Performing

Part 4

Gary sat in the hotel bar. Faux 40s décor and hints of some smoky Hopper Americana were accented with bizarre touches. Gary had another piece of whisky flavoured popcorn, just to check. No, it was still weird. Weird and pointless as far as he was concerned. But then he was drinking in the bar alone at half eleven. Things always seem a bit pointless on your own. He was thankful it wasn’t busy. Had it been busy then he’d have felt worse. He was sure of that. He’d be reminded that he wasn’t there with anyone. He certainly wasn’t there with Karen.

Dinner had not been the unqualified success Gary imagined.

Karen had used the word ‘destructive’. That hurt the most. Evidently it had struck a nerve because Gary destroyed the evening from that point on with his sullen quiet. He knew it now. After the fact. A poisonous little concoction of regret and frustrated rage was being blended with overpriced continental lager. One did not complement the other.

The clock pushed onward, Gary finished drink and paid. He walked outside, wanting to take a look around, kill time. Delay having to see anyone. Well, delay having to slink into bed next to Karen. The traffic continued outside the station. Relaxed but still persistent. London was alive but Gary didn’t know anything about it or where to go. He’d decide what to do inside. More beer might even help. At least then he’d sleep. The lounge had some beers Gary had spotted at breakfast.

After a couple of small, but embarrassing, misunderstandings with the patient and polite Eastern European woman in the lounge, Gary had a beer. Free. Well, free if you’d paid for a room. And table service to boot. Gary had attempted the classic ‘You can drink it for me too.’ Unfortunately he was pretty sure it’d come across as a combination of drunk pervert and dickhead dad. He slouched into an armchair and stared absent-mindedly at his phone.

An apology. He’d apologise and smooth things over. He’d tell her about the money. The opportunity. Tell her that he was still under a lag from work, stress. Working meat all day was doing his head in. He’d retrain, do something better. Something that didn’t mean he was on ridiculous shifts. They could actually live together instead of just being in the same house arguing in silence.

Gary looked down at the bottle of continental lager, this one hadn’t cost him the best part of a fiver but it had made things seem clearer. He just had to make some promises and he could fix things. Put them back the way they used to be.

Gary sighed. This was a familiar scenario.

The concierge startled Gary out of his fug, apologised and handed him message. Handed in an hour earlier apparently. Karen?

No. Faintly ridged velvety notepaper and languid scrawl. Gary looked at his watch. He could make good on those promises this time. He could show her.

He had five minutes to get to room 161.