Chapter 12
Bernie - Bernadette - was Irish and a few years older than me. She had red ringlets, a wickedly dirty laugh, and was by far my favourite colleague at the Tivoli Wine Bar, where I’d snared a summer job. The Tivoli was one of the best places to work. It was located in the more upmarket part of the town centre, tending to attract yuppies in suits who tipped well if we flirted with them.
On this particular Monday in August the two of us were on the day shift, which was dead-as-a-doornail quiet. We stood about in our uniforms - black trousers, maroon shirts and black waistcoats - gossiping and pretending to wipe down the bar and polish the optics so we looked busy.
"It drags when it’s quiet," Bernie said, straightening a beer towel and putting an ashtray at either end of it. She w
