Saturday morning. George stood on his doorstep and stared despondently up at the grey clouds. How could this happen to him?
They were supposed to go to Brighton today. He’d booked the train tickets, trawled online to find a clean bed & breakfast with separate rooms available. Everything was arranged for an idyllic sunlit weekend by the sea and now it was raining, and the forecast said it would be wet for the whole day.
‘Never mind,’ Millie said, smiling at him when, ten minutes later, he stood on her doorstep, like a lost puppy, rain dripping from his spiky ginger hair. ‘We can still go. But come in now and get dried off. Where’s your raincoat?’
‘In my bag.’ He shrugged his rucksack.
She shook her head at him in the same gently exasperated way his mother did when he’d done something stupid.
‘Well, come on in now. We’ve got time for a coffee before we go.’ She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the communal hallway of her building.
This was the first time he’d been inside where she lived. Including the very first night, he had walked Millie home exactly five times, but he’d never been invited in before. Perhaps it was progress. He followed her up the stairs, curious to see her flat.
‘This is George,’ she announced to the two girls sitting at a breakfast bar. One had very short bleach blonde hair and a nose ring, the other had frizzy brown hair and large, heavy-rimmed glasses that made her look like an owl in a wig.
