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“Aye.”
“Go on.” I’ll decide what’s to be done, but it does no harm to listen to suggestions.
“I were workin’ this bar afore that lass were born. You, too, I daresay. I can manage this place wi’ me eyes shut.”
“Not on your own,” I counter. “What about overnight cover?”
“I been stoppin’ ’ere at night. I ken what needs tae be done.”
“I appreciate what you’ve done. So does Jenna. She sends her thanks. But we still need someone to—”
“Pull pints.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“All we need is a wee laddie tae pull a pint or two, let me see tae the rest. Oh, an’ if he can manage tae bring up a few bottles now an’ then, so much the better…”
“You want bar staff?”
“More use than a bloody manager. There’s plenty round ’ere as’d like a job. Young folk, like.”
“You’ve someone in mind?”
“As it ’appens, I do.”
“Right. Here’s what we’ll do, then. You appoint your bar assistant. Minimum wage, mind. And I’ll send someone over to be here at nights, just for security. You run the place until Jenna’s back. Does that suit?”
Her answering glower tells me what she thinks of my meddling, but Molly is a wise old stick and knows when to gather up her winnings and settle for what’s on offer. “I suppose ye’ll be wantin’ a pint, then?”
I allow myself a grin. “Wouldn’t mind.”
The next halfhour or so passes in companionable silence, broken only by the arrival of two girls wearing aprons and hauling buckets, a mop, and a broom. They can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen years old.
“Ladies’ needs a good goin’ over,” Molly says, barely glancing up from emptying the glass washer. “Then ye can wipe over in ’ere afore it gets busy.”
“Right,” one of them answers. “We’ll be needing more disinfectant.”
“In the back.” Molly jerks her thumb over her shoulder.
One of the girls scuttles off for the supplies while the other heads for the ladies’ toilet.
“They work here?” I lean over the bar to keep my voice down. “Are you sure they’re old enough to be messing about with cleaning chemicals.”
Molly shares me an exasperated look. “Kylie an’ Sharon’ll no’ be messin’ about, lad. They’re good wee lassies, those two. Good workers.”
I’m not convinced but I let it go at that. I have my eye on the pair and I’ll see for myself.
Twenty minutes later, the toilets seem to be finished. The girls return to the main bar and set to with a vacuum cleaner and dusters.
“Any news on Miss Delaney?” One of the cleaners switches off her hoover and pauses to lean on the bar.
“Ye’d best ask ’im, lass.” Molly tips her chin in my direction. “‘E’s ’er young man an’ ’e seems tae think ’e’s in charge now.”
The girl eyes me up and down, seemingly finds me acceptable. “Well? When’s she coming back? Did they catch them as did it?”
“Who’s asking?” I enquire.
“I’m Kylie. She’s Sharon. Mrs Mop.”
