27th August 2010
Yazid gave up on trying the moment that the clock on the wall ticked over to seven.
Tracy cheered.
“Get yerself on the other side of that bar!” she crowed, shoving Yazid hard in the back. “G’wan, yer ingrate, yer not one of my staff no more!”
Danielle, his pink-haired replacement, giggled and started pouring a Guinness before Yazid could even ask for it; he laughed and whipped off his work shirt to the delighted shrieks of a hen party just starting up in the corner.
“Put that away!” Tracy jeered, her strong accent turning it into pertharraway. She tossed Yazid his backpack from the storage cupboard under the till, and he obediently offered the hen party a little self-indulgent flex or two before tugging a T-shirt over his head and “putting it away.”
“Knock it off, ye
