The Gentle Touch

The room wasn't much. At £300 pound a month I wasn't expecting it to be much. The bed was tucked in to the wall with a locker and desk lamp beside it. A wobbly wardrobe stood opposite it, with a single rail and two shelves inside it. Not that it mattered much, I was never one for keeping piles of clothes. The window looked down onto the street, not that there was anything to see.

"Here you are now darling, get that inside you," my landlady, Mrs. Thompson, croaks as she walks in carrying a tray of tea and a digestive biscuit.

"Thanks Mrs. Thompson, I'll just wait until it cools a bit," I reply, not having the heart to tell her that I'm not a tea drinker.

She gives the blind a little jiggle, allowing the sunlight to illuminate the gloomy room.

"So Dublin, eh?" she remarks, as she gives the radiator a little kick, "I've always wanted to visit Ireland, but never got the chance. Well I suppose I never will now what with my bad knees and all. Tell me, why did you leave?"

I throw my last pair of shoes into the wardrobe and gently close the doors. I was never one for heart to hearts or telling people about my personal life, especially with someone I had just met.

"Oh, you know, I just wanted to travel," I almost laugh at my lousy excuse but quickly find a way to change the subject. "Of course, first I need to find a job."

"Well you're in luck!" she exclaims, as she claps her hands together in glee, "it just so happens that I was talking to Josie Burke earlier. Now you know Josie, if it's not gossip she's after it's money. Sad story really, her son went and squandered all the savings on gambling and then ran off with a little tart from the town. I tell you there was this one time–"

"I don't mean to be rude Mrs. Thompson, but did this have something to do with a possible job?" I didn't even care about being rude. I had about £10 to my name and was becoming desperate.

"Ah yes, of course, the job. I tell you the head would roll off if it wasn't screwed on," she cackles, throwing her head back as if to prove her point, "but yes, anyways, Josie told me that she overheard some young ones talking about an opening in The Cove."

"The Cove? Isn't that that pub down the road?" I ask, suddenly very interested in what this batty old woman had to say.

"Oh yes, it's the life of the town so it is. Now I don't know what kind of opening it is, probably bar work of some sort. Certainly worth a shot anyways. Mind you, the owner of the bar does seem a little questionable to me. All those tattoos, my God!" she shivers with disgust and makes her way to the door before swiftly turning around.

"Whoops, almost forgot the tray!" she exclaims, and takes the tea back up. I raise my eyebrows with confusion. She simply laughs and shakes her head.

"You can't fool me girl. It's obvious you're not a tea drinker. A real drinker wouldn't wait for it to cool," she winks and throws me the biscuit before leaving the room.

I bite down into the digestive and start to wonder whether I've underestimated this 'batty old woman'.

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The Cove was just as full the next morning as it had been the previous evening. It seemed that a conception of time didn't exist among the drinkers here. I wondered to myself whether they had arrived early that morning or had never even made it home in the first place.

The first thing I notice when I walk in is the kind of musty smell. I quickly realise that that smell is smoke. Evidently the smoking ban didn't apply to this place.

I make my way through drunk old men and posh looking guys playing poker until I reach the bar. The only worker behind it was a woman who looked to be in her 40s, and had some prominent piercings on her face.

"Excuse me?" I mutter, not sure if I really want her attention.

She looks up and pauses for a moment, clearly taken aback by my appearance. "What can I get you love?" she asks, in a surprisingly soothing voice.

"Erm… I was hoping to speak to the manager," I fidget nervously with my sleeve, regretting the choice to wear such a heavy sweater.

The woman raises an eyebrow but doesn't question me any further. She walks through the bar and holds open a door leading to a back room.

"Mr Horan," she calls into it, "someone here to see you. How should I know? Some young girl." She pauses a moment and then gestures for me to go through.

If I wasn't anxious before I certainly was now. The back room didn't resemble the front of the venue in the slightest. It was filled with red and white leather couches with gold frames and plush cushions. The artwork on the walls were originals that couldn't have been cheap. I could smell more smoke as I walked further in and suddenly heard voices. Male voices. It sounded as if there was three or four, but I couldn't be sure.

Before I could reach the source of the noise a man popped up in front of me. I almost jumped at the sight of him. I had just thought that Mrs. Thompson was being dramatic, but this man was covered in tattoos. He had blonde hair and light blue eyes and was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and and some black pants.

He looked equally surprised when he laid eyes on me and stood still for a moment, scratching the back of my head.

"How can I..uh…help you?" he finally says, taking a good look up and down me.

I shift uncomfortably but then decide I need some confidence if I'm ever going to get a job. "I'm here about a job position. I heard about the opening."

