“Well, I hope you feel at home soon,” said Rowan. “I know what it’s like to move to a small village. Especially one filled with grumpy locals like Fergus, here.”
Fergus huffed. I forced a smile for all Rowan’s trying. I hated that he had to try.
Perhaps you shouldn’t have come.
As the thought entered my head, she walked in the door.
I looked up and saw a face in the crowd, smiling in my direction. I recognised the lank hair and the round watery eye. I quickly turned away and tried not to make eye contact.
It was the woman from next door. My neighbour. She was here.
And she was coming this way.
I snuck a second glance as she filtered between people. Her hair looked half wet. She’d probably only just stepped out of the shower before heading out. She wore a white blouse that fit her like a potato sack, and weird, tacky black trousers. Not that it mattered with the way she hugged her arms around her chest. So defensive. As if she were trying to hide inside herself, tucked away in her own ribcage, peeking out between the bones.
But her eyes were bright and wide and trained on me. Unblinking, open, hopeful. And her smile. The smile was new. A weird, wide, toothy smile.
I slid down into my seat.
I remembered offering to pick her something up from the village yesterday morning.
You’re very generous.
Guilt gripped me. I wondered if she knew I’d ditched her.
Out the corner of my eye I saw her hover over Rowan’s shoulder.
Oh no, I knew that hover. I’d used that hover while waiting to be noticed by chatting colleagues. I knew the dilemma: you need to talk to someone, but you don’t want to be rude. So, you decide to wait until they’re done talking. But they’re never done talking. They keep going. And you’re just standing there attentively, like a lemon, a big stupid grin on your face, waiting, and they won’t stop. And it’s slowly becoming more awkward, the longer you stand there, far too close to them now, and clearly listening but not saying anything. You know you should have just made yourself known from the start. Said, ‘Sorry to interrupt, but…’ Said something, anything. Not just stand there, smiling, like a massive creep. Like she was doing now, my neighbour, the wide smile straining on her face, clearly not reaching her wide eyes. God, I could see the whites all around her irises. She was terrified. She was terrifying. Had I looked like that? I’d always wondered if the folks I’d hovered next to, waiting for a good time to speak, had noticed me hovering there. I’d hoped they’d been unaware, but now I saw how stupid that was. The people they were speaking with were able to see me. I was standing right in front of them. They were probably very aware. As they continued on with their talk, they were probably thinking:
Oh dear God, she’s behind me, isn’t she? What does she want? Why does she have to be so bloody weird? Does she need something? Or—please no—does she want to be involved in the conversation and is doing it in the most uncomfortable way possible? Is she hoping we’ll all feel too awkward and include her? I knew she was odd, but that’s just manipulative. At first, I pitied her, but now I fucking hate her. Maybe if I just keep ignoring her, she’ll get the message and fuck off.
Rowan stopped mid-sentence.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said, too fast, too loud, too direct.
He flinched, blinking.
Fergus raised his eyebrows.
I looked at my lap.
“Sorry.” I shrugged, laughed at myself. “I was a little distracted by—”
I looked up and my neighbour had disappeared. I scanned the pub for her, but The Curtyard was getting busier. People crowded the bar and voices bubbled around me. I craned my neck to see around all the many bodies, thinking I’d caught sight of her limp hair or her baggy blouse, but I’d lost her. It was like losing track of a spider.
Underneath the unease, there was that strange sense of familiarity again, that thing I couldn’t quite put my finger on. That nagging sense that I had seen her before.
The table went very quiet.
Fergus drummed his fingers on the wood. He gave Rowan a pointed look then got up from the table.
“Shall we get some more drinks, then?”
“Oh, um, yeah. I’ll help you with them,” said Rowan.
He followed Fergus to the bar before I could protest.
