I smiled politely, but if anyone had bothered to look closely, they would have seen my eyes blaring, ‘please don’t leave me alone’.
Then, as if right in my ear, real enough to feel cold breath on my cheek, the question again:
Do you think you’re a good person?
CHAPTER 15
Thankfully the pub was too loud and crowded for anyone to notice me jumping at shadows.
I rubbed where my heart felt like it was pounding out of my chest. I forcefully slowed my breathing. It had to be the stress of the move, the lack of proper sleep, the lack of proper food. I patted my sweating forehead with the backs of my hands.
Calm down, Tamsin. I scowled at myself. You’ll cause a scene.
I managed a few seconds pretending to look around with curiosity at the bar, before getting out my phone and pretending I’d got a notification. I looked up again to check for my neighbour. No sign. I scrolled through my socials. Nothing new. I looked up again. Still no sign of my neighbour. Where had she gone? Maybe she was meeting friends. Maybe she worked here. Maybe she was just giving me a friendly smile, a hello, a welcome to the community and I’d just read it unkindly.
A group of older men laughed by the bar.
My dad said I had a habit of thinking the worst of people. He said it was hard to talk to me sometimes. I always looked like I was cringing before a slap. It made people feel bad.
I switched between different apps on my phone, not really looking at any of them.
I couldn’t help it though. Some people just felt… dangerous somehow. Like Marsha in accounts who everyone liked except me. Until it was found out she’d been spiking people’s drinks at work events.
I didn’t always get it right, like the time I’d slapped the hand of a man on the bus. He’d just been reaching for the stop bell, not my chest.
I wanted to be better, to relax, to be easy-going. But it was hard to relax when sometimes your worst suspicious are correct.
I spotted Rowan and Fergus, talking close together at the bar, lips to ears back and forth. Rowan was rubbing Fergus’s shoulder. The touch was tender and encouraging. Fergus was shrugging and avoiding eye contact. Were they talking about what happened with me and the rug?
Fergus shot a look my way.
I quickly looked back at my phone. Yep, totally talking about me.
Shit. Shit fucking shit.
I looked at the bare table in front of me. That was the problem. I hadn’t had a drink yet. That would loosen me up. Oh, but Fergus and Rowan had already got up to get drinks. They didn’t say they were getting me one, though. I chewed my lip. It was probably presumptuous to assume they’d were getting a drink for me, too. And they hadn’t asked me what I wanted. And if I went to the bar then I wouldn’t be a sitting duck for my weird neighbour. That settled it. I got up, briefly worried about losing the table, then took off my jumper and lay it across the tabletop. I hoped that would do—and that my Aran jumper wouldn’t get nicked—and headed for the other end of the bar to Rowan and Fergus.
Happy, warm bodies crowded around me. Hands patted backs. Red cheeks creased with laughter. Fingers pinched the fabric of a new coat or jumper or scarf, prompting communal nodding about how nice it was. I shrank myself around them, squeezing past the shoulders of the regulars, to get to the bar and see what beers were on offer. Each brass tap wore a colourful shield illustrating the ale they promised.
The barmaid turned to me next.
“What’ll it be, hen?” she asked.
She was sporting a jumper featuring a fuzzy, sparkly zebra wearing a colourful garland of flowers. The stripy audience up in the balcony section suddenly made a lot more sense.
I pointed to a cardboard shield with a thick-lined illustration of two figures embracing. One figure was a cool and serene blue, with a calm and steadfast expression. The other was bright red and seemed to be screaming in rage or pain.
A nod. A clean glass procured. Interaction successful.
See, I thought to myself, just don’t overthink things.
“Fantastic illustration, eh?” The barmaid smiled. “It’s a guest ale from the borders.”
I looked again at that screaming enraged face.
“What’s it referencing?”
“Tam Lin.” The barmaid noticed my nonplussed expression. “You’ve not heard the story of Tam Lin?”
