Bryan & Carla after the Supermarket Ch. 03

I could hear and 'see' in my mind's eye what she was doing down there. Every sound had a little echo, and I listened with fascination to every tiny morsel that teased my ears. I heard the long hiss as she transferred the connector from the empty to the full barrel. I imagined her her tongue poised between her lips in concentration, her slender arms executing her moves so smoothly in clear confidence in her technique that she was unlikely to spray beer all over herself and the cellar wall doing it. Then there was the hollow ring of the empty barrel being rolled on a rim out of the way, sounding somewhat like a treble bell; then she moved two full barrels into position, again using their rims and when they were allowed to drop in place they rang with a deep resonance like heavy bronze tenor bells that no Tibetan temple could inspire me more. She was humming a tune as she worked. I listened and reaffirmed, as I have always thought, that she was one singular delightful creature. Oh God, I thought, if only this retired old soldier had any chance of a lifetime with her, I would be in clover.

Halfway through her work, the landlord called his swollen son through to help in the other bar, calling him "Wayne", so I ran my mind idly through a few Wayne-isms for amusement while I awaited the re-appearance of a pearl ascending from a subterranean oyster.

Soon, in the same energetic manner Carla had skipped down the steps, she ran up them again, ignoring the rope handles and ducking down slightly in a smoothly oft-rehearsed action to avoid the edge of the trap. She emerged, carrying a stainless steel bucket, ready to pull the new beer through the empty beer line. I could see by her delightfully erect nipples, that it was definitely cold in that cellar.

I smiled and said "Hi" or something, with a stupid star-struck look on my face. No guile or anything on my part, so even if I wanted to, and I didn't, I just couldn't disguise how delighted I was to see her spectacular face again.

She swore and dropped the bucket.

It was like she was pissed at seeing me, as if I was a stalker that she hadn't quite got the restraining order in place for yet, while some lawyer wanting to screw her for money that she needed for Brie's life-saving medicine, or something equally important.

Bugger! That didn't go well, I thought.

But, being a man of action, and always on the balls of my feet, though, it was elbows off the counter, lift the bar flap at the end of the bar and be right by her side in an instant, with a hand holding her arm just firmly enough not to pose a threat but ready to tighten to stop her falling backwards through the trap door or collapse because of a leg or toe injury. Restraining order or not, she was once my girl for a night long ago and, as a consequence of my selfish actions, and not stinging myself on second helpings, I owed a duty of service to be by her side supporting her for the rest of my life, whether she gave me or not.

"Are you all right, Sweetheart? Did it hit your toes?" I asked anxiously.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the landlord in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane, that I sensed he'd have no hesitation to use if he had to. He really could move when he wanted to, so he also earned my respect.

Carla started to laugh at the absurdity of my concern, but she stroked my hand that held her arm. Buoyed up by relief that she was not only unhurt but not offended by my presence or disturbed by the fourth time I had actually touched her uninvited today, I turned to the landlord and said,

"It's all right, Sir, no harm done, we've got this covered."

He gave me his trademark nod and turned away.

I picked up the bucket with my free hand and, only a step away, pushed it under the Fosters' tap to rest on the drip tray. I hooked the handle over to secure it and flipped down the lever tap, prompting a hiss and flow of white bubbles. I lifted the bar cloth that had been covering the tap sign since before I had entered the bar, signalling its unavailability, and folded it neatly one-handed. I wasn't going to release my light hold on her arm until I had to relinquish it.

I think she was just watching me, but I was concentrating on attending to the series of tiny tasks in hand. As soon as the actual beer flowed through, I turned off the tap and placed the bucket on the ground, picked up a glass and ran an eighth of a pint through, holding it up for inspection to the light. It was clear. I sniffed it, noted it smelt like water with the barest hint of popcorn-like essence for flavour, which might just about be detectable to someone with the most sensitive of palettes, which was precisely what I expected to find. Fortunately, for the impartial drinker, no 'off' smells, so I guessed it was all right and that the beer lines were satisfactorily clean too.

I poured the content of the beer glass untasted into the bucket and turned towards her. Carla was facing me, one hand on her hip, the other arm held by me, and a beautifully natural smile on her face.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a neutral voice.

