by Tim O'Rourke
“Just the two nights,” I smiled.
“Breakfast? Dinner?” the man asked.
“That would be great,” Tom said.
“That will be ninety-five pounds,” he grunted again. “Eighty if you pay cash.”
Tom pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He opened it and took a peek inside. “I don’t suppose…” he said, looking at me embarrassed.
I remembered him telling me he had maxed out his credit cards and had little money until payday. “It’s okay,” I said, taking four twenty pound notes from my purse and placing them on the bar.
The man snatched them up, then looking at Tom, he said, “So you found her then?”
“Huh?” Tom frowned.
“Your missing friend?” he said. “It was you who called this morning, wasn’t it? I recognise your voice.”
“Yes, but…” Tom started to waffle.
“You should have heard him,” the innkeeper said, turning to look at me. “Scared half to death that you’d run off with some other guy.”
“Now, I never said that,” Tom cut in, his cheeks flushing red and unable to look at me.
“Yeah, you did,” the man insisted much to Tom’s embarrassment. “You said you’d had a lovers quarrel.”
“It was you who said that,” Tom shot back, his face now the colour of a plum. I tried to hide my smile.
“You asked me to give some message about some bloke called Phillips,” the innkeeper continued. “You said it was her ex-boyfriend or summin, and I told you I didn’t want any trouble.” Then, leaning over the bar and staring at Tom, he grunted, “There isn’t going to be any trouble, is there?” This was said more as a warning than a question.
“There won’t be any trouble as there isn’t any ex-boyfriend,” I smiled at the innkeeper. “And me and my friend here are just that… friends.”
“See,” Tom said, fixing the man with an icy stare. “Just friends.”
“Whatever,” the man shrugged, placing two keys onto the bar. “But you told me she was real pretty and you sounded real panicked about her…”
Tom took his key and before the innkeeper had had a chance to finish and was heading away toward a staircase that spiralled upwards into the darkness.
I took my key. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, wiping the dishcloth over the bar.
I turned away.
Before I had taken two steps after Tom, the man spoke again. “I know one thing for sure.”
“And what’s that?” I said, glancing back over my shoulder at him.
“That boy has the hots for you real bad,” he said.
“How can you tell?”
“By the goddamn soppy look he has on his face every time he looks at you. I’m surprised you can’t see it yourself, Kiera Hudson.”
I frowned at him. “How do you know my name?”
“Your friend told me it when he telephoned earlier today,” the innkeeper smiled, then turned and went back to cleaning the bar.
The innkeeper might have known my name, but he was wrong about Tom liking me more than just a friend. If Tom did, then just like the innkeeper had said, I would’ve seen it.
Catching up with Tom, I followed him to the top of the stairs. On the landing and out of earshot of the innkeeper, Tom looked at me and said, “Jerk.”
“Thanks,” I half smiled.
“I didn’t mean you,” Tom scowled. “I was talking about the idiot behind the bar.”
“He was just winding you up,” I said, heading down the landing. “Forget it. I have.”
The tag hanging from my key had the number six written on it. My room was the last along the narrow landing. I stopped outside the door. Tom stopped outside number five, slipping his key into the lock. I glanced sideways at him.
“Thanks, Tom,” I said before he disappeared inside his room. His cheeks were still flushed red.
“For what?”
“Coming to Ripper Falls with me,” I said. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
“Me neither,” he said, stepping into his room and closing the door behind him.
My room was the exact same one I had stayed in a year before. Nothing seemed to have changed. There was a bed pushed into one corner, a small desk, and a wardrobe. The lampshade was a dark maroon, and when I flipped on the light switch, the bulb did little to brighten the gloom. There was a small bathroom. I placed my bag on the bed and sat down. The last time I had sat here, I had been crying for my father. I’d cried for my mother, too, as I’d wished she had been with me – to comfort me at my loss. But she hadn’t been there then and wasn’t here now. But this time, the tears were easier to fight back and the sense of isolation I felt was less. That was thanks to Tom.
Stripping off my clothes, I ran a warm shower. I stood beneath the water, eyes closed as my tears were washed away. It was then I realised that Tom had no clean clothes to wear or a wash kit. His trip to Ripper Falls hadn’t been planned like mine had. Stepping from the shower, I towelled myself dry and put on some fresh clothes. With my hair still damp about my shoulders, I left my room and went to Tom’s.
Tom
“What an arsehole!” I fumed, pushing my door closed.
What was that guy playing at? Trying to embarrass the hell out of me, that’s what he had been trying to do. I never said any of that stuff to him when I telephoned the inn earlier in search of Kiera. Sure, I had been worried about her, but that was because he had gone on about the Satanist who had taken over that church. If I had sounded worried about Kiera, it was because of him.
