The skinny boy is back. And apparently he’s Nina’s new best friend.
Claire looks down the length of the bar, cloth in one hand, glass in the other. Nina, for some reason, is leaning over the end of the bar, her arm turned at some crazy angle and laid flat along the surface. He’s kneeling on a stool, taking snaps of her arm with his camera.
Claire has absolutely zero idea what they’re doing. And if she wasn’t so busy watching a couple on one of the most awkward dates ever, she’d probably go find out. For now, though, she has something slightly more entertaining to do.
It’s another quiet weeknight in the bar, and Andrew is upstairs watching TV, so they’re free to work as little as possible, knowing that he won’t pop out of his office at any moment. He’ll turn up at the end of the shift, bleary-eyed and cheerful to count the till and lock up.
To stave off complete boredom, she polishes a rack of wine glasses as she surreptitiously watches this guy and girl try to make conversation. They turned up forty-five minutes ago, ordered a bottle of red wine, and sat down in the booth. And for forty-five minutes, Claire has watched, enthralled, as they struggle to find something to say. Maybe, if it wasn’t dead tonight, and if the skinny boy wasn’t hogging Nina, this date wouldn’t be quite as fascinating. For now, however, it’s like one of those awful reality shows on late-night TV. Inevitably, she tunes in about halfway through an episode and finds herself idly captured until the end—mostly because she wastes that much time trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
It took her a little while to figure out this was a first date. The bottle of wine threw her off initially. Claire would never make the mistake of ordering a bottle on a first date. She thought everyone knew to always choose a drink that can be disposed of quickly. That way she can get out fast if she needs to. The bottle had to be the girl’s idea, too, because he’s pawing the glass as if he’s never held anything smaller than a pint glass. Totally classy. The girl fills in the many silences by checking her phone and playing with her hair, while he stares longingly at the group of students drinking beer and watching some sport crap on the TV. Yep, their first mistake was coming here.
And now Claire is trying to figure out which of them is going to make a break for it first. When Claire went by before, she took her time to wipe down the table next to theirs, and he was talking in this kind of stupefied drawl as though he’s been hit in the head one too many times. Probably a footy player. The girl was politely pretending to be interested, clearly much more socially generous than Claire would ever be. Everything about their interaction, even from this far away, suggests that this date is dead in the water.
She shakes her head and picks up another glass. She would never let it get this far. If she’s learned one thing, it’s when to cut and leave. Just a few weeks ago, she went out with one of Michelle’s friends. The guy was so congenitally boring that she feigned cramps and left nothing but a Claire-shaped dent in her seat before an hour was up. No point wasting time dancing around the edge of something that she’s already decided is never going to happen in a million years.
This girl should take a leaf from Claire’s dating book. At least that’s what she’s thinking when the curveball comes. Suddenly, he leans in and says something to the girl. The girl tucks her hair behind her ear, smiles, and nods back at him. Next thing she knows, they pick up their drinks, throw down the last of them, and reach for their belongings. He takes up the half-empty bottle and holds it down low at his side, out of sight. He checks to see if anyone is watching.
Claire quickly glances away. If they are about to do what she thinks they’re about to do, suggested by the mutual head-nodding, smiling, and drink-downing, she figures they’re going to need as much alcohol as they can get. Who is she to get in their way? Good freaking luck, she thinks as the pub door closes behind them.
She shakes her head. She didn’t see that one coming. Not one bit.
Now that her entertainment has departed for the night, she wanders to the other end of the bar. Nina is still with the skinny boy, who now seems to be taking photos of her shoulder pressed up against the mirror fixed to the wall.
“Don’t worry, Neen, all the glasses are clean. I took care of it.” She shoots her friend a dirty look.
“Oh sorry, babe.” Nina faces her, contrite, her shoulder still pressed to the mirror. “I’ll take out the bins, later, I promise.”
“You better.” Claire leans against the wall and checks her watch. There’s an hour left until they can start to pack up.
The boy takes shots of Nina’s shoulder from above. He notices Claire watching them and nods a greeting at her.
“Why are you so weird?” Claire asks him.
“Why are you so judge-y?” He grins; his eyes never leave the viewfinder.
“Because you’re so weird.” Claire folds her arms. Obviously. “So, what are you doing, anyway? Do you purposely come in here for your insanity projects? Or is your whole life like this?”
“Actually, this time I am doing homework,” he mutters, staring at his camera’s screen. “I’m making the familiar strange.”
“Tell me now, am I destined to never know what you are talking about?”
“Probably.” He moves around to the entrance of the bar to take a different shot. “But that won’t be my fault.” He grins again as he captures the silhouette of Nina’s shoulder and neck.
“Yes it will.”
He ignores her and turns to Nina. “Can you lift up your arm and hold it until I tell you to put it down?”
Nina obediently complies. Claire leaves them to serve a customer and then returns to the scene of the crazy. Nina is still holding up her arm, wincing a little but remaining stoic. He takes a few more shots and then sets the camera on the bar.
“You can put your arm down now. Thank you so much, honey.”
Nina lets her arm drop. “That kind of hurt. But it’s all in the name of art, right?”
“Art?” Claire is doubtful.
The boy ignores her and sits on his stool. “It’s for class, actually. We have to take photos that make parts of the body unrecognisable. Totally conceptual,” he says in a faux-wanky art voice. “You probably wouldn’t get it.” He gives Claire a look that says he’s fully aware she probably does get it, but he can’t stop digging at her.
“I gotta do some work.” Nina rubs her shoulder and wanders away.
“Yes.” Claire glares at her. “You do.”
“I’m Robbie, by the way.”
Claire nods.
“I think you’re supposed to tell me your name. Just a suggestion. Social niceties and all.”
“You don’t seem to be into them, that’s all.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.”
She caves. “I’m Claire.” She can’t help it. She kind of likes this guy even if he is a smart-ass.
“Claire,” he says, contemplative, as though he’s considering whether he’ll accept it as a suitable name for her. Not as if he doesn’t believe her, more that he’s trying to figure out if it sounds right. Then he nods and shrugs slightly as if he finally, silently, accepts it as her name.
“Where’s your friend?” She empties a few of the glasses that Nina has stacked on the bar in front of her and puts them in the rack. “The geeky one who reads in bars?”
“I don’t know.” He sips his beer. “Probably at home studying because she’s way more well behaved than me.”
“Yes, she did seem very well behaved.”
“Don’t judge her, missy.” He holds up his glass, a silent request for another beer. “She is one of my favourite people in the whole world.”
“Yeah, but she’s not mine, so I can.” Claire takes his glass and pours him another. “Besides,” she says over her shoulder. “Anyone would seem well behaved sitting next to you.”
“Except you maybe.”
Claire smiles. He’s probably right.
“So what do you do, anyway?” Claire asks as she returns with his beer.
He holds up his camera. “I do this. I study photography.”
“You’re going to do it for a living?”
“I hope so.” He scrapes his blond hair back with his fingers. “Though I’ll probably have to work a crappy commercial job to support it, you know?”
Claire nods, although she doesn’t really know anything about photography. “What do you take photos of? Body parts?”
“No, that was for class. We’re working on form. I like taking pictures of people.” He sips his beer. “Whole people. What about you? What are you going to do?”
Claire tips her head back and sighs. “I just spent the day with my mother, and that was the subject du jour. Please don’t ask me that. Something easier,” she begs.
“Okay.” He laughs. “Let’s start small then. Star sign?”
