She beamed.“And you.Tell Ange that Chrissie sent you.”
He quickly googled the Prince of Wales.It was the other end of town but, heh, there wasn’t a right lot of town; it was only minutes away on foot.
Zig’s phone took him down a side street, and there the Prince of Wales was, its white-painted front lit up yellow by a couple of carriage lamps and an old-fashioned streetlight.Inside, it wasn’t exactly plush, with half the floor bare wood, but there was more of a buzz than there had been in the last place.Not bad, for early Thursday evening.Zig cast an eye around, then sauntered up to the bar.
The barmaid was middle-aged, with a fondness for henna and animal print, like she wanted to leave people with no doubt as to her profession.She certainly made Zig feel right at home, and he flashed her a smile.
She raised a cynical eyebrow, which made him feel even more at home.“What can I get you?”
“I’m looking for a lady called Ange.”
The barmaid folded her arms.“Because?”
“Lovely young lady called Chrissie at the Isle of Avalon said you might be looking for staff.”
“Got experience, have you?”
Well, he couldn’t let that one go.“Oh, I got plenty.What kind of experience are you looking for?”
She snorted.“You’re full of yourself, and no mistake.”
“Everyone always tells me I’m full of something.”Zig leaned on the bar and gave her his best grin.
She laughed aloud.“No argument there.I’m Ange.”
“Zig.”
“You working right now?”
“Nah.New in town.”
“What brings a Londoner like you out west, then?”
“It’s the accents.Can’t get enough of people calling memoi loverrr.”Zig laid it on thick, then hoped he hadn’t overdone it.
She snorted.“Don’t you go expecting that from me.Can you do weekends?That’s Fridays as well.”
“I’m easy.”
“I’ve no doubt.Be here at five tomorrow, and we’ll see how we go.It’s minimum wage, mind, till you’ve been here three months, then an extra five percent if we keep you on.That okay with you?”
“Peachy,” Zig said, and meant it.Fuck, was it really this easy?“How about a drink to seal the deal?Vodka and ice, and one for yourself?”
“Long as you’re paying.And there’s no drinking on the job.”
“No problem.”Zig laid a twenty on the bar with a smile.
She took it, filled his order, and gave him what looked like too much change for two drinks, but Zig didn’t call her on it.He reckoned she knew what she was doing.He saluted quickly, and she nodded, turning to the next punter.
Zig eased his arse onto the last free barstool and savoured his vodka—the bite of the alcohol and the almost painful chill of the ice.Fuck me, I’ve got a job.He spent the time keeping an eye on the bar staff.There were two of them, both nearer his age than Ange’s, and they were friendly and efficient.They wore Prince of Wales polo shirts, which meant he’d have to as well, but at least they were black with a discreet logo, not some cheap chest print that’d have him wincing at mirrors.Yeah.He could do this.
It was getting on for seven when Zig got back to Si’s and rang the bell.The door opened sooner than he’d expected, like maybe Si had run down the stairs to get it.
“Zig!”Was that relief on Si’s face?Hard to tell, behind the beard.“Was wondering where you’d got to.I’m making pasta for tea, that all right?”
“Course it is.”He followed Si up the stairs.“Wasn’t sure what time you’d be home, so I hit the pub on the way back.”
“Yeah?Where’d you go?”
