Around him, the other men were joking now. Enough was enough. It was no time to be laughing. He cut into the conversation.
“Any headway?” He was looking at Steve Cunningham, who was the council chair. He knew what the answer was going to be, but he asked Steve every time he saw him anyway. He needed them to demolish the wreckage of the courthouse; it’d been almost a month. The rest of the group stopped talking and looked at Steve.
“Not yet,” Steve said, and even in the dim light Frank could see his shiny bald patch reddening. “We’re still trying to bring together the funds. It’ll happen.”
“Right,” he replied.
“I’ll get the next round,” Steve said, standing. “Frank?”
“I’ll pass, mate.” He knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault, but he liked to have someone to blame. That black mess felt personal to him. It was a sign, blaring his failure to the whole town.
Frank had seen a lot of bad things. Of course he had. But seeing Mrs. Riley, telling her the fire was already too bad, that he couldn’t go inside, that he couldn’t save her son. The expression on her face as she was forced to stand back and let her child burn. He’d never forget it.
He ignored his friends again and watched as Rose finished pouring Steve’s round and went back to flicking through the newspaper. She was talking quietly to Mia Rezek, whose father, Elias, had been a cop himself before he’d had a stroke about five years back. The two of them were acting as if they were hanging around at home rather than on the clock. Rose smoothed a hand over her hair. The movement was so simple, so casual, yet it made his throat constrict. God, he wanted her. It was almost unbearable.
He leaned back in his chair. The tavern was just quiet enough for him to hear what she was saying.
“‘With Saturn lingering in Aquarius, nothing is off-limits,’” Rose read. “‘Something unexpected will surprise you today.’” She snorted back a laugh. “Look out, single gals.”
“It doesn’t say that,” he heard Mia say. Then their voices quieted.
Raising his head, Frank saw they were looking over at his table. He quickly downed the dregs of his drink and made his way toward them.
“Ladies, what are you staring at us for? See something you like?”
He flexed his biceps at Rose, but she wasn’t even looking at him. She was already pouring his beer. Mia had noticed it though, and she smiled. He noticed the pity in her eyes and hated it.
“Don’t waste your breath, Frankie,” she said, leaning her elbows on the bar. “Rose is getting out of here.”
“I still have a few weeks, don’t I?” he asked. He was hoping she, or Mia, might give him news on the program Rose was hoping to get into. They’d talked about it like it was already guaranteed, but he didn’t think it was. Or at least, that was what he hoped. His life would be so empty without her.
Looking at Rose, he saw her hand shake ever so slightly, spilling a droplet of ale onto her wrist. She rubbed it onto the seat of her shorts and handed him the beer.
“Something like that,” she said. He was about to question her further, probe her like he would a perp in his interview room, but Mia interrupted.
“Let’s see, then.” She picked up his empty glass from the bar and peered into the foam inside it intently.
“Anything about my love life in there?” he said, looking at Rose again. Her smile back at him was thin. He should stop; he knew it. He should ask her out for real, not keep making these lame, obvious jokes. He was past thirty now and he was acting like a horny teenager. It was embarrassing.
“Well,” said Mia, spinning the glass around, “I’m seeing a lot of positivity here. It’s telling me that nothing is off-limits. That something unexpected is coming. Something that will surprise you.”
They looked at each other, not knowing that he was in on the joke. It didn’t matter; he took the opportunity.
“Is it an invitation for a double date? I think I could convince Bazza.”
Frank’s partner, Bazza, a newly-minted sergeant, was a good-looking guy. He was tall, he had muscles and he used to be one of their best footy players a few years after Frank had. Frank loved him like a brother, but even he knew the guy was more Labrador than man. His eyes lit up with pure delight every time Frank mentioned lunch, he eyed strangers with suspicion and he was as loyal as he was thick. Frank was fairly sure if he told the man to sit he would do it, without a thought.
They turned to look at him, just as Bazza burped and then chuckled to himself.
“We’ll let you know,” Rose said, and Frank smiled as if he was only kidding, turning before the hurt could show on his face. He had to grow some balls and ask the girl out properly. Otherwise she’d leave town and that would be that.
Behind him he heard Mia say, “You know, I think Baz is kind of hot.”
His shoulders tensed, hoping like hell that Rose wouldn’t agree.
Thankfully, he heard, “He’s a moron.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
They laughed quietly, and he sat back at his table, thankful it wasn’t him they were laughing at, and took a sip of his beer. He could picture it: Mia with Bazza and him with Rose, barbecues on the days off; Bazza at the BBQ; Mia tossing a salad; Rose bringing him a beer and sitting on his knee as he drank it.
Rose heaved the keg onto its side. It was heavy, pulling on the sockets of her arms and tightening the ligaments in her neck. She let it fall the last few centimeters, for no other reason than to enjoy the violent thud as it hit the cement floor. The windowless storage room at the rear of the tavern smelled like damp. Squeezed into the small space were the beer kegs, a large freezer full of frozen meat and fries, and a few boxes full of dusty beer glasses.
Bending over, butt high in the air, she pushed the keg around the tight corner into the back corridor with little baby steps. She looked ridiculous. If Frank could see her now maybe he would stop looking at her like she was hot shit. Or maybe he’d get off on it. The thought of that made her straighten up. She hated having men’s eyes on her. It made her feel as though she didn’t own her own body. As if by staring her up and down they were possessing her flesh. If it weren’t so damn humid she’d wear long pants and turtlenecks and never, ever shave her legs.
She was starting to get blisters. Every step she took her heels grated down against the rough fabric of her shoes, slicing through another layer of skin. She was starting to wince as she gently kicked the keg down the corridor. She passed the stain on the carpet from where Mark Jones had puked up his beer and the crack in the wall that seemed to be getting slightly bigger every day. She tried to remind herself that sometimes she didn’t totally hate this job. Quiet nights goofing around with Mia could be fun. But right now she wanted to pull her hair out. Every night, for years and years, the same bloody thing, one shift identical to another. The only difference was the aging of the patrons.
The numbness she’d felt earlier had worn off now. Her stomach was crumpling inward with shame and disappointment at the email from the Sage Review. She hadn’t told Mia yet; she couldn’t. If she did, then it would be real. Mia would ask her what she was going to do, where she was going to live, and she didn’t have the answers. Instead, she kept her body moving and tried to breathe. Rose had written about everything she could think of. She’d written about the financial crisis and its effects on her town; she’d written about the search for the arsonist who had