Tim unscrewed the bottle cap to let the wine breathe, but on second thoughts decided to take his first drink. Maureen was already reading in bed and unlikely to come downstairs again, so why shouldn’t he begin the wine he had set aside to keep him company? Sulphur preservatives immediately assailed his sinuses, and for a moment he questioned the wisdom of his plan to consume the inexpensive bottle over the three hours the shop was to remain open. Tomorrow was a big day for deliveries, and Maureen had little sympathy for his hangovers. She was well acquainted with her husband’s undiscerning approach to wine, and refused to take a sinus headache into consideration when there was work to be done. Tim, however, decided to risk it. It was such a cold night, and he was so bored, and maybe someone from the pub would wander over later for a chat. Nothing worse than being sober when speaking with a person who has been drinking all night. At the back of his mind lingered the hope that the woman he had struck up a conversation with in the pub earlier that day might make an appearance. She and her less friendly friend had taken a table near to where he was relaxing with a post-lunch glass of red, and as they discussed what to eat he had leaned across to recommend the fish cakes. Tim knew that women loved things like fish cakes, and continued to chat and wink and charm until their food arrived.
This old man bothering you ladies? Paul said as he set down their plates. It was meant as a joke, and everyone smiled, but the expression on the publican’s face left Tim in no doubt that he was being told to stop harassing the customers.
He couldn’t understand what the problem was. He was just being friendly. Making Wood Green more inviting. Oh well, he said as he stood up, better get to work. Enjoy your lunch. If either of you ladies need anything just pop across the street, we’re open till late.
Tim took another drink straight from the bottle before hiding it behind a nearby stack of paper towels. He then wiped down the serving counter, prepared the cash float for the morning, straightened the magazines, touched the breasts of every cover girl, and fed another split log into the potbelly stove. The cucumbers and tomatoes were pestering him. Three times that month he had forgotten to store them in the fridge so they stayed fresh overnight, and each morning after, his breakfast had consisted of cereal, toast, coffee and Maureen’s reprimands about wasting food and throwing away hard-earned money. Although Tim knew that most people only wanted chocolate and DVDs at this time of night, he still felt that putting away the vegetables early sent the wrong message. That it looked like the shop was getting ready to close. With a whiff of defiance for Maureen’s procedures he decided to let the cucumbers and tomatoes sit a while longer. It wasn’t as if there wouldn’t be time to put them away later in the night. But for the present he preferred to imagine the friendlier of the two women he had met in the pub earlier that day walking into the shop looking for a little romance. Tim was all for romance. It was Maureen who never wanted to go out to eat, or have sex in the bathroom. She was always too busy reading her books. In fact Tim loved romance. He remembered buying Maureen chocolates once, but they had sat in the fridge so long that he eaten most of them himself. And just because he liked action films didn’t mean that going to the movies wasn’t romantic. Films with subtitles gave him a headache.