Free The Watcher by Charlotte Link Page A

happened here in my car instead.’
    She finally found a tissue and gave her nose a good blow. Tears were still falling but the wild burst of despair had passed.
    ‘Frankly, I prefer that too,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Feeling a bit better now?’
    ‘A little. But I can’t go in yet.’
    Burton thought for a minute. ‘There’s a pub near here. If you like, we can go for a quick drink of something strong. That sometimes helps.’
    ‘Good idea. I hope I’m not being too much bother.’
    He turned on the engine and steered the car out of its bay. ‘Do you think I’m excited about the company back in there?’
    ‘Hard to imagine.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    A few minutes later they reached the Halfway House. It was on Eastern Esplanade, right by the beach and with a direct view of the river, although you could only guess at it now with the fog and darkness. The windows were brightly lit and music was pouring out into the night.
    ‘Not the best pub in town,’ said Burton as they got out. ‘But it’s nearby. And you probably won’t meet anyone here who knows you.’
    A hubbub of voices and loud laughter met them as they went in. Gillian saw that the pub with its many tables and chairs was full of people. There were no pictures on the plastered walls, nor plants on the window ledges. The place could hardly have been more spartan, although that did not seem to make it any less popular. A variety of age groups mingled. Gillian realised that John was right: it was not the kind of place Tom would frequent. Nor anyone from her circle of acquaintances.
    Burton spied a free table with two chairs and opened a path through the crowd. ‘What would you like?’
    ‘Any shot is good. A double would be better.’
    He nodded and pushed his way towards the bar, while Gillian took off her coat, hung it over the back of the chair and sat down. It felt good to be here. To have bawled her eyes out. She took her compact mirror out of her handbag and appraised the damage. It was clear she had been crying. Her skin was blotchy and her eyelids were swollen. Her nose was red. Well done. Typical of her. She had managed to end up in a pub with a desirable man and she looked like a tearful schoolgirl. In fact, it would be a step up if she had looked like a schoolgirl.
    I look at least ten years older than I am, she thought wearily. Now I really look like a woman you could take pity on.
    She glanced around the room in the hope of seeing the door to the toilets. Perhaps splashing her face with a little cold water would help. Because of all the groups of people standing in the room, it was hard to make out where things were. Suddenly her eye was caught by a man who looked familiar. He was younger than she was, in his mid thirties at the most. He was sitting and drinking beer with another man. He was staring at her. Then she remembered. He lived in the same street as she did, just at the opposite end. He lived there with his brother and sister-in-law. Tom had helped his brother once to sort out an inheritance. Afterwards he had said that they were rather strange people. She smiled at him uncertainly. Oh great! So much for not meeting anyone she knew. How wrong you could be. Her face was tear-stained, she was sharing a table in a pub on a Friday night with a man who was not her husband, and she had immediately met one of the neighbours. Sometimes nothing went right.
    The young man smiled back at her shyly. He seemed surprised. You could not really blame him.
    John Burton returned to the table armed with two full glasses. ‘I was as quick as I could be,’ he said apologetically, sitting opposite her. ‘Have you acclimatised?’
    ‘Yes thanks. And realised that I look terrible. I’m really sorry.’
    ‘We had agreed that you were not going to say sorry any more.’ He raised his glass. ‘Cheers!’
    She took a long sip. And then another. The whisky burnt her throat, sending waves of heat through her stomach. It was probably wrong to drink it,