Authors: Kirsty Greenwood
“
Nat? The reception is bad. I can’t hear you very well.
”
I dash outside, passing Meg, who seems to have made friends with a table full of gentlemen.
“
Can you hear me now?
”
I ask.
“
No.
”
“
Can you hear me now?
”
“
Almost. Are you okay?
”
Well there they are. The three words that ensure that while I might have just about been okay, I’m not now. Like a bottle of pop that’s been shook and then opened, my emotions bubble up and overflow. I start to cry.
“
Oh, Olly. I’m not okay. I’ve been hypnotised by mistake. I’ve had to come to bloody Yorkshire to try to get the spell broken. It’s been a terrible day. I hurt my knees!
”
“
What’s that? You're not very clear. You’re on your knees? I know you’re sorry for what you said, but I really don’t think there’s any need to beg...
especially when I can’t even see you.
”
I can hear the scratchiness of bad reception crackling through the phone.
“
No, no… I…
”
Suddenly, a tap on my shoulder.
It’s Riley, and he’s holding my bag.
“
You forgot your bag,
”
he says.
“
Not that anyone would nick it. Not round here, but just in case you need it…
”
I take it from him and nod my thanks before turning back to my conversation.
“
Who was that?
”
Olly asks. I can hear the frown in his voice.
“
Oh that? That’s Riley. He’s just a barman at the pub.
”
The phone crackles again.
“
The pub. I’m calling to sort out that stupid row this morning and you’re in the pub with some guy? That’s great that, Natalie. Really fucking marvellous.
”
“
I’m not
with
him. I’m with Meg. We’re trying to find the
-
”
“
I don’t know what’s going on with you, but there is no need to lie to me. Hypnotism! That’s a good one. You must think I’m a muppet.
”
“
No, n
o, Olly, you’re definitely not a muppet, I’m the muppet
-
”
“
I’m spending a fortune on this wedding. I thought it was what you wanted. All of a sudden you’re acting like this totally different person.
”
He tuts.
“
Enjoy yourself at the pub. Call when you’re ready to be honest with me. I love you.
”
And with that the phone clicks off.
Honest? Doesn’t he get that honesty is so not the problem right now?
Shit.
How can things get so monumentally fucked up? In one day? He finally phoned, and I made a mess of it, just like I’m making a mess of everything.
I try to call him back but it rings out.
Right. Stop crying, Natalie. It’ll be fine. You are going to sort this. It’s just one day. One weird, crazy, stupid, shitting day. You will figure it out. You have to.
I wipe my eyes and nose on an errant tissue from my handbag. An icy cloud forms in front of my face as I take a deep breath and then exhale slowly.
Okay. I am sorting this out. I am sorting it out right now and nothing is going to stop me.
I haven’t
quite
sorted it out.
In fact, somehow, I’m well on my way to being a little bit pissed. Or a lot pissed.
In the past forty minutes I have discovered the following things;
1) Amazing Brian is not in the pub (neck the remainder of my first glass of wine).
2) Amazing Brian is not even in Little Trooley. Apparently he popped into the pub yesterday and told a man called Alan that he was going away for a few days (neck the remainder of Meg’s wine).
3) Nobody knows where he went. He only recently moved to the area and keeps himself to himself (ord
er a vodka tonic from the bar - d
rink vodka tonic).
4) Telling a table
full of local men that Brian -
who they know to be a quiet, straight down the line retiree with a passion for gardening and local ales
-
magically hypnotised you last night will make you sound a few slices short of a Hobbs loaf.
I haven’t drunk this much this quickly since fresher's week when the local night club was holding a ‘Free till you pee night’. I lasted for three hours until I had to empty my bladder. I'm still proud of that.
“
And you say he called himself Amazing Brian?
”
says Alan, a local with a ruddy face and a flat cap.
“
Yes!
”
I yell fervently.
“
He had the initials AB knitted into his woolly jumper!
”
This is the funniest thing the men have heard yet. They roar with laughter, causing a few of the other customers to peer over at us curiously. I sigh and take a hefty gulp of my drink. I’m not even sure what it is. It’s local, cloudy and tastes a bit like pear cider. Robbie, a baby-faced, dark-haired, slightly chubby bloke insisted that Meg and I try it. He also insisted that Meg sit next to him while she drinks it. She doesn’t seem to mind. He’s not her type, you know, not being rich or a footballer, but they're getting on very well. At the very least she’s enjoying the attention. They’re engrossed in conversation and oblivious to the fact that I’m the brand new village idiot.
“
Look here!
”
I bang my glass down on the table, not caring as it splashes out over the sides.
“
I have a card. Brian gave me a calling card. A card that will prove to you that I speak the truth and only the truth! Hell, I'm not sure you guys could even HANDLE the truth!
”
I think the beers are making me just a teensy bit dramatic. I feel like Jack Nicholson.