"Heard you were short-handed tonight." Two can play at neutral.

"Yes, Michelle has called in sick, Clive's trying to get a replacement at short notice."

"That's unlikely to be successful. You've heard the new Woddespoons is opening tonight down tow?"

She nodded, "There's posters everywhere."

"And they have a Happy Hour starting in about ... twenty minutes. Anyone not already working will probably be down there now."

"My Dad and older brothers were going too. They only have a tiny car park, so that's probably full already, but if you start walking now, you might just make it," she said, her smile broadened and her eyes sparkled.

Oh well, this could be the first positive action which launches the rest of my life as the happiest man in the world, or relegate the rest of my life to one full of regrets and 'what-ifs'.

So I stepped back to stand in front of her, holding her eyes pointing at mine. I placed both my hands on her hips, noting that she moved her hand out of the way as mine settled. She didn't step back to fall down the cellar, so I just bend my head into her and pushed my slightly parted lips onto her lips, then running my tongue lightly along her lips. She tasted of strawberries. She parted her lips and tentatively met my tongue with her tongue halfway, between where our lips caressed. She boldly sucked my upper lip into between her lips for a sweet moment and I reciprocated by sucking in her lower lip, adding a nip with my teeth to remind us both that this was not a dream. She closed her eyes, so I closed mine.

While this interesting mouth action was developing, she moved her hands up the gap that existed between us, lightly brushing my stomach and chest before she rested her wrists on my shoulders and started to stroke my neck and jaw and what else she could reach without straining, like a light stroke of her fingertips around the lobe of an ear. All the while our lip kissing was deepening and our heads rolling without daring jeopardizing the soft melding junction of our lips. Finally, she pulled back and we broke our kiss and opened our eyes. I had never seen her face, flushed as it was with deep pink and her eyes blazing, look so beautiful.

"Well, Carla, my love, that was a much better return of greetings between us than 'holy fuck!' don't you think?"

"Uh uh, it'll certainly do for now. So, however tempting that Happy Hour, no Wodderspoons for you tonight, then?"

"Not tonight, nor any night you're anywhere else, my love," I said, hesitating for a moment then, but noting that 'my love' did not received a negative retort, continued, "I'm still working on the possibilities of a Happy Rest-of-our-lives."

"That's nice, really nice, Bryan. I thought, actually, that I was seeing you tomorrow. I know for certain that I invited you and also quite sure that you'd accepted." She was still stroking my smooth recently shaved jaw with one hand while the other had moved around to tickle the short hairs on the nape of my neck, so I felt safe to retain my light grip on her hips.

"I did accept, but when you said you worked here for four nights a week, I thought that maybe your statement was a kind of open invitation to come here and see you one evening, or wondered if it was extendable to cover every such evening."

"I can quite understand how you could easily misconstrue what I said, but I am equally sure that a timely reply to any implied invitation on my part, would have been met with a far more acceptable response than 'holy fuck!"

"Well, your response did introduce a most attractive deepening of the colour of your cheeks, which I must say counts as one of the loveliest sights of my evening so far," I smiled, "but I'll remember to let you know beforehand next time I drop in to see you."

"You believe there will be a next time?"

"I live in hope, Carla, in fact, not counting the BBQ tomorrow, I was hoping that on Sunday we could take Brie somewhere, say a soft play centre where we could watch her while drinking coffee, or maybe visit the zoo, or check out the park with a picnic, or walk back along the river where there is a smart new playground for Brie to try out. Perhaps we could fit in a combination of those things. I thought maybe it was time in our long relationship for me to man up and do some of the inviting for a change."

"Yes, that would be a nice change, I do believe I invited you the first time we went out on a date."

"How could I forget? So, are you free on Sunday, all day?"

"We are both free on Sunday, all day, if the invitation includes Brie."

"It does. You can take it as a given, Carla, that unless I specify otherwise, my invitations to you are inclusive of Brie. In time I hope that you might invite me to you and Brie to outings you have planned"

"Then I accept your invitation for Sunday."

"You haven't determined where we are going yet."

