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‘That’s a good idea,’ I said. ‘It’s going to get busy again soon.’

‘No bother,’ Terry said, a question still in his eyes. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’

I nodded. ‘You guys enjoy your night. Next round’s on me.’

They headed for one of the smaller tables by the back wall and ended up underneath
Gryff
. Terry caught my eye again once they’d sat down, and raised his eyebrows. I gave him a thumbs-up and a smile, not sure whether he was asking if I was okay or if he was.

The place started to fill up again and it wasn’t long before we were knee deep in the trenches once more. The music got louder and the drinks orders bigger and braver as the night progressed, and I soon had too many other things jostling for attention in my brain for me to think about Paula. I still felt a shiver of hope every time the door opened, right enough.

On the few occasions I had the chance to check, Terry and Veronica seemed to be getting on confusingly well. By
ten o’clock
, they were holding hands on top of the table; then, a little later, Ronni had moved her chair round next to Terry’s and their hands were
under
the table. After that I stopped looking.

Ten minutes before closing time Terry pushed his way to the bar and caught my attention between punters. ‘Listen. mate, we’re away to get a taxi.’

‘Together?’ I had to shout for him to hear me as the speakers were turned up to eleven and every drunk in the pub had realised it was lights on time soon and were all trying to buy drinks simultaneously.

‘Yes, together,’ he shouted back.

‘Okay, be careful.’ I wished I had time to talk, but there was no way.

‘Thanks, Dad,’ Terry yelled. ‘Pint tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, I’ll phone you.’

‘Bye, Jim,’ Ronni called, her head appearing behind Terry’s shoulder. She had her arms curved round his waist, or as much of it as her short arms could cover, at any rate.

‘
G’night
Ronni. Be kind to him.’

‘No chance,’ she said, with the filthiest grin I’ve ever seen. Terry was definitely going to learn a few things about himself tonight, the poor bastard.

Terry saluted nervously as they backed up until the crowd swallowed them. It was like watching the Titanic leave
Southampton
Harbour
.

After the bar closed at
midnight
we spent the requisite twenty-five minutes explaining to every customer in the place that we couldn’t supply them with any more drink, then a further half-hour convincing them they actually had to leave at some point. It was close to 1.30 before we got the place locked up, stocked up and cleaned up.

It occurred to me as I tied off the last bin bag that, unlike my
first,
first Friday night at the Basement, I had managed to get through the whole shift without punching anyone. This thought made me smile, then made me think about the person I
had
punched.

At the end of a busy shift everyone is on an adrenaline high and I was no exception. No matter how late you get finished you always need a couple of hours to come down, and if those couple of hours can include vast amounts of quickly ingested alcohol, so much the better. That’s why staff drinks are such a vital part of any successful licensed operation.

‘Pint?’ Mark asked, from behind the bar.

But I had started thinking about Paula again, and had just checked my mobile to discover no messages or missed calls, so wasn’t feeling very sociable.

‘Nah, I’m going to head up the road,’ I said.

‘Aw, have a beer, Uncle Jim,’ Lucy shouted from the table she and Natalie had commandeered.

‘Yeah,
ya
grumpy old bastard,’ Natalie agreed.

‘Are you sure?’ Mark said from behind the bar.

‘Next time,’ I replied. ‘I’m old, remember. I need my sleep.’

‘Fair enough. I’ll let you out.’ Mark grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

‘It’s been a delight, ladies,’ I said to Lucy and Natalie as we passed.

‘Now you’re Jim the
boring
grumpy uncle,’ Lucy called as I left.

***

I stood at the top of the stairs trying to decide where I was most likely to get a cab. The rank at Central Station would be mobbed, as would Queen Street Station. I had opted for the long walk down to
Stockwell Street
and was about to set off when I noticed someone skulking in the doorway of the office building next door.

‘Buy you a coffee?’ Paula said, emerging from the shadows and walking towards me.

My heart had a wee go on a trampoline. ‘Eh, hi,’ I said.

Paula stopped a foot in front of me. ‘Hi,’ she said, reaching to take my hand.

I had no idea what to say, and we stared at each other for a highly emotional second or two. The follicles on my head that used to have hairs attached to them sprang into life for the first time in years and my scalp went all tingly.

Nothing was said, and nothing had to be. This was it, I knew. This was the moment when we accepted, no,
embraced
, the truth; German, grandparent-loving husbands be damned. I leaned towards her without any conscious decision to do so, my lips finding their aim naturally. My eyes closed as I prepared for the kiss I’d waited more than a decade for.

‘Seriously, do you want to go for a coffee?’ Paula said.

‘Eh.’ My eyes were suddenly open and my leaning suddenly stopped. ‘Right, yeah, ‘course.’

‘Is The Grind still in business?’

The Grind, besides having the best name for a café ever, was also open twenty-four hours, and it was just round the corner in Washington Street. ‘As far as I know.’

