fiery altercation, the majority of which had been in Italian and would have been quite amusing if it hadn't included several pointed looks and gestures toward Dave that had started to make him feel quite uncomfortable. Whatever solution they'd arrived at, it was clearly not acceptable to either party and the end result had been Marcus storming back through the drop-sheet affording Dave a brief glimpse of congregated workmen beyond. Then the hammering and power tools had started up once more and Bruno had returned to his pottering, muttering away to himself under his breath.
When Dave had briefly mentioned, 'I don't want to cause any trouble.'
He was just told, 'Don't be stupid, it's no trouble.'
And then finally the whole charade had ended with Bruno crying, 'aha!' and removing a ledger from beneath a stack of other papers, toppling them in the process before thrusting it under Dave's nose and requesting him to sign what Dave was pretty sure was just a blank page.
Then had come a flurry of instructions as a key was lobbed in his direction. 'Room is the second on the left, through the drop sheet there, turn right top of the stairs. Left. Don't use the right they still need some work, yeah? We'll work out the payment stuff later alright? I have a couple of things to attend to. Room has a shower and whatnot... We'll sort out food later. All good, yeah? Brilliant, enjoy your stay at the Gallo's Hotel.'
Bruno had been heading for the drop-sheet almost before the last of the words exited his mouth. Dave had needed to call his name twice before he managed to get the man's attention. He'd halted, one hand holding the drop sheet aside to reveal Marcus glowering out from the other side. The pose making it seem as though Bruno was staring into a magical mirror that cast his reflection back minus two or three decades. 'What?' Bruno had sounded a bit short which had only made Dave's next words even more awkward.
'I was hoping for... Well... You know.' Dave inclined his head toward the gleaming row of taps, wilting beneath Bruno's steady gaze.
He'd been relieved as the man's face split into a grin, revealing yellowed teeth and he'd called, 'Help yourself.' Then he headed through the plastic, his voice rising in anger above the sound of the power tools.
But the relief had only lasted a few seconds.
Even now as he listened to the argument continue and went about filling his second pint, Dave wasn't entirely certain if he should be doing what he was doing. He couldn't stop shooting glances at the drop-sheet, certain that at any second someone was going to emerge from behind the plastic curtain and roar, 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?'
He'd kept up the glances the whole time he'd worked his way along the bar trying each tap until he realised that only the Carlton one was actually hooked up; they continued as he'd struggled with the modern and elaborate till until he was forced to admit defeat and settle for dropping a twenty on the bar next to it.
As he took the first sip of his second pint, his eyes headed to the drop-sheet once more but it remained undisturbed. He looked away, staring around at the strange interior and winced as the beer went down a little sour.
Just the Carlton, he told himself. Too used to the fancy imports. Either that or the taps... fuck knows when they were last cleaned... But no matter which excuse he went to it didn't quite ring true. There was something else at work that Dave couldn't quite put his finger on but he'd noticed it with the first pint as well; how it wasn't going down quite as nicely as he would have liked. Every time he took a mouthful there'd be a quick flash of Naomi shaking her head in disapproval and the beer would turn sour in his mouth.
In a way, Dave could see the funny side. He'd spent so long with Naomi thinking about how good it'd be to be able to settle in for a pint or two without her complaining that it was sort of bitterly amusing that he now had the perfect
When Dave had briefly mentioned, 'I don't want to cause any trouble.'
He was just told, 'Don't be stupid, it's no trouble.'
And then finally the whole charade had ended with Bruno crying, 'aha!' and removing a ledger from beneath a stack of other papers, toppling them in the process before thrusting it under Dave's nose and requesting him to sign what Dave was pretty sure was just a blank page.
Then had come a flurry of instructions as a key was lobbed in his direction. 'Room is the second on the left, through the drop sheet there, turn right top of the stairs. Left. Don't use the right they still need some work, yeah? We'll work out the payment stuff later alright? I have a couple of things to attend to. Room has a shower and whatnot... We'll sort out food later. All good, yeah? Brilliant, enjoy your stay at the Gallo's Hotel.'
Bruno had been heading for the drop-sheet almost before the last of the words exited his mouth. Dave had needed to call his name twice before he managed to get the man's attention. He'd halted, one hand holding the drop sheet aside to reveal Marcus glowering out from the other side. The pose making it seem as though Bruno was staring into a magical mirror that cast his reflection back minus two or three decades. 'What?' Bruno had sounded a bit short which had only made Dave's next words even more awkward.
'I was hoping for... Well... You know.' Dave inclined his head toward the gleaming row of taps, wilting beneath Bruno's steady gaze.
He'd been relieved as the man's face split into a grin, revealing yellowed teeth and he'd called, 'Help yourself.' Then he headed through the plastic, his voice rising in anger above the sound of the power tools.
But the relief had only lasted a few seconds.
Even now as he listened to the argument continue and went about filling his second pint, Dave wasn't entirely certain if he should be doing what he was doing. He couldn't stop shooting glances at the drop-sheet, certain that at any second someone was going to emerge from behind the plastic curtain and roar, 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?'
He'd kept up the glances the whole time he'd worked his way along the bar trying each tap until he realised that only the Carlton one was actually hooked up; they continued as he'd struggled with the modern and elaborate till until he was forced to admit defeat and settle for dropping a twenty on the bar next to it.
As he took the first sip of his second pint, his eyes headed to the drop-sheet once more but it remained undisturbed. He looked away, staring around at the strange interior and winced as the beer went down a little sour.
Just the Carlton, he told himself. Too used to the fancy imports. Either that or the taps... fuck knows when they were last cleaned... But no matter which excuse he went to it didn't quite ring true. There was something else at work that Dave couldn't quite put his finger on but he'd noticed it with the first pint as well; how it wasn't going down quite as nicely as he would have liked. Every time he took a mouthful there'd be a quick flash of Naomi shaking her head in disapproval and the beer would turn sour in his mouth.
In a way, Dave could see the funny side. He'd spent so long with Naomi thinking about how good it'd be to be able to settle in for a pint or two without her complaining that it was sort of bitterly amusing that he now had the perfect
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