Girl Next Door - Alyssa Brugman [54]
Then it does stop. Eck, eck, eck . . . Nothing. I wait for ages. Thank God!
I close my eyes again. The next time I wake up it's to softer voices. Bryce Cole is in the doorway. A shaft of light crosses his face, leaving half in shadow. There's a woman with him, but it's not my mum. I look across and see Mum asleep in the top bunk opposite.
The woman is squinting into the gloom. Her skirt is too short and her heels are too high. She trips a little and giggles into his shoulder. 'Oh look! There are children in here. I thought you were joking. Let's go back downstairs.' She takes his hand.
'The bar's closed,' he whispers. 'I've got to get some sleep.'
'The Railway Hotel will still be open. We've got at least an hour.'
Bryce Cole extracts his hand from hers. 'Maybe some other time.'
'C'mon. Just one drink. It'll be fun!'
He hesitates.
'It's just at the end of the block. I'm buying.' She takes his hand again and he steps out of the doorway. The door shuts quietly behind them. I hear the woman giggle again as they head down the corridor.
I hate the Plough and Peanut. I hate that old man next door. I hate the tarty woman and I hate Bryce Cole.
22
ROMANCE
ME
It must be some poor bugger's job to clean the bathrooms because in the morning it's orderly and stinks of bleach. There's no little bar of soap in a cardboard box like you get at a hotel, so I jump out of the shower halfway through and nick a handful from the dispenser over the sink. Willem must have done the same thing in the men's, because when I sit next to him at the table downstairs afterwards I notice that he smells like toilet cleaner too.
We have a big fry-up breakfast in the saloon. There are three bain-maries along the bar and one of those toaster machines with the conveyer belt. It's all greasy, the cold eggs float in a mysterious grey liquid, and I don't know how fresh their oil is, but the bacon is good.
The barman turns on the racing channel. He's literally hosing down the floor behind the bar. Bryce Cole is staring at the screen, watching the racing from overseas that was on overnight, so it's just race after race after race, with no lead-up or talking or anything. In the ad break Bryce Cole takes the race guide out of the paper.
It rattles as he flicks it, making the page stand up straight. Then suddenly he holds it up close to his nose, frowning. He puts the paper down on the table.
'Romance Me is running today,' he begins.
Will helps himself to another serve. I'm quite worried about how many baked beans he's having. He's chanting 'protein for my body' in an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent. It's ten o'clock already. I'm not sure what we're doing for the rest of the day, but I make a mental note not to sit next to Will.
Bryce Cole continues. 'The sire was a colt named New Romance – this must have been about six, maybe seven years ago now. Sensational animal. Incredible breeding. He sold for a record amount as a yearling at the Magic Millions. Everyone was watching him. Then he falls in his first race and fractures his shoulder. Tragic! So the owner rests him for twelve months. Complete rest. Hand-walked every day, bathed in milk and rose petals, the whole bit. Then after a year he's declared fit to serve. He covers his first mare. The fracture's not healed. He dies on the job. Can you believe it?' Bryce Cole shakes his head. 'Everyone's in uproar. But!' Bryce Cole holds up his finger. 'The mare's in foal.' He taps the race guide. 'This is the filly. Romance Me. Started slowly. They didn't even barrier trial her until she was three. Everyone's forgotten about the whole thing, but this is it! This is the big one.'
I shake my head. They're all 'the big one', aren't they? I turn to Will to roll my eyes, but he's standing there, silent, with his plate of prrrotein for hiss bardy and he's buying it!
'How much money do you have left, Mum?' Will asks.
She's rifling through her wallet. 'A little over four hundred. You really think it will win?'
'I've been waiting for this horse for seven years!' Bryce Cole says, his eyes alight.