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‘Family,’ he’d said, a wide grin on his gunmetal-silver-bearded face. ‘It was all about family. That’s why Wolf joined. He didn’t have any family. So now, I’m his old man. You know. Kinda.’
Sophia knew exactly what he meant.
Next to Marcus was his Little, Tati, who kept glancing over at Sophia to make sure that her makeup and hairdo were still in good order. Tati was a riot of joy and exuberance, and so confident too. Her hair was up in neon pink bunches and her tan skin was dotted with tiny, tattooed stars. She wore a strip of leather round her neck — a collar Marcus had given her when they’d first committed to each other twenty years ago.
Rainer was here, and — of course — Baron and Molly. They sat together at a table with another Little that Sophia didn’t actually recognize. She had bright green eyes and pouty pink lips. Her style was interesting — almost all her clothes were diaphanous. Light and floaty, almost translucent. Maybe she was with Rainer? From what Wolf said, the guy usually had a couple girls on the go at any one time.
She saw plenty of other familiar faces, too. There was Crank, running some kind of illicit poker game at a booth in the corner. Jock — a barrel-chested bear of a man — was holding court, his thick Scottish accent sounding out like thunder across a plain. On another table, Trip and Ulysses — twins, of course — took it in turns to drink ever-larger slugs of whiskey. Their faces, normally close to identical, looked surprisingly different right now. Trip looked as though his alcohol tolerance was quite a bit higher than his brother’s.
There was a sudden burst of silence as the song came to an end. Eyes flicked instinctively over to the corner of the room where, instead of a standard sound system, Wolf had insisted on installing a vintage jukebox.
‘That way, we can cheer or boo whatever choices the boys make.’
Right now, Rainer was standing next to the box, grinning expectantly as his song started. He was obviously confident in his choice — and with good reason.
As the opening chords of Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac played out, a cheer went up around the bar. Normally, the thought of dozens of tipsy, beefy men throwing up devil horns and head-banging along to classic rock would have seemed corny to Sophia. Bikers are just losers, right? But today, as she looked out over the revelers, she couldn’t help but smile. It felt as though she was being carried up high on a cloud of positivity, of love.
The Drifters were back home, and they weren’t fucking around.
She never thought that she’d hear burly, dangerous mensinging. Let alone like this, with passion and pride.
‘Go Your Own Way.’
The meaning of the words resonated within her.
As a little bit of controlled chaos started to unfold in the bar, Sophia glanced over at Wolf. He was staring at her, a look of unbridled happiness on his face.
‘’Scuse me?’
The Little in the pastel-colored diaphanous clothes was standing at the bar. She had tiny flecks of glitter on her cheeks and a rainbow face-painted on next to her eyes.
‘Can I help?’ Sophia asked. Her stuffie restorer job didn’t usually involve speaking to customers, so she was a little out of practice. Still, she was doing her best.
‘Course you can, hun,’ said the glitter-faced, rainbow-cheeked, flowerchild. ‘I’d just love a Peach Bellini.’ As she spoke, there was a surge of raucous singing from the crowd.
‘A Peach Blippi?’ Sophia was sure she hadn’t quite heard it right.
‘Bellini. It’s a cocktail. It’s like… um… I think… peach juice and fizzy stuff.’
Sophia nodded nervously. She hadn’t actually made any cocktails yet. Funnily enough, the bikers in the bar stuck to beers or spirits, which were a little easier to serve.
‘Bellini, right, sure,’ Sophia said. ‘Just give me a minute and we’ll have it ready to go.’
Plans flashed through her mind. Maybe she could google the cocktail on her phone under the bar? Maybe she could just guess the ingredients? How hard could it be? Peach juice and fizz — that’s what she’d said.
‘So, what’s your name?’ Sophia said, trying to sound as though she was totally calm and failing.
‘Esmeralda. But everyone calls me Esme.’ She smiled — Esme had some of the cutest dimples that Sophia had ever seen.
‘Are you Rainer’s Little?’
Sophia crouched down, looking through the bottles of juice in the under-the-counter fridge Wolf had installed just a few days ago.
Esme snorted. ‘Me and Rainer? No way. He hates my guts. We’re like chalk and cheese.’
‘Chalk and cheese?’
‘Yeah,’ Esme had a dreamy tone in her voice as the music thumped away in the background. The song had moved on — Sophia didn’t recognize this one, but it was a lot harder and heavier sounding than Fleetwood Mac. ‘He’s like a hundred percent all about bikes. Chains. Gears. Pistons. Grease. Oil. Exhaust.’ There was something about the way she said the words — as though there was some longing there.
