I shook my head.
The barmaid pushed a wave of greying blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s this folktale about two lovers. The man gets stolen away by the faerie queen, and the woman who loved him goes looking for him. She wins him back by holding onto him while the faerie queen changes him into wild animals and heavy stones and flaming fireballs.”
“How did she manage that?”
“Love, of course,” said the barmaid, like I was stupid.
My face flushed and the barmaid turned away to pump the pint.
To be loved that much. It seemed unreasonable. Something you only hear of in fairy tales.
“Careful with that shadow, young lady.”
I looked over my shoulder. The old man who’d farted at me on the bridge yesterday morning was waiting in the queue behind me.
“I’m sorry?” I said.
His hunched back meant he had to peer up at me at an angle, eyes glinting over the top of his thick glasses. Those two wisps of white hair escaped the sides of his flat cap and arched up toward the ceiling.
“You’ll have to have Wendy look at it. It’s running ragged at the seams.” He wagged a finger at the air around me. “If it splits then, oh ho, there’ll be tears at bedtime!”
What the hell was he on about? I carefully controlled my expression.
“Thanks for the heads up,” I said, turning to check on the progress of my drink, telepathically urging the barmaid to hurry it up.
“You’re at Sgàthan Sìth, aren’t you?”
Now he had my attention. His eyes twinkled at the mention of my cottage.
“Uh, one of them,” I said. “How did you know?”
He laughed. “There’s not much that escapes my attention, m’dear.”
I had a thought.
“Do you happen to know my neighbour?”
He raised his wild, white eyebrows. I elaborated.
“The woman in 1a? Fine, longish hair. Seems quiet. I saw her here earlier, but—” I looked around again just in case. “I think she left.”
At that the old man’s shoulders sank dramatically, as if clowning disappointment for a hidden audience.
“Oh dear. Hanging by a thread then, I see.” Then he suddenly brightened and jovially slapped my shoulder. “Good luck!”
There was a hard clunk on the bar.
“Here you go, hen.”
The barmaid delivered my pint, the overflow gently running down the side of the glass. The colour of it really was something, a deep russet against the dark lacquered wood of the bar and the brass drip trays. I turned back to the old man, only to find he’d already returned to the fireplace. I blinked in surprise. I’d never thought a man like him could be so… sprightly.
You in the habit of patronising older folks, are you?
I quickly gathered my drink and retreated to the booth where Rowan and Fergus were waiting. With three pints.
“Oh,” said Rowan, noting my drink.
Oh shit. So, they were getting drinks for all of us.
