The Art Guy (18+) COMPLETE, FREE to READ

Hello Soldier, What's Your Name?

London, 1992

"So, this is where you work?"

Had it always been this way, where he said things that were stupid? Aye, I work here, seeing as I'm wearing the uniform everyone else is and I'm in the middle of sweeping up hair from the floor?

Alfie had materialised, standing beside her in a way she wasn't sure she liked or disliked.

"Mick, mate!" he announced. "Katrina's told me a lot about you! You're a chef, right?"

Mick's glance swept up and down him.

"Yup. Are you finished, Catty? I'll take you out for a drink if you want."

Oof, it wasn't friendly, and it didn't sound as if he wanted Alfie to come with them. The thought, though, of having Mick all to herself for the first time since he'd arrived in London filled her with joy, and stopped her from saying Alfie could show them some of the best bars nearby.

She shot him an apologetic look and mouthed the word, "sorry". Alfie shrugged.

"Finish up now if you like," he told Katrina. "Rick's not coming back this evening, and I'll cover for you."

She accepted the offer gratefully and hurried to the back room to take off her tunic and touch up her make-up. Working at Chevelure Chic had taught her subtlety when it came to what you could do with pencils, powder and lipsticks. Heaven forbid that Mick think she'd made an effort to impress him. She applied a light coating of mascara, dusted her face with bronzer and re-applied lip gloss.

Alfie was asking Mick questions when she returned and getting monosyllabic answers. Katrina wanted to shake Mick. Alfie would comment about it the next day, and for some reason, his opinion was important to her.

"Go to Madame Lucy's," he said. "It's on Wardour Street, and it does great cocktails. You'll get two for one because it's happy hour."

Out on the street, the pavements were busy. It was five o'clock and the rush hour had begun half-an-hour ago. People streamed past them, heels clacking, in their hurry to get to tube and bus stops. It felt strange to be here in London with Mick. The setting for the two of them had always been rural. With an urban backdrop, she felt out of place in a way she hadn't since first arriving in the city.

Despite its exotic name, Madam Lucy's looked like your typical London pub from the outside, all dark wood, gold lettering in the windows and barrels sprouting greenery. Inside, it was the same—brasses, decorated mirrors, dark wood, maroon-velvet upholstery and booths.

There was the usual group of middle-aged men sat at the bar and glaring at anyone under the age of 30 invading what they saw as their space, and the young, glossy just finished work crowd, clamouring for cocktails and fun. The fug of cigarette smoke competed with various perfumes. Katrina thought she could smell Opium and Poison. Honestly, some folks were still stuck in the 80s.

Mick told her to grab one of the booths while he got the drinks in. She slid into the booth farthest away from the bar. Perhaps such a private setting would encourage Mick to open up and talk to her.

He was back a few minutes later, muttering grumpily about London prices, happy hour or not. He slid a pink-coloured drink across the table to her and sat down.

"What have we got then?" Katrina asked. His own drink looked much more masculine, served in a crystal tumbler and pale-golden in colour.

"Whisky sour for me. A cosmopolitan for you. It's cranberry juice and vodka."

And terrifically strong. The first gulp she took almost made her choke. Still, she could feel the hit of it spreading through her body. Who knew what the night might bring? Its possibilities began to unfurl inside her.