place on her. Rich
lent on the bar across from her, the smile never leaving his face. Terri, Dan
and Jason, held their glasses up towards her, and the handful of men at the
other end of the bar had stopped their conversation to watch.
How
bad could it be? She wondered, putting the glass to her lips and taking a small
sip. It tasted just like orange juice too, with a slight tangy fizz she
couldn’t put her finger on. It didn’t even taste alcoholic. Obviously,
Cottinghale’s idea of lethal was a lot tamer than she was used to, she decided,
brushing Rich’s warning aside.
‘Very
nice, thanks’
It
took Jules another two gulps of cocktail before she felt the relaxing hit of
whatever alcohol lay hidden beneath the zesty tang. The feeling causing a
trickle of peace to worm through the mess of thoughts in her head.
Before
long, Jules found herself leaning against the wall, allowing the gentle hum of
conversation to reverberate through her. As far as she could tell, the main theme
of conversation centred on the weather: what the continued cold spell was doing
to the fields, what the next week would bring, and what it might mean for the
spring ahead.
Everyone
seemed to have an opinion to share. She would need to start paying attention to
the local weather reports if she was going to spend more time in The Nag,
something Jules suddenly liked the idea of.
As
more people entered the bar they greeted Jules as if she was a long lost
relative. Rich, never far from her side, introduced the array of locals; their
names vanishing from her memory within seconds.
‘Another
one?’ Rich asked after returning from a trip to the kitchen.
Jules
dropped her gaze to her glass preparing to shake her head, but to her surprise it
was empty.
Thanks.’
She felt a warm glow coarse through her, and before she could do anything to
stop it, a loud hiccup escaped her mouth.
Jules
darted her eye towards Terri, still lost in conversation about the weather, and
Rich, who had turned his back to the bar as he fixed her drink. Nobody had
heard her embarrassing outburst.
‘Err
Rich?’
‘Yep,’
he answered, keeping his back to Jules as he prepared her drink.
‘What
exactly is in your concoction?’
He
spun around with a grin. ‘My cocktail you mean. I’d tell you but then I’d have
to kill you.’
She
felt a smile cross her face as she swallowed down another hiccup.
‘Terri,
Dan, Jason,’ Jules nodded to their glasses, ‘another one?’
‘We
won’t say no, will we boys?’
‘Nope,’
they chorused.
Jules
reached into her jacket pocket for her purse. She felt the scrap of paper brush
against her fingers, but the cocktail had clouded her mind and for the briefest
of moments she forgot the danger lurking at her touch as she pulled out her
purse.
It
was too late. Before she could do anything to stop it, the balled up piece of newspaper
fluttered to the floor, the movement destroying her warm glow with a sobering
jolt.
‘Did
you drop this Lovey?’ Terri asked unravelling the newspaper article Guy had
showed her that morning.
‘It’s
nothing,’ she spluttered.
‘Holy
Moly, is that you?’
‘Unfortunately
yes,’ she mumbled, dropping her face into her hands.
‘You
look...so-’
‘I
know, my fashion sense was a little questionable,’ Jules replied with a weak
laugh, hoping in vain that an attempt at humour would distract Terri from going
further.
‘No,
I mean yes, but it’s your face, you look so...so... oh I can’t explain it.’
‘This
is very cool’ Dan chipped in from over Terri’s shoulder.
Jules
shrugged, hiding her discomfort in a long sip of the fresh cocktail Rich had
placed in front of her.
Rich
lent over the pumps, his blue eyes moving first over the photograph and then
back at Jules. ‘You do look different.’
‘Yeah
well, it was a long time ago,’ she replied a lot louder than she’d intended and
avoiding his gaze.
A
voice inside her shouted at her to leave. To run back to the
lent on the bar across from her, the smile never leaving his face. Terri, Dan
and Jason, held their glasses up towards her, and the handful of men at the
other end of the bar had stopped their conversation to watch.
How
bad could it be? She wondered, putting the glass to her lips and taking a small
sip. It tasted just like orange juice too, with a slight tangy fizz she
couldn’t put her finger on. It didn’t even taste alcoholic. Obviously,
Cottinghale’s idea of lethal was a lot tamer than she was used to, she decided,
brushing Rich’s warning aside.
‘Very
nice, thanks’
It
took Jules another two gulps of cocktail before she felt the relaxing hit of
whatever alcohol lay hidden beneath the zesty tang. The feeling causing a
trickle of peace to worm through the mess of thoughts in her head.
Before
long, Jules found herself leaning against the wall, allowing the gentle hum of
conversation to reverberate through her. As far as she could tell, the main theme
of conversation centred on the weather: what the continued cold spell was doing
to the fields, what the next week would bring, and what it might mean for the
spring ahead.
Everyone
seemed to have an opinion to share. She would need to start paying attention to
the local weather reports if she was going to spend more time in The Nag,
something Jules suddenly liked the idea of.
As
more people entered the bar they greeted Jules as if she was a long lost
relative. Rich, never far from her side, introduced the array of locals; their
names vanishing from her memory within seconds.
‘Another
one?’ Rich asked after returning from a trip to the kitchen.
Jules
dropped her gaze to her glass preparing to shake her head, but to her surprise it
was empty.
Thanks.’
She felt a warm glow coarse through her, and before she could do anything to
stop it, a loud hiccup escaped her mouth.
Jules
darted her eye towards Terri, still lost in conversation about the weather, and
Rich, who had turned his back to the bar as he fixed her drink. Nobody had
heard her embarrassing outburst.
‘Err
Rich?’
‘Yep,’
he answered, keeping his back to Jules as he prepared her drink.
‘What
exactly is in your concoction?’
He
spun around with a grin. ‘My cocktail you mean. I’d tell you but then I’d have
to kill you.’
She
felt a smile cross her face as she swallowed down another hiccup.
‘Terri,
Dan, Jason,’ Jules nodded to their glasses, ‘another one?’
‘We
won’t say no, will we boys?’
‘Nope,’
they chorused.
Jules
reached into her jacket pocket for her purse. She felt the scrap of paper brush
against her fingers, but the cocktail had clouded her mind and for the briefest
of moments she forgot the danger lurking at her touch as she pulled out her
purse.
It
was too late. Before she could do anything to stop it, the balled up piece of newspaper
fluttered to the floor, the movement destroying her warm glow with a sobering
jolt.
‘Did
you drop this Lovey?’ Terri asked unravelling the newspaper article Guy had
showed her that morning.
‘It’s
nothing,’ she spluttered.
‘Holy
Moly, is that you?’
‘Unfortunately
yes,’ she mumbled, dropping her face into her hands.
‘You
look...so-’
‘I
know, my fashion sense was a little questionable,’ Jules replied with a weak
laugh, hoping in vain that an attempt at humour would distract Terri from going
further.
‘No,
I mean yes, but it’s your face, you look so...so... oh I can’t explain it.’
‘This
is very cool’ Dan chipped in from over Terri’s shoulder.
Jules
shrugged, hiding her discomfort in a long sip of the fresh cocktail Rich had
placed in front of her.
Rich
lent over the pumps, his blue eyes moving first over the photograph and then
back at Jules. ‘You do look different.’
‘Yeah
well, it was a long time ago,’ she replied a lot louder than she’d intended and
avoiding his gaze.
A
voice inside her shouted at her to leave. To run back to the
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