She Forgot Her Wallet

From Robin, a Living

I saw Janine arrive, so I faced the couple under the tele. Caught a flash of the pink of her coat, the one with too many pockets. Her funnelled to the bar by bristle with voices and women with earrings that dangled and sparkled.

I thought about leaving, but my glass wasn’t empty.

Someone called for a mojito, and I imagined Seamus sighing. But he wouldn’t, would Seamus. He’s a good barkeep. Might even be laughing at their jokes, raising a quizzical brow at a sultry joke egged on by office booze. I wanted to turn, catch his eye, but then Janine might have seen me and made her way over.

The couple under the tele wore crepe crowns, green and red. Were holding hands. Him, wet ale the colour of Henry, the golden retriever who induced me to value the treasure of long walks. Her, tomato juice. Celery phallic in its reach above the brim

If she came over, Janine, I had planned to tell her I was waiting for friends. I imagined she would take a seat. Possibly the one nearest me.

Dismissed escape to the bathroom out of hand. They’d see me as I stood. Might bump into me. The ritual left-step, right-step, when two people access a toilet-door corridor from opposite ends. The safest best was sitting still. Bent knees and lowered head. Finish my beer.

Looked over my shoulder. The bar was collage, but no pink. No coat collar that’s soft to the touch. A damn to dry.

My beer was cool. I brushed at the beads collecting on the glass, wiped my fingers dry on the pine table. The couple under the tele shared a kiss. I drank deeply. Winced. Fizz stung my throat.

‘Easy there, big fella. You’ll be wanting another?’ Seamus clapped my shoulder, but I didn’t turn.

Said, ‘No. No I don’t think so. I’ve gotta get going.’

‘Oh aye, ya sure about that?’

I swallowed more beer. The woman with the tomato juice wrapped purple-stained lips about the top of the celery and crunched. The heel of a purple stiletto was against the man’s calf.

‘I’ll be going,’ I said, and drained my glass and made to stand. Seamus started to collect glasses from other tables. I shrugged on my coat, face still towards the couple, towards the tele.

That’s when I saw the pink again. Beyond the frosted glass of the pub. Moving away. From pub door to car park. Janine was leaving.

I turned, eyes raked the people propped up against the bar, those sat at the saloon tables. Heavy ankles stepped in time beneath a disco ball. Janine’s ankles were not there.

‘Seamus, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take another beer.’

He nodded. Empty glasses clinked as he rounded the bar, and I sat again. Spread my legs. Angled the wooden table, so I could see the bar and the tele, too. She’d gone.

Checked my phone, no message.

She hadn’t seen me. Or, she had. And then, she had left.

‘I’ve stuck it on your tab.’

‘Thanks Seamus. You’re a pal.’

Glass shattered somewhere. A cheer went up. I raised my glass to it along with some others. Didn’t smile though. Checked my phone again and drew my legs back into myself.

A group was shooting back shots of tequila. They grimaced, their faces pulled tight. Tighter than their jeans. They ordered another round, leaned against one another.

I looked at the couple under the tele, sipped my beer. Sipped some more.

‘Robin?’

Janine had matched the colour of her shoes to her coat. I could see that then. Pink slip ons, bright against a carpet that worked for a living.

I looked up. Back to the tele. Back to Janine.

‘Waiting for friends,’ I said, waving at the empty stools. ‘Do you wanna go toilet?’

‘What? Are you alright?’

‘Fine. Why you here?’

‘Christmas drinks… How are you?’

‘Saw you leave. The pub, I mean.’

‘Yeh. I’d forgotten my wallet. You saw me then, knew I was here?’

‘Saw you leave, so. Didn’t need to say nothing. Just drinking up and going.’

She leaned in then. She kissed me on my forehead. The collar of her jacket was soft against my cheek and I could smell the perfume bottle that sits on the second shelf of the bathroom cabinet.

‘Take care, Robin.’