IknowI said I would go to lunch with Seth, but now I have the letter, I just want to get it safely into Chuck Allen’s hands as quickly as possible. Plus it’s onlyelevena.m.!
I’m about to suggest we just head straight back to the ferry terminal when Seth casually mentions that he only gets six tickets a year to give away to friends and family. He used two of those to get my letter back? To be fair, it is entirely his fault that I accidentally posted it. But still, it’s another forty-five minutes until the next ferry and heisoffering free pizza. I would be a true moron to turnthatdown.
Following a five-minute walk, the pair of us once more clumsily squished beneath my brolly, we arrive at what looks less like a respectable pizza place and more like a bar. I glance at the flashing neon pink sign in the window. This place is called ‘Trickys’. Noapostrophe!
‘Abar?’
‘I didn’t say it was a pizza restaurant, just that it did the best pizza. Come on!’ Seth beams, showing teeth as white and American as Birdie’s. It occurs to me that it’s the first time he’s properly smiled since I met him. This must be some top-drawerpizza.
I follow him in. Yep. This is a bar. What might be kindly termed a ‘dive’ bar. The floor is dusty, there’s a TV blaring high behind the bar, competing with the sounds of blues music coming from the vintage jukebox. My eyes widen. Never in my life have I been in a place like this. And Greater Manchester is full ofdubiouspubs!
It’s busier than one would expect, it being pre-lunch on a weekday and all, and everyone in here is drinking beer.Morningbeer.
At the back of the room is a pool table being used by a man and a woman in brightly coloured loungewear. The woman’s loungewear has the word ‘sweetcheeks’ written in a cursive script across her backside. I can’t help but admire her confidence and, indeed, her sweetcheeks.
‘This place is…’ I trail off, unable to find just one word to describe this subterranean boozetastic roadhouse. My eyes goggle at the fact that just off that quiet little street, this place exists.And I’m in it. I suppress a giggle thinking about what Donna would makeofit.
‘Lil’Hartman,baby!’
The woman’s voice is very loud – it would have to be to be heard over thehullabaloo.
‘Phyllis!’ Seth yells back, so raucously that it makes me jump. He embraces the extraordinarily skinny woman so tightly I’m afraid she might crack. Her hair is bright red. Not in an elegant ginger way – in an actual crimson red way. It’s piled atop her head in a very high bouffant. Her black eyeliner is expertly smudged heavily around her wrinkled blue eyes and she’s wearing a gold chain with the words ‘fuck you’ written out in an incongruously pretty font. ‘Hey, less of the ‘little, please?’ Seth laughs, kissing her on thecheek.
‘You’ll always be a baby to me.’ She reaches to ruffle his hair. ‘Who are you?’ she says, turning to me. ‘Another girlfriend? What happened toBlondie?’
‘Not girlfriend,’ I say at the same time as Seth says, ‘Not my girlfriend, Phyllis. This is my friend Olive. She’sengaged.’
I screw my face up as I shake Phyllis’s tiny hand.Engaged?
‘Good for you, honey,’ she says. ‘What’s his name? Is he from Staten Island? I might know him. Is he as handsome as our lil’Hartmanhere?’
I blink for a few moments, not believing just how out of hand this whole fake engagement hasbecome.
Phyllis pulls a face at Seth as if to ask, ‘who the heck is thismoron?’
‘I believe her fiancé’s names is Colin Collins,’ Seth explains, throwing me anoddlook.
‘Yes, yes of course!’ I stammer quickly. ‘Colin.Colin! He’s very handsome. He… hassideburns.’
I allow myself a brief second to think of Colin’s lovely sideburns and his pleasant textmessages.
Phyllis pats me on the arm. ‘Very nice. Now you two kids take a seat, what can Igetyou?’
‘Two beers and a meatball pizza,’ Seth says, as we slide into one of the three booths opposite the bar. He turns to me. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be the jerk who orders without asking, but I promise you the meatball pizza is outta thisworld.’
‘Great,’ I say, the thought of meatballs and pizza together making me feel both nervous and excited. ‘I’ll just have a water, though,’ I say. ‘Bit earlyforme!’
‘We don’t serve water,’ Phyllis says stonily. I look to Seth to see if she’s joking but his face is as straight as hers. She might be old and skinny but she’s also kind ofterrifying.
‘Um. Okay. A beer,’Isay.
Phyllis, wiggles off to the bar, telling a rowdy customer to ‘go and fuck himself’ as she does so. The guy, a very large, bald-headed man immediately apologises for whatever he’s done toupsether.
‘How do you know Phyllis?’ I say, fascinated by this small fiercewoman.
‘She was a groupie of mydad’s.’
‘A groupie?!’ I look over at Phyllis. I can see it actually. The loud pink dress, the clashing red hair, the big earrings. She looks like a rock chick. ‘Your dad was a musician? That must havebeencool.’
