10
WITH A MINIMUM OF FUSS
Liza’s final punter of the night caught her eye one last time before he staggered out of the pub. She half-waved and smiled. Mary sat alongside her, elbows on the table, giggling behind her hands.
“God, ‘e looks a right jezebel” she whispered, none too discreetly.
Liza waited until he was through the door and out of earshot before she turned to her friend. She was just in time to see Mary take another sip then drunkenly misjudge the edge of the table with her glass. It wobbled alarmingly but she was able to stop it falling to the floor. She looked smug. As though she’d made a good job of disguising the error.
Oh Lord, she’s plastered again. Liza needed no more information to reach her conclusion. “You all right, Mary?” she asked, concern written all over her
