CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
The year was turning from 2001 to 2002 and everything was set for a bumper night of celebrations at the Fig & Firkin. Sally had spent some time that morning going through her numbers with the live band hired for the evening.
‘You ready, mum?’ George called up the stairs
‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
George glanced into the sitting room, where Owen was absorbed in yet another book.
‘She’s nervous,’ he said and threw his eyes to the ceiling to show he meant his mum upstairs.
‘Not surprised,’ Owen muttered, not looking up from the book.
Bristling, George stepped into the sitting room and asked, ‘What do you mean by that. Are you saying my mum’s no good?’
Owen looked up, wounded by the accusation. ‘No, of course not. I’ve heard her sing here. She’s got a great voice. But she told me she hasn’t performed in front of an audience for ten years. That’s why I said it was no wonder. I’d be scared shitless if it were me.’
‘Right.’ George shuffled on the spot. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to have a go at you.’
‘That’s all right. It’s good you want to stand up for your mum.’
‘Right, yes. I guess I must be nervous for her too. Youarecoming to the pub tonight?’
‘Of course. I am. I wouldn’t miss your mum in a live concert for all the tea in China.’
‘Here I am.’
George swung round, and before he could stop himself, he let out a gasp. She was beautiful.
Sally was standing in the doorway in a low-cut off the shoulder emerald green dress that hugged her figure so tightly he wondered if she could actually breathe in it.
‘Wow!’ he said.
And behind him on the sofa, the normally never lost for words Owen could only repeat the same word.
‘Are those votes of approval?’ Sally asked, giving her boys a twirl so they could inspect further.
‘Certainly is,’ George gulped. ‘You are glamorous, mum.’
‘And you? What do you think, Owen?’ Sally asked, looking at him intently.
‘I think you’ll knock them dead, and we’ll have to fight them off after. You are stunning, cariad.’
‘What’s that you said?’ George asked.
‘It’s Welsh for lovely.’ Owen lied, knowing full well that Sally would recognise the word. In their one and only night together, he had used it at the peak of his passion and after when she asked, he’d explained it meant sweetheart or loved one.
‘We should go in the car,’ George said. ‘You can’t walk through the streets looking like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘You might cause a riot, but seriously, you don’t want to spoil the look by traipsing along the pavements.’
‘I’ll see if I can get a taxi,’ Owen said, leaping into action. ‘We’ll not find a parking space near the pub tonight.’
And twenty minutes later, they entered the Fig & Firkin. It was already heaving with New Year’s Eve revellers, but the crowds willingly gave way to allow Sally and the two young men escorting her access to the bar.
‘Evening,’ Millie greeted them. ‘You look beautiful, Sally. What can I get you all?’
