Rosemarie raised her hand and waved theatrically to William. ‘Hiya, Will .?.?.’
Ally could feel her face flush. Oh God, why had she ever thought this was a good idea – it looked exactly like what it was: an ambush. She deliberately didn’t look around but waited for him to appear in her eyeline. But before she could open her mouth, there was a squawk. ‘William, me little darlin’, come here and give me a big squeeze.’
Crystal hurled herself at William, to the surprise of the regular cast of his Instagram stories. Since she’d last seen him, so much had happened that Fantasy William had virtually faded away and, with a jolt, she found herself staring at Real William, who, it turned out, was unnervingly attractive in a wiry, confident sort of way. Calm down, she urged herself – oh well, at least her newly acquired world-weariness could help with that. He caught her eye over Crystal’s shoulder.
‘Hi, Ally,’ he gasped, finally released from Crystal’sstranglehold and looking actually pretty pleased to see her. The comparison with Crystal mightn’t be doing her any harm, she reflected.
‘Hi,’ she said, feeling genuinely surprised. Part of her hadn’t expected him to actually turn up.
‘Bit of a Garth Brooks vibe going on there, Ally.’ He grinned.
‘Seriously?’
When she’d put the damn waistcoat on earlier, it had seemed like a safe option, not a bat squeak to every culchie lad in the bar.
‘I’m Galway city, like, but at the same time, I don’t mind a bit of country.’
Rosemarie was giving her a thumbs-up signal from behind his back, which she was trying to ignore.
‘Can I get you a drink? I think I owe you one after the last time.’
God, she’d have passed out with excitement to hear those words a couple of weeks ago.
‘Ah, not at all, William, I’m on cocktails, I wouldn’t expect—’
‘Two Aperol spritzes there, Tomás,’ he called to the barman, who nodded wearily, while Rosemarie’s face lit up as she slurped her straw loudly like an eight-year-old at a birthday party.
‘Missed you around the place,’ yelled William into her face.
Ally gave up trying to hear and resorted to lip-reading, which gave her a chance to focus on his face, his lips moving, his faint five o’clock shadow. She cringed at the thought of their previous meeting, with her getting hammered and ranting on about football.
Just then Crystal reappeared through the throng and slapped her hands over William’s eyes from behind. ‘Guess who?’
As though anybody else in the pub was likely to be that clueless. At the same time, the power of Ally’s denim waistcoat was still working its magic on the off-duty Guard who’d previously missed her with his pint. He saw his chance.
‘Heey, I’ve a question .?.?. if you’d a time machine, where’d you go?’ he breathed.
It was at least a decent shot at starting a conversation; she was on her second cocktail and becoming a lot less critical. William was stuck with Crystal, who was still covering his eyes, and Rosemarie was being chatted up by one of William’s friends, who for some reason was still wearing his lanyard.
‘You know where I’d go? Hogwarts.’
What? She felt momentarily compelled to explain that’d make it more of a fantasy time machine but it really didn’t seem worth the effort, so she just kept nodding.
Just then she overheard William’s friend announcing to Rosemarie, ‘I know most fellas wouldn’t admit it, but I kind of like a woman who’s a bit mouthy. You know, keeps me bobbing and weaving .?.?.’ Here he did a little boxing mime.
Oh, God no. Not to Rosemarie. Over the din, she vaguely overheard, ‘Well, you cheeky little bollocks .?.?.’
A moment later there was a roar as Rosemarie poured the almost-full cocktail over his head, which seemed a shocking waste, apart from anything else. This triggered a fight response in Mr Time Travel, who banged his pint down on the bar and threw a well-aimed punch at Rosemarie’s dripping admirer, who then stumbled backwards, crashed into a group of off-duty Guards and sloshed the drinks all over them, causing uproar and starting a full-on altercation. Another of William’s mates, in an apparent – if unwise – surge of loyalty, squared up to the biggest of the group. The escalating chaos had at least freed William from Crystal’s grip, allowing him to leap into the centre as referee.
‘Ah, come on now, lads, settle down, settle down. We’re all friends here,’ he suggested optimistically, before taking a punch in the gob which felled him like a sack of spuds. Mr Cocktail Head, whose name was Fergus, was outraged by this act.
‘That’s disgraceful,’ he roared. ‘That man was in a peacekeeping role.’ And he threw a counterpunch at the perpetrator. It was a no-win situation: William’s friends were less drunk, but the Guards were bigger.
The poor barman’s night was going from bad to worse.
‘That’s enough,’ he bellowed, standing on a beer crate and waving a phone. ‘I’m calling the Guards.’
‘They are the Guards,’ shouted Rosemarie over the din.
