Page 21 of Lick

“Hang in there. It gets easier. My wife swears by lemon water.”

“I’ll give it a go.” I absolutely won’t. Acid in lemons or other citrus foods gives me major heartburn.

A guy at the end of the bar signals me, but Leon beats me to it. “I’ve got him. Give yourself a minute and have a drink.”

I grab a glass, fill it with ice, and top it up with 7-Up. I sip at it slowly, the fizz helping keep the nausea at bay. The pub is starting to fill, so I don’t take long. Even though Leon and Greg have the best of intentions, I still have a job to do. I take orders and smile at the customers, keeping my mouth shut for the most part, because striking up conversations requires a level of energy I don’t have right now.

I’ve been working for about two hours when my stomach pitches. I signal for Greg with a wild hand gesture before running to the restroom. I barely make it before I empty my stomach contents once more. I don’t know how the baby is getting any nutrients when nothing I eat or drink seems to stay down.

Tapping at the door has me groaning. “I’ll be two minutes.”

“It’s Leon. Can I get you anything?”

“Toothbrush and toothpaste from my bag in my locker,” I call back.

“You got it.”

I get to my feet and flush the toilet. I open the cubicle and stumble to the sinks to wash my hands, when the door is tapped again. “Come in!” I shout.

Leon walks in with my bag and places it on the counter. “I don’t know how you find anything in there.”

I chuckle, remembering when my kids used to call it my Mary Poppins bag. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. I find my toothbrush and toothpaste as Leon heads back to the door. “I’ll be five minutes, tops.”

“No rush,” he says softly as he leaves, but I can’t help but let the worry gnaw at my gut. I can’t afford to lose this job, not now, on top of everything else.

I brush my teeth, then take my bag back to my locker before heading back out to the pub floor. I resume my duties and last another hour before I’m back in the bathroom again. It’s a cycle I repeat through the night until things quiet down and Toby comes in from the back office and tells me I can leave an hour early. I want to refuse, but I’m struggling to keep my eyes open, so I thank him profusely and call a taxi.

All I keep thinking about is how I’m going to manage. I’m stuck in my head overthinking everything, but having two kids who already hate me makes me feel like a failure as it is. Which is why I find myself doing something completely reckless.

“Hey, can you take me somewhere else first and then wait for me?”

The driver looks at me in the rearview mirror. “I don’t have anything booked after you, so yeah. Where do you want to go?”

I reel off the address from memory and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. It’s now or never and something tells me that if I don’t face this now, it really will be never.

“You sure this is the right place?” the driver asks me as we pull up to the curb.

I can understand his question. The building looks like it might once have been a brewery, if the faded writing on the side wall is anything to go by: Henwick’s Brewery, est. 1901. The building certainly looks like it was built during that era, if not a little earlier. Its brick design and multitude of windows make it look like a regular house, you know, if the house weren’t the size of a factory with two huge chimneys rising above it. It looks as imposing as its inhabitants are likely to be.

I swallow and look at the six-foot-tall wrought-iron fence that circles the building and the double gates where a lone man stands, smoking a cigarette, the cherry-red tip a beacon in the dark. A door opens to the building, spilling out music and laughter as someone steps outside. Their movement triggers a motion-sensor light that illuminates the parking lot on the other side of the gates, filled with gleaming bikes and the odd car.

“Yeah, this is the place. Please don’t leave.”

He looks back and stares at my face, and whatever he reads in my expression softens his own. “I won’t go anywhere without you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I climb out, not wanting to delay this any longer than necessary. Closing the door, I walk up to the gates, snagging the attention of the guy finishing his cigarette.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Lick.”

“He’s not here.”

My shoulders slump. Of course, he isn’t. That would be too easy. “Do you know when he might be back or where I can find him?”

“I am not his father.”