"True, but as you have replied positively to my invitations ... Hey! Come to think of it, you were very late agreeing to the BBQ after first tuning it down, and almost gatecrashed this loosely implied invite, but I'm not a girl to hold a grudge."

"Are you all right in there?" came a voice from the doorway to the other bar.

I looked up to see who was in the doorway and, as I thought, it was The Fat Controller Who Was Not Actually In Control Of Anything. His father had already decided that Carla had this interloper wrapped around her little finger.

"Yes, thank you," I replied, "we're perfectly all right in here."

While almost simultaneously Carla said, "I think we've solved tonight's staff problem, Wayne. Bryan meet Wayne, Wayne meet Bryan."

"We've met," I whispered in her ear, "he buggered up a Russian Imperial Stout for me before the proper staff showed up."

"Oh, sorry Bryan, I was held up in the kitchen."

We separated, Carla surveyed the bar quickly to see no-one waiting or even as witness to the manner of our greeting, then she swept up the bucket of lager and emptied it down the sink at the far end of the bar.

"So, what bar experience have you had?" Wayne addressed his Dad's new prospective part-time stand-in. I imagined that he was hoping I would be of only one night's duration.

"Well, I have helped out in the NAAFI in Helmand Base when we were under a mortar attack and me and my 41 men had come in from a twelve hour reconnaissance patrol and the NAAFI only had one man serving, mind you it was 2am. Then I used to help in the Fighting Cocks in a hamlet near Lewes, Sussex, during holidays; my mother was courting the landlord at the time and I worked a Christmas and New Year holiday week and covered for them for a couple of weekends away, all gratis mind, as it was virtually for family. Oh, and before that of course, I did a three-day cellar craft course with Harvey's in prep for holiday cover. I prefer to retain my amateur status, of course, Wayne, so I am helping out Carla purely as a favour to her in this instance."

"Oh, OK. You just helping out for tonight, then?"

"Yes, I start my new full-time job on Monday, so I'm afraid I won't have time to do this on a permanent basis."

"Anyway, Wayne," Carla added as she appeared by my side again, "I can certainly vouch for Bryan Taylor's talents, and as he is a recently retired tank commander, a Captain, he is accustomed to being in command of any situation. Be a sweetie, though Wayne, and look after the bar a moment will you? We need to take this bucket back to the cellar and I'll show Bryan the ropes while we're down there."

With that, Carla grabbed my hand, pulling me along with her, down the narrow cellar steps, joyfully swinging the handle of the bucket.

"Mind your head, Sweetheart," she sang as she hopped down, "certain people find it tricky getting down here."

"I'm fine, honey, I've known a lot tighter tank turrets in my time," I replied, bobbing and ducking my head to avoid the woodwork and masonry that threatened to stove my head in, and maintaining the neatness of my footwork negotiating the steps that were decidedly more uneven than any modified Scimitar. I could only just stand up in the lowest part of the cellar where the drain sump grating was under our feet.

Carla dropped the bucket and said very quietly, "When we were so rudely interrupted just then, where exactly were we Bryan? I think I am going to have to rely on you to keep me on the right page."

"Well, Carla," I whispered back, "I am certainly bidding for the role of keeping you, on the page or otherwise, so I thought we were around about here, give or take a kiss or two."

I put my arms around her, pulling her into my chest and lifting her feet off the ground while my lips pressed hers with some urgency, open mouthed but holding my tongue back in my own mouth, waiting for her to respond by way of invitation. We continued kissing, her arms free and holding on around my neck. Briefly, all too briefly, her legs wrapped around mine pulling me tightly into contact with her, so she could have been in no doubt as to the degree of my arousal, about 90 degree. But all too soon she dropped her feet from behind me and I dipped enough to allow her feet to reach the ground. She released her lips from mine and we dropped our arms to the neutral territory of our sides.

"We've got to get back now," she whispered, "otherwise Wayne will only fuck up my till, and well, if we know what's good for us in the short term, I guess we better not touch again until the pub's closed. You OK with those rules, partner?"

"I'm used to rules, and trained to holding my emotions in check until the battle's won and we are safe at home back in base, Ma'am!" I saluted.