I look through my bag - digging around through unwrapped sweets and old receipts and, strangely, a plastic fork from the chip shop - for the Amazing Brian card. I can’t see it. Frantically, I look in my purse, but it’s not there.
Shit. Where the chuff is it?
The blokes at the table are still chuckling. Nudging each other and smirking as I bury my head deep down into my bag trying my best to find it.
I pull everything out of my bag and lay it down on the table.
“
Look, lads. It’s Mary Poppins as I live and breathe,
”
says one of the men.
“
Good one.
”
I grimace. The card is not there. I swipe my belongings off the table and back into my bag.
“
Meg, have you got the Amazing Brian card?
”
She tears herself away from her conversation with Robbie to have a look in her purse but she can’t find it either.
Marvellous.
“
All right, all right,
”
I say to the men, holding my hands up in an attempt to stop them laughing.
“
Meg, help me out here. These gentlemen don’t believe that Brian hypnotised me. Tell them!
”
Meg nods her head solemnly, her pretty face serious.
“
He definitely did. I was right there. If you don’t believe it, just ask her a -
”
“
No, no!
”
I interrupt.
“
That’s all right. Never mind, we’ll just forget about it!
”
I might have told the men that Brian had hypnotised me, but I didn’t tell them in what way I was hypnotised. I don’t want any
more embarrassing truth-telling situations. I really don’t think I could handle it.
Meg gasps.
“
You mean, you haven’t told them exactly what he did to you?
”
“
No,
”
I fold my arms.
“
I don’t want to. It's private.
”
“
You should totally show them.
”
She breathes, turning to the men.
“
Seriously, it’s a phenomenon. All you need to do is ask her a question -
”
“
Meg, shush!
”
“
-
and she won’t be able to lie.
”
Shit. How much has she had to drink? She definitely wouldn’t do this to me if she were sober. Or would she? I frown pointedly at her. She grins back, slightly cross-eyed, jiggling her shoulders and boobs to the sound of
Girls Aloud
coming from the Jukebox.
The men have stopped laughing and are looking at me with renewed interest. Oh nice! They’ll believe Meg. What? Because she’s
pretty
?
I close my eyes, take a long, slow breath and brace myself for a barrage of awkward questions that I won’t be able to help but answer.
But the questions don’t come.
I open my eyes again to find that everyone has disappeared from the table and I’m sat alone. Oh no. Did I do a fart and not even notice amidst all the commotion? I look around, confused, and then see that everyone is huddled around the bar.
What’s going on?
I wander over and notice
the barman -
Riley - handing out freshly baked tomato and mozzarella tarts to everyone.
“
Be honest, people,
”
he's saying, brushing flour off his shirt.
“
Only the best can go on the menu. I won’t be offended if you don't like them. I might cry for a short while, drink too much and kick something, maybe someone, but then I shall dry my tears and get on with it. I promise.
”
I didn’t know they did food here. And why is it free? No wonder the place is so busy
.
Everyone’s tucking in
heartily, including Meg, who - oh God -
is drunkenly feeding a roasted tomato to Robbie. A bit of tomato seed has dripped onto his ample chin. Meg licks it off. Christ.
The smell of fresh pastry wafts deliciously up my nose and I realise I’m starving.
I push politely through the crowd and help myself to a tart.
“
Hello. I’m turning the place into a gastro pub. You know, bring in some more punters.
”
It’s Riley. The flour has gone from his hair, but there’s tomato splotches all over his shirt. Definitely not adorable. Not one bit.
“
Oh,
”
I say politely.
“
I thought you were
-
”
“
Just a barman?
”
he interrupts, golden eyebrows raised.
Oh no. He heard me say that to Olly on the phone. I’ve only gone and offended him. Nice manners, Nat.
“
Yes. I mean no…
I mean...
I’m sorry. Ehm, not
just
a
-
”
“
I’m playing with you,
”
he grins, putting me out of my misery.
“
And not that there’s anything wrong with being a barman, but in the interest of full disclosure, The Old Whimsy is my place.
”
“
You own it?
”
He looks far too young to own a pub. He looks like he should be running around a forest with a bow and arrow.
“
Yup. Well, inherited.
”
“
And you’re a chef?
”
I say, nodding down towards the tart in my hand.
He laughs, showing a set of nice teeth with a tiny gap in between the front two.
“
No. At least not yet. I’m an enthusiastic amateur. I’m hoping that my food will bring people to the pub, stop us from being shut down.
”
“
Shut down?
”
I look around at the lively pub
“
But it’s dead busy in here.
”
“
Not busy enough to stop us from being bought out, apparently. Food is where the money is nowadays.
”
He looks downcast for a moment but quickly recovers.
“
Anyway, that’s all a bit depressing. Sorry! Go on have a taste.
”