“What about you?” Gareth asked, not taking his eyes off Jess.
“Jess.” She nodded to me. “And Bobbie. It’s our birthday, you know.”
“Well it is now we’ve turned up,” Oliver said, grinning.
I made an effort to smile at him. “That line ever work for you?”
“I’ll let you know later.”
Ah, a joke, sort of. Maybe this talkie one wasn’t so bad. Maybe my birthday wouldn’t be a total write-off after all…
***
I was wrong. Long after Jess had dragged her pull to the dancefloor for a snog, I was leaning on the bar with another wine, forced to listen to Oliver’s limitless supply of yawnarific stories about his job as a mobile phone salesman. I’d noticed the nickname “ET” on the back of his rugby shirt earlier and assumed it was because his eyes were a bit googly. Turned out that like his alien namesake, the man was literally obsessed with phones.
“…yeah, so if you come on down the shop I can sort you out an upgrade, mates’ rates. Latest Samsung, all the extras –”
“You’re all right, mate. Got a phone.”
“What is it?”
“Dunno.” I yanked it out of my pocket and pushed it over the bar to him. “Phone.”
He tried not to curl his lip too obviously. “Oh. The 4680. This is well out of date.”
“Well it works, which is as much as I ever expect of it.”
“Nah, you need the 4880 with the Go Anywhere tariff…”
Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God. Was this it, the best Cragport could do for me? Was this my bloody life now: heading for 30 with no prospects for either shags or relationships but this tedious neckless wonder of a phone salesman?
“Hiya, Bobbie. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
Ross. Thank God.
He’d finished his set and was standing at my elbow waiting to get served, his guitar case propped against the bar. I shot him a smile of gratitude for giving me an excuse to turn away from Oliver and his interminable tariff talk for five minutes.
“Hi Ross. Loved your stuff tonight. You write some of those?”
“Yeah, plus threw a couple of covers in. They like a bit of cheese at the weekend.”
“Do you do a lot of these pub gigs?”
“Couple a month. The extra cash comes in handy.”
Oliver glared at him. “Rude. Can’t you see you’re interrupting? Bloody musicians, think they can just waltz up to any girl in the place.”
I shot Ross a sideways look, a wide-eyed look of please-save-me, hoping he’d get it.
“Right you are, sorry mate. Didn’t mean to be bad-mannered, just wanted to say hi to an old schoolfriend,” Ross said to Oliver, smiling apologetically. He slapped me heartily on the back. “Anyway, nice to run into you, Bobbie. Oh, and really pleased to hear your chlamydia’s clearing up, by the way.”
“Er… yeah, thanks, Ross. Doctor said the antibiotics should see it off in well under a month.”
Oliver was looking from me to Ross nervously, trying to work out if we were taking the piss. I kept my face firmly fixed, Ross doing his best deadpan at my side.
“Um… suppose it’s about time I went to find the rest of the team,” Oliver said eventually, obviously deciding it wasn’t worth sticking around to find out if it was a joke. “See you, Bobbie. Don’t forget to come down the shop for that upgrade, yeah?” He pushed his stool back and hurried to the exit.
I turned to smile at Ross. “Thanks.”
“Glad I could help. Sorry I didn’t have a more dignified excuse for you, was on the spot a bit there.”
“That’s ok. What worries me is how you found out I had chlamydia.” I grinned at the expression on his face. “Joke.”
“Thank Christ for that. So can I get you a birthday drink?”
“Yeah, go on. White wine please.” I patted the recently vacated barstool next to me. “And then you can come sit down, Ross Mason. I want to talk to you.”
“Hey, Bobbie.” Jess was tapping me on the shoulder. She was hand in hand with Oliver’s mate Gareth, who was grinning all over his face. “I’m going to get off so I can change for my shift, Gareth’s walking me home. You coming?” She nodded to Ross. “Hiya, Ross. Nice to see you again.”
“Hi Jess, been a while,” Ross said, leaning across to kiss her cheek. “Happy birthday.”
I glanced at Ross. “Actually, sis, I’ll stay for a bit. Me and Ross are overdue a catch-up.”
I tried to ignore Jess’s suggestive grin. “Oh yeah? Well, enjoy the rest of our birthday then. I’ll see you later.” She gave a very slight wink. “Probably,” she added under her breath.
“Another drink?” I asked, voice slurring under the influence of too many birthday Sauvignons.
“Not sure I haven’t had enough really.” Ross blinked unfocused eyes into the dregs of his red wine. “But go on, twist my arm. Is it my round?”
“Yeah. No. Dunno. Lost track a bit, to be honest.”
“Ok, let’s say it is, since you’re the birthday girl.” He smiled at the barmaid and she came scurrying over with that simper good-looking guitar players seem to be able to summon at will. “Same again please, Gabbie.”
“So. You always finish your set with Angels?” I asked when our glasses had been refilled.
“Not always. If it’s a weekend I usually do something slow and cheesy though, bit of a crowd-pleaser.”
“Brings back memories, yeah?”
He frowned. “Er, yeah. I mean, does it?”
I nudged him. “Ah, come on. You know what I’m on about.”
“I don’t, you know. You’re not confusing me with Robbie Williams, are you?”
“Look, d’you remember kissing me that time or what?” I blurted out.
Ross snorted. “You what? When?”
“Really? You don’t remember snogging to Angels at the Year 9 disco? And that was my first ever go at it as well.” I stifled a giggle that was at least half drunken hiccup and punched him on the arm. “Have to say, pretty rude. You’re s’posed to tell me I was unforgettably awesome and I triggered the sexual awakening that made you the smoking-hot studcrumpet you are today.”
“Right. Might have to Google studcrumpet before I’ll commit to that.”
He was looking sideways at me across the rim of his glass. I noticed his face change suddenly, losing the droopy drunken grin and going all keen and intense. His eyes flickered over my features and down my body.
“Hey, Bobbie Hannigan from school,” he said softly. “You’re sexy, you know.” He put his wine down and twisted his stool to face me. “Fancy giving me a memory jog on this snog? Sure it’ll all come flooding back once we get going.”
I let my gaze run over the square contour of his jaw, the dusting of stubble; full, sculpted lips a little stained by the wine. God, he was gorgeous. Who had I thought I was kidding when I’d told myself he wasn’t my type?
Anyway,