‘Let’s go, then.’ Paula let go of my hand and started walking. I followed.

The Grind was indeed still open. It was almost full but there were a few tables available; its busy time didn’t start until the clubs emptied.

I hadn’t been here for years but it looked identical to the version I held in my memory. The dozen or so tables had the same red and white checked oilskin tablecloths, the blackboards on every wall were covered with whatever art student currently worked there’s attempts to make overpriced coffee and stale muffins look appetising, and the three staff lurking behind the display cabinet/counter appeared as depressed as ever.

Even when I was young and stupid, as opposed to simply stupid, I’d never been able to figure out why anyone willing to work for minimum wage would choose to do so in a place like this. In pubs, restaurants and, to a lesser degree, clubs, you dealt with people when they were still generally optimistic about how their night might turn out. In here, they had to cope with not only the worst hours imaginable, but also those tragic idiots who were too drunk, too sad, too high, too lonely or too angry to go home to their real lives. Coffee was never going to compete with alcohol as an effective pacifier for any of these conditions, let’s face it. I know what I’m talking about here; I’d been every one of those things in The Grind over the years. Still, being in the trade, I always left a decent tip.

We collected our coffees from the miserable-faced vendor and sat opposite one another, at the table furthest from the window (Paula’s choice).

‘So,’ Paula said.

‘Yes,’ I confirmed.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t phone.’

‘Me too.’

‘Are you pissed off?’

‘Have a guess.’

‘You’re pissed off. I’m really sorry.’

She looked genuinely sorry. As well as gorgeous and all the other stuff she always looked. ‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, eyes firmly on the froth of her latte. ‘Last night was just … it was unexpected. I woke up this morning in a major panic.’

‘We didn’t actually do anything.’

‘Telling someone you love them
is
doing something, Jim. A pretty feckin’ big something, in my book.’

‘Of course it is, yeah,’ I said. ‘I only meant if, you know, you’ve changed your mind, then you don’t have anything to feel guilty about.’ I think this was the hardest thing I had ever said in my life.

‘It’s not that simple though, is it?’ She took a mouthful of coffee, emerging with a dollop of milk froth on the tip of her nose. I was about to point it out when she continued. ‘I wish to feck it was. But I haven’t changed my mind, that’s the bloody problem.’

Oh thank Christ for that!
‘I know it’s less complicated for me, but I am
so
glad you said that. Listen, you’ve got some—’

‘I’ve got some serious shit to think about, that’s what I’ve got. So do you.’ She kept her expression firm, but I could see the fear in her eyes. It was just above the froth on her nose.

‘I agree, but I meant you’ve got—’

‘It’s not just about me, Jim. It’s about you, too. I don’t want to mess you about, it’s not fair.’ A drop was forming at the bottom of the froth dollop, ready to plop down on the table.

‘Fuck fair,’ I said. ‘If it means I end up with you, you can be as unfair as you like. Now will you wipe—’

‘Don’t say that. Christ, you don’t even know me anymore, Jim. How can you know if you want to be with me?’

‘Same way you know you love me. Paula, look at me.’ I reached for her hand. She resisted briefly then let me take it, looking me in the eye. ‘I love you, I always have. That’s never going to change.’

‘I love you, too.’ Her eyes started to water.

‘Good, now will you wipe that fucking froth off your nose and we’ll talk about this.’

Paula looked shocked for a moment as her free hand automatically rubbed her nose. She let out a brief laugh when she saw the milk on her palm. ‘Has that been there the whole time?’

‘’
fraid
so. It looked cute, though.’

‘Wanker.’ All signs of imminent waterworks had abated.

‘Yes, yes I am.’ I bowed my head, getting another laugh from Paula.

She took a deep breath and removed her hand from mine, clasping it round her coffee cup. ‘So,’ she said.

‘What’s really going on with Ingo?’ It seemed like the appropriate starting point, much as I didn’t want to talk about him or acknowledge his existence in any way.

She sighed. ‘Truth?’

‘Truth.’

‘Since the school opened we’ve been more business partners than anything else. It’s the only thing we talked about, the only thing we connected on. It ended up being the only thing we had in common.’

This was all good news. ‘Right.’ I nodded sympathetically.

‘When it started going bad, he …’ she stopped herself for a second before going on. ‘No, that’s not fair. We
both
got so wrapped up in money and contracts and bills that even the little bit of pretence we’d had as a couple went out the window. Then we had to give up our flat and move in with his family. That was the end of us, really.’

‘When was this?’

‘About ten months ago. We’ve been keeping up the show in front of his parents and grandad, but it’s been the edge of the bed with three feet of space between us for ages. I’m a feckin’ expert at getting changed in the dark, now.’

This was
excellent
news. ‘Nightmare,’ I said. ‘So he knows it’s not been good, too?’