Derrick grunted, sipping from his glass.
‘So, tell me about your job,’ she asked and forced her wine down, concentrating on the warming sensation it created in the back of her throat as Derrick found the one topic he enjoyed talking about. His monologue lasted until the blonde returned carrying two plates.
Her meal looked like something out of a food magazine. For a moment Jenny could only stare at the artistic presentation. The investment into a proper chef certainly looked like it was paying off. There had always been considerable doubt as to whether Tony, the previous cook, had any actual qualifications—word was that he’d learned most of his cooking skills from a stint in prison during the eighties and nobody had ever been game to ask him.
‘Thank you,’ Jenny finally managed, glancing up at the waitress. ‘This looks amazing.’
‘Yes, well, even pubs have to lift their food standards nowadays if they want to stay relevant. We’ve had a number of top Sydney chefs relocate to Hamwell over the last year or so,’ Derrick informed her with a small sniff, then began a new line of conversation about the effects on bottom lines from Covid shut-downs in regional areas. This had the advantage of allowing Jenny to dig happily into her food, only having to give the occasional nod or grunt in agreement as she ate.
‘I’ll order more wine,’ Derrick announced, slipping it in partway through a particularly boring lecture about God-only-knew-what, almost causing Jenny to miss it.
‘No. I’ll get this round,’ she said, getting to her feet before he could argue. She was eager for a moment to herself. Something harder than white wine wouldn’t go astray, either.
Jenny weaved her way through the tables but stopped when she came to a group of four elderly people, who waved at her.
‘We thought that was you,’ one of the women said, smiling as she held out a hand.
Jenny took the hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Hello, Nola. I didn’t see you over here.’
‘Well, you were too busy with your …friend,’ Nola said, lifting her eyebrows slightly as she searched Jenny’s face eagerly.
Nola Jenkins was a regular at the hospital. Jenny had grown close to her a few years back when her husband had started having health problems that led to frequent stays.
Nola and Betty, who was also at the table, worked in the hospital cafe and were tireless volunteers of the Hospital Auxiliary, who raised valuable funds for the hospital and were as much a part of the hospital family as the doctors and nursing staff. As dearly as she loved these women, Jenny was under no illusions that whatever she said here would be spread around the hospital before she even had time to start her next shift.
‘Oh, that’s just an old family friend. He’s passing through town and wanted to catch up,’ Jenny said with a dismissive wave. Seeing the disappointed faces before her, she realised, to her surprise, that her bluffing skills must have been on point.
‘We were hoping it was a new man,’ Betty said in an overly loud whisper.
‘Sorry. No men—new or old—on the horizon,’ Jenny said, forcing a bright smile. Not if she could help it, at least.
‘A good catch like yourself?’ Errol, Nola’s husband, chimed in, shaking his head. ‘The blokes around here should be lining up.’
‘Tell you what,’ Ted, the other man at the table said, ‘if I was twenty years younger and not already married—’
Betty snorted loudly. ‘Twenty? More like forty,’ she scoffed.
‘Now, now, pet, you know I only have eyes for you,’ he said, sending her a wink.
‘You’re half-blind, you silly coot,’ she retorted, before rolling her eyes at him.
‘I’d better go order our drinks. It was lovely to see you.’ Jenny waved and made her getaway while they were all busy insulting Ted’s shortcomings.
At the bar, Jenny rested her arm along the countertop and surveyed the glass shelves before her, waiting for the bartender as he moseyed his way down from where he’d been talking to two men. She didn’t recognise him, not that she’d ever spent much time in the local pub. She found herself a little distracted by the slow, easy smile on his face as he came to a stop before her.
‘Can I get a scotch and ginger ale, please? Actually,’ Jenny said abruptly, ‘can you make it a double shot of scotch?’
‘Going that good, huh?’
‘Sorry?’ Jenny eyed him warily.
‘Your date,’ he said, tilting his chin at the table behind her.
‘Oh. No. It’s fine,’ she said, sending a weak smile to Derrick as she followed the bartender’s glance and found him looking at them. ‘It’s been a long day.’
She watched as the bartender took a tumbler and tipped two generous glugs of the amber liquid into the bottom and added a splash of ginger ale. ‘You want ice with that?’ he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
‘Sure.’ She was probably going to need something to water down the burn.
