Before I can argue back, Arthur leans across the bar, plucks the balled paper from the corner of my mouth and brushes the rest of my cheek clean with his thumb. My body runs both hot and cold all at once like one touch from him sets off a fever in every pore of me.
After several beats pass between us where not a word is exchanged, I finally find the sense to break away from his touch. ‘Great,’ I mutter. ‘Now I have to disinfect again,’ I joke, threatening to squirt myself directly in the face with the bottle this time. Arthur only shakes his head, slides off his stool, crosses the room, and disappears into the loos without another word.
Chapter 11
Arthur
What was that? What on earth was that? Did she slip something in my drink? Or am I drunk off of one and a half pints I’ve nursed over however many hours I’ve been in here now?
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, clutching the sink. My cheeks are flushed the same colour as the old blush-style suite that looks as though it hasn’t been changed since the Seventies. Absolute bloody idiot, that’s what I am. And now Beatrice probably thinks I’m some touchy creep like Bill.
Why did I even do it? I am cynical, I am arrogant, I am a pessimist. I am not whoever it is who caresses a woman’s face after five minutes of knowing her when I have no intention of sleeping with her. But somehow every time I’ve found myself in her presence, I end up doing something so out of character that I’m sure she’s put some sort of curseon me where I’m destined make a tit of myself every time I see her.
Splashing my face with water, I make a futile attempt to cool down but the red hue in my pores only deepens. But this time when I look in the mirror, it isn’t the sight of myself that concerns me most. All of the doors to the cubicles behind lay open, the first and third are empty, but the middle is very much occupied. Jimmy sits slumped on the porcelain, his head in his hands.
‘Jimmy?’ I ask and he lifts his eyes to meet mine. The jolly look that has graced his face all evening is gone and instead he seems gaunt, his eyes are sunken, and any trace of colour is drained from him. ‘You okay?’
Instead of replying, he looks down at his lap. I follow his gaze. A dark patch stretches across his jeans and it’s soon clear what’s happened.
‘My hands …’ He trails off, lifting his palms towards me. They’re scarred, bent, as though he can’t fully straighten his fingers. ‘I couldn’t unbutton my trousers.’
Everything in his manner would suggest he’s defeated. It’s a look I’ve seen too many times before.
‘You might have to start holding back on the tequilas.’ I try to lighten the mood and I’m grateful when a timid smile follows his exhalation. ‘Need a hand?’
Refusing to meet my eye, he reluctantly nods his head. Without another thought, I help him unbuckle his jeans, and move quickly to help get him cleaned up. ‘I used to be in the army. I’d run ten kilometres every morning before I’d even had my breakfast. Could shoot a fly off the back of a horse’s arse without the mare even noticing.’He laughs, though there’s no humour in its cadence. ‘Now look at me.’
‘I can almost guarantee you had plenty of nights that ended like this in the army.’ I give him a reassuring grin.
‘Aye, you’re not wrong there, lad.’ Jimmy runs a hand down his face until his smile reappears behind it. ‘I had a mate who would shit himself every time he drank a stout. That would never stop him though. He used to chuck his boxers away in the paper towel bins or in the bottom of urinals. Bloody animal.’
‘Lovely.’ I grimace. ‘This is nothing then.’
‘I suppose not.’ He chuckles but the spike in his humour is short-lived. ‘But I can’t walk out there like this.’
For the third time in two days, I find myself disrobing in front of strangers. It is becoming a habit that I really,reallydon’t want to be known for, but at least it’s a good cause. ‘Now, these aren’t actually mine, but I’m sure from what I know about Tracy, she won’t mind me sharing them with you.’
‘Oh no, lad.’ Jimmy shakes his head. ‘I couldn’t do that.’ But I hand him the jeans and refuse to take no for an answer. Thankfully for Cerys’s dad’s beer belly, the hem of the T-shirt covers most of my dignity. That’s if walking around in a mini dress in a country pub as a man in his twenties could ever actually be dignified. I picture my overalls slung over the bench outside. There’s a whole pub, its patrons, and Beatrice between them and me. My gut stirs, but I know that Jimmy needs this more than I need my pride.
‘Can you manage to get them on whilst I go and grabmy stuff?’ He nods and I, as softly as possible, slide open the door just enough to peek out. Cerys is nowhere to be seen, thankfully. The few other Saturday evening patrons seem occupied, or drunk enough. Beatrice sits behind the bar, an open book on its top that she scans intently as she fills the quiet spaces of the evening. Perhaps they won’t notice me nipping across the room in Liam Gallagher’s nightie.
Just as I work up the courage to open the door a little further so I can slip through, it decides now is the right time to scream out for some WD-40. The old hinges must have been ignored for so many years that they fail to draw anyone’s attention. Unlucky for me, however, Beatrice isn’t quite like everyone else. Her eyes are on me in an instant, scanning me up and down as she seems to do rather a lot. Calmly closing her book and setting it down in front of her, she folds her hands together and sighs.
‘We were just starting to get along and now I find out you’re some public toilet pervert.’ That’s enough to get the rest of the pub’s notice.
‘Who’s a perv?’ One of the patrons speaks up and my chest tightens.
‘Are you always ready to strip off at any moment?’ Beatrice continues as I shuffle through the room, pulling my T-shirt down as low as it will go.
‘If I had pins like that, I’d always be getting them out, to be honest,’ another voice calls.
‘You definitely own one of those Burberry trench coats, don’t you?’ Beatrice can’t control her laughter now. Though my heart pounds, and I wish for nothing morethan to scream out to get her to cease her teasing, I know my purpose. I can take this as long as Jimmy is able to preserve what little of his dignity he’s been able to cling to. And from the little I know of the woman who devotes herself to my grandmother’s farm, this pub, and just about anyone in this village, I know that she wouldn’t joke if she knew the truth.
Diverting my course, I meet her at the bar. ‘Beatrice,’ I hiss. Still she smiles.
‘I let you out of my sight for ten minutes and you’re half naked again. We’ve only just met. If you fancied me, you could have been a little more discreet about it.’ I know she’s joking but her face flushes almost as quickly as mine does.
The rest of the patrons watch on with great intrigue and I know I have to do something, anything to throw them off the scent, for Jimmy.
