Millie glanced at the wall clock. ‘In about half an hour, but I expect I could take it early. I’ll ask, Pete.’ She pulled the second pint and set it on the bar next to the first. ‘Anything else? Are you hungry?’
‘Some crisps maybe.’
‘For both of ye?’
Owen shook his head, dark curls flopping over his brow.
‘You’re sure?’ George asked.
‘Not hungry.’
‘Right, the one bag it is then, Millie,’ George said.
Millie looked doubtfully at him, glanced uncertainly again at Owen, then dived below the counter for a bag of salt and vinegar, which she tossed next to their pint glasses.
George counted out the exact money and stacked the cash on the mahogany bar; picked up the beers, handing one to Owen and pointed across the bar.
‘Shall we sit there?’ he said, pointing to a table where he knew he would have the best view of Millie at work and once seated, he announced: ‘I’m going to ask Millie to come to ours for Christmas.’
Owen slid onto the bench seat opposite and said, ‘Hasn’t she got a family to go to in Edinburgh?’
‘Not this year.’ Distracted by Millie, George watched her serving a gin and tonic to a tall man wearing a charcoal grey pinstripe suit; the fine tailoring typical of the new Fig & Firkin customers his dad detested. This man was older than most. George stared at him. He thought he looked familiar, but couldn’t recall where he’d seen him before? Not in the pub. Couldn’t have… this was the first visit since the summer. He was sure he knew him… George shook off an eerie sensation that felt like déjà vu and turned back to Owen. ‘Her mum and dad are in New Zealand,’ he said. ‘Visiting Keith, her older brother. He’s made them first-time grandparents.’
‘What aboutyourmum and dad?’ Owen took a mouthful of beer, closing his eyes and savouring the flavour before he added, ‘Are they okay with another guest? It’s crowded already with me staying at your place.’
‘Not a problem. I asked Mum this morning before she went out for some last-minute shopping. She likes Millie, and Millie will give her someone to talk to about girly things.’
‘You’re sure? I could always go back to Aldershot. The landlord won’t have taken the house back yet and anyway, I’ve still got keys. Technically, it’s still my home.’
Horrified, George said, ‘No way! You should never go back to that place.’
‘I have to. All my stuff is there.’
‘What stuff?’
‘Books, photographs, clothes.’ Owen’s scowl darkened, and he added grimly, ‘Memories.’
‘You once told me you carry memories in your head.’
‘Did I?’ Owen looked mildly surprised. ‘How very pretentious of me,’ he said, half smiling again.
‘Besides,’ George continued, determined not to be blown off course by Owen, ‘the memories Aldershot holds for you are best forgotten.’
‘Mostly.’ Owen nodded, and a thoughtful expression clouded his eyes.
George thought that was probably an improvement. He’d been quite spooked these last few days by Owen’s blank expression.
‘So,’ he went on, ‘you’re not going back there to stay and that’s final. Got me?’
Owen nodded.
‘After Christmas, we’ll go together just to get your books and things.’ George popped open the bag of crisps and offered it to Owen.
Owen shook his head. ‘Thank you, George. I appreciate you looking out for me.’
‘It’s what mates are for,’ George said, touched by Owen’s sincerity. He forced a generous fistful of crisps into his mouth and tried to ignore the guilt he felt at the number of times he’d mentally sworn at Owen or been jealous of him. They might be an unequal partnership, but they were mates – best mates.
‘Thanks, anyway.’ Owen said, leaning back against the wall, visibly relaxing.