"OK, Soldier, these are the barrels for this bar, kegs on the outer wall, ales on the inside wall. Through that gap, there is a matching set of kegs for the other bar, but the ale in the middle here serves both bars. Anything unfamiliar, or that you are unsure of, Soldier?" As she spoke, and after pointing out the extension to the cellar for the other bar, she was rinsing out the stainless steel bucket from a flexible hose mounted on the wall and sluicing the contents down the ground drain.

"No Ma'am!"

"We'll go back up, but first I want to tell you that I love you. Are you all right with that sit-rep, Soldier?"

"Your current status is noted." I nodded, "And I love you too, Ma'am. I want to tell you here and now that in the very foreseeable future I will be volunteering to accompany you on an extended tour of duty that would last until there was only one survivor, Ma'am."

"You just waiting for the right time and place to initiate this mission, Soldier?"

"Affirmative, Ma'am, plus a certain decoration is required. Consider it both a rank and a battle honour if you will, that needs to be obtained from a local jeweller in the morning. That is if you feel you would like to be the other half of my crew on this life-long mission, Ma'am."

"Would there be any chance of making a tiny amount of room for another volunteer on this morning mission, Soldier?"

"Not only that, but a tiny soldier is an essential requirement as ongoing membership of this squad, Ma'am."

"Very well, that appears acceptable to both new recruits. I feel qualified to speak for the other, so carry on Soldier!"

We ran up the steps giggling, Carla summarily shooed Wayne back to his own bar and we worked the riverside bar together for the rest of the night, looking and smiling at each other, finding each other's giggles infectious.

It turned out that after the new pub's Happy Hour was finished about 9pm, the sterile pub lost much of its allure and the ancient pub that was so full of welcome and brimming with love for man and one particular woman, became extremely busy and the time we spent working in harmonious partnership just ebbed away.

During a lull in the rush, I turned and saw Carla pouring me an Imperial Russian Stout, to perfection, my second of the night. Despite the no touching rule we had agreed, I brushed my lips past her neck under her ear during the handover of that ale and I received a sweet giggle and a friendly pat on my rear for my trouble. Of the five barrels that were emptied by the thirsty clientele during the evening, I changed two of them and Carla three. She was a joy to be with, increasing my thirst for her exponentially.

Clive the landlord came into our bar at one point and thanked us both. He told me I could come back "anytime, mate", but I declined, unless it was a night when Carla was particularly pushed. Soon the bell for last orders rang out and we were busy cleaning up and closing down the bar for the evening. Fortunately, the pub employed an automatic food ordering and waitress service, plus youngsters to collect bottles and empty glasses for the glass and plate washer staff in the kitchen, so we didn't have to roam that vast lawn in the dark hunting out empties.

As we said our farewells before venturing out into the cool dark night, Clive took me to one side and spoke informatively about the riverside bar and the lawn being available for hire by the public for events, with a marquee on the lawn etc, for which there would be no hire charge for certain valued members of staff, extended to the fathers of the children of valued staff. Carla had just before this privately announced to Clive's wife, who came downstairs after being told that Carla's "man" was in the bar, that I was Brie's father and she hoped that we would marry'. I am sure it was supposed to be girl-to-girl talk, but I suppose they thought the world of Carla almost as much as I did, and Clive's wife blabbed to Clive.

He indirectly asked about where I had been all this time and I told him about my Army service and attributed our long separation down to a misunderstanding. He nodded sagely, and told me in his long experience of talking to troubled drinking men, that though men and women may appear to share the same language in the pedalo of relationships, misunderstanding was the rock on which many a vessel foundered.

Then, Carla and I were ready to leave. It was Wayne who let us out and locked up behind us, leaving us standing poised on the edge of the car park, holding hands, each considering the next move. We had danced, flirting and flouncing around one another in the heat of the evening. But now the night was cool and we stood on a precipice considering the depth of each understanding the needs of the other.

"Want a lift home?" she asked.

"Want a romantic walk home instead? I could show you round my house, although having only moved in today, it is not quite a home yet."

By way of reply Carla steered me away from the car park, towards the path leading to the main road that then lead down to the river bank, the way I had come earlier.