Mr. Horan looks even more surprised and then starts to laugh. My strong stance wobbles a bit, but only momentarily. In its place, anger begins to grow.

"What's so funny about that?" I snap.

"Just…not the kind of applicant I was expecting. Do you have any experience?"

I think back to my time in Dublin. I had only ever been behind a bar once, and that was when I was eleven and nicking a bag of tayto. But I had a funny feeling that wasn't going to get me anywhere now.

"Yup. Three years. In Dublin," I say casually, hoping that my face doesn't give it away. I've always been told I'm a terrible liar.

"Dublin? I thought I heard an Irish accent alright. Just for that, I'll give you a chance," he grins. It's only then I notice his Irish accent too. It's not a Dublin one, sounds more midlands. I don't even take the time to work it out, as I'm overjoyed by what he says.

"But," he claims, squashing my internal happy dance, "you will have to audition."

"Audition?" I question. How does one audition to become a barmaid?

He begins to walk down towards the main part of the room, where the voices are. "You know, just show a little of what you can do." He gestures for me to follow him.

I shrug my shoulders and walk behind me. How hard can pouring a few different drinks be?

We walk into a circular part of the room, and I'm almost blinded by a thick cloud of smoke. My guesses were pretty accurate. Three men were sitting beside a small table, a game of cards looked to be in progress as well as a serious conversation.

"Quieten down gentleman," Mr. Horan announces, "we have a guest."

The three men look up at me and appear equally shocked. I take a quick glance at them. The first is wearing a waistcoat and bow tie, has light brown hair and a pen in his hand. I look down to see a small black notebook with a series of numbers written on the pages. The one beside him looks scruffier, with messy brown hair and electric blue eyes. He has a smile etched on his face but there's something else about him. A sort of dangerous aura that I couldn't shake.

The third one is sitting away from them in a chair of his own. I make fleeting eye contact with him and can feel my confidence start to waver again. He as even more tattoos than the man standing next to me, combined with curly brown hair and a smoldering stare. A cigarette is hanging out of his mouth and he looks almost annoyed at Mr. Horan for interrupting their conversation.

"This is..uh," the owner gives me a nod to introduce myself.

"Lexie," I reply, happy that my voice sounds much stronger than I feel right now.

"Lexie, right. She's here to audition for the opening," Mr. Horan smirks at the other men.

The scruffy one gives an amazed look and stands up to clap Mr. Horan on the back. "Jesus Christ Niall, didn't think you'd pull a cracker like that out of the bag!"

Niall grins widely and takes his seat next to them. "What can I say Louis? Word must be spreading about the pub." He rubs his hands together joyfully and directs me towards to the middle of the floor.

I can't help noticing that there's no bar in sight. What am I even supposed to do?

"Take it away whenever you're ready dear," Niall winks, as the other men sit back and look at me.

"Uh…take what away?"

"The audition. Show me why I should hire you," Niall replies, sitting back like the others.

I look around the room in confusion. Something is definitely not right.

"But what about the equipment?" I ask, confused about the lack of drinks and glasses.

"Damn, she uses props and everything!" Louis exclaims, giving Niall another clap on the back, "good find, man, good find."

I look to each of the men seeking some sort of explanation as to what I'm supposed to be doing. They all seem completely oblivious to my hesitance, except for the one with the curly hair. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and rolls his eyes.

"Niall, you may want to have a word with the 'cracker'. She looks like a lost child," he grumbles, and picks up his cards from the poker game, turning back towards the table.

Niall shoots him an annoyed look and walks over to me.

"You are here for the exotic dancer job, right?" he whispers.

I can't help the loud gasp that comes out of my mouth and my hand involuntarily goes to slap his face hard. The contact creates a loud clap and I can see the two of the men howling with laughter. I can also just about see a smirk on the curly guy's face.

Niall brings a hand to his red jaw and frowns down at me. I gulp and want to run for the door, but my feet won't seem to move.

"I was enquiring about bartending work," I spit at him, covering my chest with my arms to get rid of the dirty feeling swallowing me up.

Niall stretches his jaw and clenches his fists to the side. "My mistake doll, but for future reference, if you ever pull a stunt like that again I will kill you with my bare hands."

A shiver runs down my spine and I'm glad to see that my legs have finally found their mobility. I begin to head for the door when a voice stops me.

"Give her the barmaid job," the curly one says, his eyes baring a hole into my head. I fidget and look away, hoping he'll stop staring, but he doesn't.

"Harry, I doubt she'll even take it now after I–" Niall begins, but I cut across him.

"I'll take it," I surprise myself by saying. Despite my fear and reservations for everything about this place, I feel compelled to accept the offer.

I try to convince myself that it's because I desperately need the money, and not because of my curiosity about the curly haired boy named Harry.

Notes