Why me, Ginger said.
Ryan pressed his lips together and tried not to smile. Poor Ginger.
Well, poor Sammy.
Then the real ale lines stopped working for apparently no reason. Pete had to go down to the cellar to fix them, and it wasn't a quick job. Two of the regulars were at the bar; they were proper ale fans, and weren't impressed with having to wait. Ryan tried to keep them occupied with friendly chat while Pete worked his magic downstairs.
Rachel was due in at six to start the evening shift. When the phone rang at quarter to six, Ryan winced in anticipation. To add to the crap of the day, Rachel told him she was calling in sick. "Rachel, please," Ryan pleaded with her. "You can't be that ill. Just work until ten, and I'll close for you."
"I can't," she wheezed down the phone. "It ca
