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‘Bar Orama? That’s a cracking name.’
‘It is, isn’t it? The guy that owns it, Kev, he’s a right card. I think you’ll like him. Sunday night it should be quiet. Unless you want to try your hand at karaoke.’
Holly’s face dropped. ‘Nope, never. I can’t sing to save myself. Can you?’
‘I’ve been known to sing a tune or two. Usually after a few shots.’
‘Should I be worried that we just did two shots of tequila at yours?’
‘You never know. What happens in Bar Orama stays in Bar Orama.’
* * *
The restof the walk went by in a flash. Holly was so easy to talk to. Jen’s bad mood was a distant memory now, Alison’s voicemail firmly cemented in the past. It felt like weeks had passed, not hours.
She learned that Holly preferred savoury to sweet. She’d studied illustration at university in Dundee. She loved bath bombs. And, she wanted to use her portion of the winnings to start a business. She’s been quite reserved in sharing exactly what that business might be, but Jen got it. Sometimes an idea needed to flesh itself out before you fully shared it.
‘Here we are: Bar Orama. After you,’ Jen said, holding the door open.
Dolly Parton’s dulcet tones spilt over them as they entered, and a few patrons sussed them out before returning to their conversations. Jen was right, it was quiet. Only a handful of the bar’s two dozen tables were occupied.
She wasn’t surprised to find it unchanged from when she’d last set foot in its door. The same tatty booths lined the left-hand wall, the mismatched chairs and tables hadn’t even changed position, and the stage was still haloed by a shimmering silver backdrop. The only subtle difference was that the naked cowboy pictures were now slightly more faded.
A girl in a baseball cap made no effort to hide the fact she was checking Holly out as they passed, and Jen was surprised by the protective swell in her chest. She squashed it down, choosing to ignore it.
Jen was at the bar before she recognised who was serving. ‘Travis, as I live and breathe. You look amazing! Your beard, oh my God,’ she gushed. When she’d left, Travis had only just started taking testosterone. He was a baby-faced boy then; now he was a hairy heart-throb.
‘Jen Berkley. Shut up. Is it really you?’ He whipped around the bar faster than Usain Bolt on roller skates and enveloped Jen in a tight hug. ‘What brings you here?’
‘Fancied a few drinks. Heard it was half-decent here.’
‘Only half? Don’t let Kev hear you say that,’ he joked.
‘He about?’
‘Yeah, through the back, I’ll get him in a min. And who’s this?’ he asked with a smile, retaking his position behind the bar as he nodded towards Holly.
‘This is Holly.’
Holly gave a little wave. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’
‘And you too.’ He gave Jen a look as if he was figuring out the dynamics between the two women. ‘And what can I get you to drink?’
‘I’m going to have a wine – what about you?’ she asked Holly.
‘White? We could share a bottle?’
‘Of course. Sauvignon Blanc okay?’
‘Sounds good to me, and this is my treat.’
‘No – you sure?’
Holly nodded, nudging Jen out the way with her hip. ‘Sure. You saved me from a night in my pyjamas.’
Travis’s lips curled into a sly smirk. ‘Right, bottle of Savvy B coming up. You grab a seat, I’ll bring it over.’
They plumped for a booth up the back and got comfy.
