The Spark - Jules Wake Page 0,113
ambiguous about they wanted. I told Sam I was done. I meant it. I should be pleased he respected it, and I desperately wanted things to be right for him again. I’d done the right thing.
I suddenly realised that the landlady was talking to me and I had to nod as if I’d heard every word.
‘…although not many tourists use the train. Now, did you want to eat with us tonight? Or do you want me to send something up to your room on account of you being on your own?’
‘I’m … I’m meeting some people here. In the bar. At seven.’
‘Ah, that’ll be nice. Do you want me to book a table for you in the restaurant? We’re quite busy.’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t know what our plans are yet.’ I swallowed with the sudden realisation that by agreeing to meet in a neutral place, I’d also made it rather public. As it was the only pub in the village, she probably knew my father and stepmother already.
‘No problem. I’m sure we’ll be able to squeeze you in.’
I nodded, again. She must think I was a bit simple with all the nodding.
Unfortunately, she put me back in the same room, which did nothing to help ease the ache inside me. The sight of the bed brought back memories of that morning, sneaking out before Sam was awake. I regretted that now. I wished I’d told him where I was going, and why I’d picked the village, before we’d broken up. Now I probably never would, and it felt wrong. After a shower to wash away the careworn feeling after several hours on trains, I sat down on the edge of the bed, picking at the loose frill on the edge of the summery blouse that I’d changed into. It was half past six and I’d left myself far too much time to wait. Should I go down to the bar? Or sit up here on my own and brood?
Brooding was far too much the easiest option. I snatched up my handbag and phone and went downstairs into the quiet bar.
‘Hello,’ said the very friendly barman, with a mass of black curls, a golden hooped earring in one ear and a wide perfect smile, looking like a rather well-bred pirate. ‘You’re the lady staying here.’ He added as an afterthought, ‘On your own.’
‘Yes,’ I said scanning the empty bar and opting for a seat at the bar for the time being. His company was better than none, although even if I hadn’t been grieving for Sam, I wouldn’t have been interested in his very overt try-me-out vibes.
He followed my gaze. ‘We do lunchtime trade for the tourists. But locals in the evening. Unless folk are staying here. We’re quiet during the week. Booked out at the weekend. You here for a couple of days?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ignoring the obvious opening. I wondered if this was the sort of village where everyone would know my business by the end of the night. Had Dad and Alicia shared with anyone that his long-lost daughter had blown into town?
‘What can I get for you?’
‘Gin and tonic?’
‘We have all the trendy gins you could wish for. What do you fancy?’ He stepped back and with a flourish indicated a glass shelf full of an amazing array of different-shaped and -coloured bottles, as if they were vying for the best in show.
The familiar Edinburgh Gin logo beckoned. ‘I’ll have a rhubarb and ginger, single.’
‘What kind of tonic, Elderflower, Light, Mediterranean, standard?’
When did ordering a drink become as complicated as coffee now has to be? ‘Standard, thank you.’ I half turned on my stool, pretending to study the bar as if I’d not been here before. Unable to help myself, my gaze slid to the table in the corner that Sam and I had shared for dinner barely a few weeks ago. Pain twisted my gut and I stiffened at the memory of our knees touching under the table and our casually linked fingers across the wooden top while we waited for Cornish pasties and chips. We’d been euphoric, buzzing with excitement at our decision to sell up and combine forces. I closed my eyes. It had all seemed so simple then.
‘Here you go. Do you want me to set up a tab? Are you eating?’
‘No, I’ll pay now,’ I said, now suddenly anxious to escape from his chummy interest. Taking my drink, I slid off the stool and sought out a table by the window