‘I am a carer.’
‘Then why …’
‘Painting over some graffiti,’ I said. I stood up and went to get the empty coffee cup and give the table a wipe while Tara served the teachers who all greeted her like an old friend.
The Vine had once been a run-down backstreet boozer whose only regulars had been a bedraggled stray cat and an elderly lady called Vera, who came in every day for three neat whiskies and then left again showing no signs of being any the worse for the drinks. It had been owned by Tara’s ex-husband and when they divorced, instead of packing her bags and heading back to the Californian sun – which was totally what I’d have done – Tara had negotiated for him to sign over The Vine to her, and stayed put in this rainy corner of South London. She’d transformed the place and made it a quirky bar with good drinks – and enough craft beer to attract a hipster crowd. I’d been working there since I was at college and Vera – who still came in every day but who had taken to drinking artisan gin instead – was the only customer. So I’d been thrilled when Tara took over. She was like my boss, my best friend and my favourite auntie all rolled into one. And it seemed the customers felt the same way I did.
‘Can I have the key?’ Micah was standing at the end of the bar, managing to look awkward and bullish at the same time.
I turned to him. ‘Please?’
‘Please can I have the key, so I don’t have to spend all evening listening to my mum and my sister talking aboutLove Island?’
‘Shouldn’t you be hanging out in the park and drinking cider?’ I dug my hand into my pocket and found my keyring, then began sliding my bike lock key off it so I could get home later.
‘I’m a teenager, not a tramp,’ said Micah. He held out his hand. ‘Please.’
‘Don’t make a mess.’ I held the keys over his palm. ‘And no booze.’
He gave me a look of total disdain. ‘I’m going to be gaming.’
‘Fine. Unplug your thingy when you’re done. And don’t put your feet on the coffee table.’
‘It’s a PlayStation. And your coffee table is an old trunk you nicked from my dad’s garage.’
‘I like it and I don’t want your feet on it.’
‘Okay,’ he said reluctantly.
I dropped the keys into his hand and to my surprise he gave me a very quick hug, which was mostly elbows. ‘Thanks, Steve,’ he said.
‘Stevie,’ I called to his retreating back. He ignored me.
‘You’re too good to him,’ Tara said disapprovingly, watching on from the other end of the bar.
‘He’s a nice kid.’ I looked out of the front of The Vine where Micah was slouching along the road, hunched down in his hoodie even though it was quite warm now the rain had stopped. ‘I don’t think he’s very happy. He’s kind of tightly wound and he doesn’t seem to have any friends.’
Tara frowned. ‘He’s not Max,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to rescue him.’
‘I know that. That’s not what this is. Don’t make it weird.’
She held my gaze defiantly and I looked away. She was sort of right. Max had a wild side. He was reckless and sometimes self-destructive – very much like our mother – and I’d spent my life trying to fix his mistakes. And now he was someone else’s problem and I wasn’t quite sure what to do about that. I swallowed.
‘It’s getting busy,’ I said, hoping Tara would leave me alone. She glanced at the customers choosing where to sit and turned her attention back to me.
‘Sooo,’ she said. ‘Now you’re painting again …’
‘I’m not painting again; I painted over some rude graffiti at Tall Trees.’
Tara shrugged, as if to say it was all the same thing to her. She looked over to the customers who were still rearranging themselves and moving chairs around, then picked up her iPad from the side.
‘Look at this,’ she said, tapping the screen and turning it round for me to see.
‘Community art grant,’ I read aloud. ‘Tara, this isn’t really …’
‘It’s £10,000,’ she said.
‘What? Give me that.’
