Annie
My head is filled with Hunter Reed once more. I can’t think past him, and I can’t figure out how we ended up here, with him a part of my sister’s life but not mine. It’s been a year since I last saw him, so why do the anger and hurt still feel so fresh? Maybe because he didn’t say any of the things I’d imagined him saying when I saw him again, such as, ‘It’s so good to see you again. I’m sorry for leaving. How can I fix this?’
‘Earth to Annie,’ James says, waving a hand in front of my face.
‘Sorry.’ I try to focus.
‘Have a go,’ he says, stepping back from the beer tap.
After a week of cleaning tables and collecting glasses, James has decided I’m ready to learn the bar. Now to do this without embarrassing myself.
‘Remember, if there’s too much head’—he laughs—‘like there is right now, just keep the tap going a little longer.’
I watch the froth spill over, then hold the glass up to inspect it. ‘You really don’t need to wipe it?’
A smile flickers on his face. ‘No, you most definitely don’t need to wipe it. That’s why we have runners all along the bar.’ He takes the glass from me and carries it down to one of his regular patrons. ‘On the house, Tony.’
Tony salutes him.
‘Okay. Time for a lesson on wine,’ James says when he returns.
Another week passes in a blur of sticky tables and drunk patrons hitting on me as I collect their glasses. James must notice, because at the end of my second week, he moves me permanently to the bar.
At the end of each shift, I arrive home exhausted.
‘How was work?’ Bridget asks me every night.
And I give her the same answer each time. ‘Good. You?’
Her responses are a little more varied. ‘Fine’ or ‘Slow’ or ‘Busy’. Then she proceeds to paint until bedtime.
‘You haven’t made any jewellery since you arrived,’ she says to me randomly one night.
‘I don’t have any materials.’
‘So get some.’
I watch her mix purple on the paint palette. ‘I’ll need to raid some thrift shops.’
She looks up at me. ‘I could take you on Saturday.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
And just like that I have a date with my sister.
The following Saturday, Bridget drives me around Paddington and Newstead, where I stock up on old leather belts and handbags.
On the drive home, we’re stopped at a set of traffic lights when she asks, ‘Have you spoken to Mum since you got here?’
‘No.’
I think she’s waiting for me to change my mind, to run home, to leave her. Perhaps she’s waiting for me to break her heart like she did mine.
She drops me at work on the way back. James asked me to work a Saturday shift, and I didn’t hesitate in saying yes. I prefer to be busy. Being idle leaves room for thinking, and I definitely don’t want to do that.
The Saturday night shift turns out to be fun. The weekend staff are all around my age. Students, mostly. Plus it’s busy, which makes the time fly by. When we close, everyone helps clean the place up, then settles at the bar for a drink. This is what normal people do, and I don’t have to be the girl who leaves anymore.
‘What’ll it be?’ James asks.