A World Apart

Chapter 1

Lizzy

"Pass those empties, mate." Lizzy prodded the man with her free hand, the other balancing a stack of empty pint glasses.

"Would you shut it?" The man ignored Lizzy's request.

A mighty roar bellowed in the room, the wallop of noise raising the hairs on Lizzy's arms. The Celtic versus Rangers football match was on the big screen, the room jammed full, every seat taken with others standing at the rear or in the doorway, some crammed in window seats, others teetering on the backs of chairs. Most of the crowd were men wearing green and white jerseys in support of their particular Glasgow soccer club.

Lizzy tried again, this time raising her voice. "Listen, ya wanker, if you don't pass the glasses, you're out!"

He finally turned to Lizzy, his eyes roaming up and down her figure. "Aye? And how yous planning on doing that?"

Naive to think men would be different in Scotland. There were the same yobbos here, especially in a pub with a few pints in them. At least in Australia she was drinking with the lads instead of serving them. Then, they didn't seem half so bad.

The man was shoved hard from behind. Lizzy looked up to see one of the Queen's regulars standing over him. "Dinnae make me angry, ya prick. Give Lizzy the glasses."

The man grunted but complied, reaching down the aisle to pick up a stack of discarded pint glasses.

Lizzy didn't even bother to thank the man. Instead she turned to the regular. "Thanks, I owe you a drink."

He gave her a gigantic smile, all teeth, a mad twinkle in his eye. Lizzy wouldn't have messed with him either. "Nae bother." He winked at her.

Holding steady a high stack of glasses along her shoulder, Lizzy made her way to the front where other patrons clustered around the smaller televisions. Del Amitri's Roll to Me played through the jabberwocky of sport commentators, shouts at the telly and swearing at the referee. Good business for the hotel--a sticky, loud, exhausting night for Lizzy.

As she swung into the bar area, she collided with Jack as he was turning to serve a patron at the bar. The column of glasses slipped off her shoulder, leaning outward like the Tower of Pisa. She barely caught the stack before it fell and shattered on the floor. That's all they needed.

Her heart thumping, Lizzy grimaced at him. "Sorry, mate."

Jack grunted at her. No one behind the bar was in a good mood. Lizzy, Jack and Kiri, another bartender, had been working at pace since the match started.

"Which is worse," Jack asked as he waited for the pint in front of him to settle, "slow nights when you're bored ta death, or busy ones when you're run off your feet?"

Loading the glasses into the dishwasher, she shook her head. "At least the slow nights you get a break. I'd kill for a cuppa tea right now." The stench of beer and sweat was nauseating, her mouth dry and bitter-tasting.

Lizzy eyed the bar sink, but there weren't any clean glasses. Bugger it. She turned the faucet on full and drank from the tap, letting the water run over her face, some dribbling down her neck and into her shirt.

"That's mingin', girl," Kiri said from above Lizzy's head in her thick New Zealand accent. Like Lizzy, Kiri was an Antipodean backpacker working her way through the UK. Their friendly Aussie-Kiwi rivalry had started within minutes of meeting each other.

"It's called ingenuity, mate." Lizzy looked around for a clean towel but there was none. She shrugged, and then pulled up the bottom of her shirt and wiped her face.