Page 94 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
I laugh. ‘YES. And the ceiling used to drip onto the dancefloor. I could never work out if that was from the toilets or not.’
He pulls a face at me. ‘You’d hope not. Taking a walk down memory lane, are we? I’ve never seen you in here before.’
‘Kind of. I met my husband here.’
He studies my face to gauge what that means.
‘Divorce?’
‘He died.’
‘Shit. That is awful. I’m very sorry.’
‘People always say that. Don’t be. I was very lucky.’
He smiles and nods. He takes out two shot glasses from a shelf. ‘Look, I won’t pry any more but this is on me. Take your time this evening.’
I bow my head in gratitude, reaching out over the bar to take the shot between my fingers. Sambuca. I’d recognise that aniseed smell anywhere. It scorches the back of my throat and hits the top of my stomach like magma.
‘What’s your name, by the way?’ I ask him.
‘I’m Tom.’
I laugh. ‘You’re frigging kidding me, right?’
‘No? Crap. Was that your husband’s name?’
‘It was.’
He winces. ‘It’s quite a common name. It’d be weirder if we were both called…’
‘Ronaldo?’
‘Well, yeah… That would be serendipity knocking on your door, for sure.’
We share a look for a moment. What would your nickname be? Braces Tom? Trendy Tom? Major Tom’s taken, I’m afraid. He’s even stolen the song lyrics as the caption on his photo in his new wing. He’s far above the world now but that will always be him.
‘I’m married, just in case you were…’ he says, seeming slightly terrified by my prolonged glance, like I’m fishing for a new Tom.
I reply by knocking my head back in laughter, though I’m worried I’ve now offended him.
‘It’s all good. I’m here to drink, not find new husbands. But tell me, Tom… what time do you close up here? Can I ask a favour?’
* * *
‘What are we doing here, Gracie? Why have you got a jute bag?’ Meg asks as she and her husband, Danny, run into the bar entrance. Alongside them are Emma and Jag, Lucy to the rear, and a very pregnant Beth and her Will. They emerge from an array of Ubers, curious, with an air of worry about them. My text was a bit random. It just came with an address. Maybe I should have added more detail.
‘Are you all right?’ Emma asks, taking in the state of me. My spirited walk has done nothing for my appearance and I’m part sweaty but also exceedingly balmy underarm. Lucy comes up and hooks her arm into mine; she’s without a coat so I lend her half of mine.
‘Is everything OK?’ Beth says. ‘When you went off after the ceremony, we were all a bit worried about you. You looked wiped out. We wanted to give you some space.’
They stand there waiting to hear the punchline.
‘I want to dance.’
Meg and Emma furrow their brows, wondering why this requires their participation. Lucy puts a hand to the air, possibly stretching in preparation.
‘This is the nightclub I met Tom in. It was a bloody dive back then but we met by that very bar. And I just strolled down here today, just to take it in. Relive a moment or something. Anyway, I then met the barman and his name is Tom too and he said we have this place until midnight.’
