Reforming Bill

Chapter One

Bill Chatford made his way into the pub and sat heavily on one of the bar stools, signalling to the barman for attention.

“Wow, you look like you could use a drink.”

Bill jumped as the young woman popped up from behind a bar.

“Do you usually do that?”

“Do what?” she asked in an American accent as she pushed a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear.

“Frighten the customers out of their witts!” he snapped.

“Wow, you really are in a bad mood. So what'll it be? You look like a whisky man, if I'm not very much mistaken.”

“What do you care?” he asked the woman, growing more and more irritated with her and once again signalling to the busy barman.

“Well this is my bar, so I care very much and if you want a drink, I suggest you let me get it for you. Pete's serving that group of businessmen who just came in so he'll be busy for a while.”

“Your bar?”

She smiled and nodded.

“You mean you own this pub?”

“I do. I can show you the deed if you really want but right now, I'd really rather just get you your drink so that I can get on with serving other customers.”

Bill wasn't really sure what to make of that. A woman owning pub! And working in it!

“Large whisky,” he mumbled, his black mood once again overcoming him and replacing the surprise of the last few moments.

The woman got a bottle of her best whisky down from the shelf, poured a healthy measure and placed the glass and the bottle on the bar in front of him.

“Aren't you going to ask if I want ice?”

“Nope,” she moved onto another customer a little way down the bar but continued to answer Bill as she poured the ordered pint of bitter. “You're here to get drunk and ice would only water the spirit down,” she explained.

She handed the customer his pint, took his money and gave him change.

“Was I wrong?” she asked, returning to Bill.

Bill was in a contrary mood and wanted to argue but he couldn't. He simply mumbled “No,” and looked down into his glass, making it clear that he wasn't here for conversation.

The woman moved away and continued working; either serving patrons or collecting, washing and drying glasses when she was unoccupied. Every now and again Bill would look up at her, wondering again what she was doing working in a Devonshire pub? He didn't believe her claim that she owned it. Maybe she was married to the landlord or something.

Most unusually she was dressed in men's clothing; trousers, a white shirt open at the collar, a jacket and flat shoes, though clearly her clothes had been tailored for a female figure. Her hair was also unusual for while almost all the women he knew had chosen some variation of a bob, this woman had long hair which she had braided down her back, though wisps escaped around her face which she continually pushed back behind her ears.

When his glass was empty he didn't bother calling for a new drink, instead he topped up the glass from the bottle she had left. It wasn't his fault if she left it here, was it? And if she tried charging him for the whole bottle when it had been half empty to begin with, then she was in for a fight.

She approached him a couple of hours later, early evening, to ask if he wanted any food but he declined.

“Sure? Might help your hangover tomorrow?”