Pete shouts over the music. ‘Band or ale?’
She’s drinking something the colour of meths.
He leans over the table near her ear, ‘Band or ale?’ His nose in her blond hair. ‘O.K?’
She shakes her head, doesn’t know what he’s talking about. ‘Twisted Wheel?’
‘Is it a band or ale? Twisted Wheel?’
‘What?’
‘Twisted Wheel is it a band or name of an ale?’
‘Band.’
‘Maximum Darkness.’
‘Sounds metal. Band.’
‘Wild Mule.’
‘Beer.’
‘Art Brut.’
‘Cocktail.’
‘It’s just bands or beers.’
‘Band then.’
‘Cascade.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘White Rat.’
‘Band, I dunno.’
‘Escaliber.’
She shrugs. ‘Beer?’
‘Anti Nowhere League.’
‘Band obviously.’
‘Yorkshire Blonde.’
‘Beer.’
‘I’d like a pint of Yorkshire Blonde.’
She grins, ‘I’m from Stockport.’