Mirren noticed he’d turned his shoulder a little on the white-bearded barfly who was loudly regaling a tourist – who had been innocently queuing to place a food order before he was accosted – with a story about how he’d acted alongside Judi Dench and they’d shared digs while on tour in the seventies. Nobody in the snug bar room could avoid hearing him. Something in the angle of Adrian’s shoulder told her this old actor was a regular at the bar and he’d learned from experience not to engage him in chatter.
That’s when it dawned on her she was idly sucking air through her straw. She needed another drink and dammit, if the only open spot by the bar wasn’t right by Adrian, the guy she’d just sent packing. She looked at her empty glass, then at him. Her need was greater than her pride. She didn’t have to sidle over tail between her legs; she could style this out. Sail in, order her JD and retreat. She was on the move.
No need for talking, don’t make eye contact. This isn’t awkward at all.
‘Me again. Drank it all,’ she found herself saying out of a horrible compulsion to explain herself and tipping her empty glass to show him. What was with her tonight?
He nodded respectfully and cast his eyes back to his notebook and his good manners only made her feel stupider. Where was that barman?
The beardy barfly was now deep in conversation with another aged luvvie, presumably an old friend, and their booming, theatrical laughter broke out every now and then. Mirren was sure she could feel Adrian flinching beside her every time it did.
‘Nobody taking orders,’ she muttered to herself, spinning her credit card around between her pinched finger and thumb and wondering why she couldn’t stop herself speaking.
‘Hmm?’ Adrian looked up.
‘Nothing, just talking to myself.’ She clamped her lips, annoyed with herself.
‘He said he was going down to the cellar for a minute,’ Adrian remarked, keeping his eyes on his notebook but his pen was now immobile in his hand.
Her mind started working, looking for something to alleviate the awkwardness. She wouldn’t have asked if it hadn’t occurred to her this was an opportunity not to be squandered: ‘So you’re a reporter. Are there any jobs going at your paper, by any chance?’
She’d already emailed Mr Ferdinand – even though Kelsey had warned her he wasn’t inclined to pay his freelancers – and of course, she’d had no reply, but maybe this guy had the inside scoop.
‘Pfft!’ He’d put the pen down now. Mirren wondered if he’d rolled his eyes a little. ‘Some chance. I keep asking Ferdinand if we can bring more people on board, resurrect the paper. I mean, we’ve got the circulation and the advertising revenue, but he’s so…’
‘Crap?’
‘Resistant to change.’ He was frowning now.
‘Sorry, I don’t know him. I just heard…’
‘I know what people have heard. Our reputation precedes us. But you know, we were a proper theatre paper not so long ago.’ He lifted his pint to his mouth, suddenly dejected.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’ Mirren reminded herself of the other very good reason she shouldn’t be here saying things to him, or any guy for that matter, but especially not this one with the sharp jaw, dark penetrating eyes and fine, strong nose like a marble figure in some gallery, and she shouldn’t be finding it so hard not to look at his hands gripping his pint glass, either.
She reminded herself she wasn’t having anything to do with blokes from now on. She was self-protecting, hunkering down, ready to rise from the ashes of her failed relationship and career. Any day now. She just had to work at it and wait.
The barman returned and took her order. Mirren turned her attention away from Adrian and pressed her stomach to the bar, waiting in silence for her drink. Another half hour sitting by herself at her little table and she could walk slowly back to St.Ninian’s. That would have given poor Kelsey at leastsometime to herself.
‘You’re a writer?’ Adrian interrupted her thoughts.
‘Yes, well, I was. I’m taking a sabbatical.’
‘Doesn’t that mean you have a job to go back to?’
‘Umm, well… it’s more of a career-break kind of thing. I was with theEdinburgh Broadsheet. Court reporter.’
‘Nice gig.’
‘Hmm,’ was the best she could offer in response.
The barman offered up the contactless card machine again and she made a little prayer to the overdraft gods as her payment processed.
‘There’s nothing available at theExaminer, sorry,’ Adrian said, looking at his notebook again. Mirren felt the little pang of having wounded him by telling him she didn’t want his kindness a few moments ago then almost immediately changing her mind when she figured out there might be a job up for grabs.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I’m not always like this. I’m Mirren, by the way.’ She lifted herself onto the stool beside him at the same time as her drink was placed before her. Adrian closed his notebook, saying nothing. ‘I,uh, I kind of made a promise to myself not to get chatting to guys in bars, or anywhere really.’
‘OK?’ He waited, lifting his pint to his mouth.