Cheeky git! I thought, glancing about my room. Although it was small, it looked cosy enough. There was a bed beneath the window on the other side of the room, a wardrobe, desk, and a bathroom. Sliding out of my jacket, I dropped it onto the bed and unbuttoned my shirt. I took it off and went to the bathroom. I had no clean change of clothes or anything else with me. When I’d left my rooms in Havensfield I hadn’t expected not to return for a few days. With my credit cards near meltdown, I had no money to buy a fresh change of clothes from the shops in Ripper Falls. I lifted my arm and I caught a whiff. Phew! I just hoped Kiera liked the rough and ready type. What was her type? Me? Not stinking the way I did. I leaned over the sink and stared at myself in the mirror. I ran the palm of my hand over my chin. It sounded like I was dragging it over glass paper. A coating of stubble covered the lower half of my face. Not good. I ran my hands through my already messy-looking hair. It didn’t look neat on the best of days but now it stuck up like I’d just crawled out of bed. Just my luck. I looked and smelt like a goddamn ape. There was a bar of soap. I took it from the wax paper it had been wrapped in. I placed the plug into the sink and began to fill it with hot water. The least I could do was have a quick wash.
There was a sudden knock at my door. Jumping with surprise and with one hand still on the tap, I yanked it. A torrent of water jetted out, splashing the front of my trousers. Shutting off the tap, I looked down at my groin, which was now soaked.
“Oh, Jesus, it looks like I’ve pissed myself – or worse!” I groaned out loud. Whoever was knocking at my door was going to think I’d lost control of my bodily functions. Not good!
“Hey, Tom,” Kiera called out from the other side of the door.
Kiera! It would have to be. Just my luck, Kiera would come knocking when I looked like an incontinent orangutan.
“Tom, are you there?” She knocked on my door again.
“Just one moment,” I called back, pulling down my trousers.
Stepping out of them, I snatched up a towel and threw it about my waist. I glanced one last time into the mirror again, running my fingers through my skewwhiff hair. Wearing just the towel, I went to the door and opened it.
Kiera
I knocked on the door. I was sure I heard him call out as if in surprise.
I knocked again. “Hey, Tom!”
There was the sound of frantic rustling from the other side of the door. What was he
doing? I wondered.
“Tom, are you there?” I knocked again.
“Just one moment,” he called out, sounding a little out of breath.
Perhaps he was in the middle of something and wanted to be left alone. I was just turning back in the direction of my room, when he opened the door. I looked back, then glanced away at once. Tom stood in the open doorway, with just a white towel wrapped about his waist. In the brief glimpse I caught of him, I could see that his upper body was well toned. Lean, but muscular.
“Is everything okay?” Tom asked me. Now it was my turn to feel uncomfortable just like he had in the bar. I could feel my own cheeks glowing red.
“I brought you this to use,” I said, holding out my bottle of shower gel.
He took it from me, his fingers brushing briefly over mine. I glanced at him then away again.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me using it?” he asked.
“Not if you don’t mind,” I said, staring along the landing, anywhere but the knot of abs covering his stomach.
“Thanks, Kiera,” he said.
“That’s okay,” I said, stepping away from the door. I didn’t hear his door close and I knew he was watching me walk back to my room. At the door, I glanced back, even though I told myself not to. He was standing in the open doorway, half naked, just like I knew he would be. I kept staring at his blue eyes and nowhere else.
“What time do you want to eat?” he asked me.
“When you’re dress… when you’re ready,” I said.
“Give me five minutes,” he said, closing the door.
“In a while, crocodile,” I whispered, slipping back into my room. With my back pressed flat against the door, I couldn’t help but notice my heart was racing a little faster than it had been.
I was waiting for Tom, when he knocked on my door a short time later. I had fully dried my hair now and it hung in thick, black waves about my shoulders and down my back.
“Ready?” Tom smiled. He didn’t look embarrassed any longer. His confidence had returned. His fair hair looked as messy as always, even though I could see he had washed it. Without a razor, the lower half of his face was covered with a shadow of stubble. It suited him. He still wore the same clothes as earlier, but he had rolled the sleeves of his blue cotton shirt to the elbows and the tails were untucked and hung over the front of his trousers.
“Ready,” I said, stepping out onto the landing. The door swung shut behind me.
We headed down the stairs to the bar. No sooner had we reached the bottom stair, I could smell the delicious aroma of roast chicken. The innkeeper glanced up as we entered the bar area. He winked at me, and I looked away. A young girl, no older than about seventeen approached us. She wore a black dress and white apron. The apron was flecked with gravy. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The innkeeper’s daughter, perhaps?
Smiling, she said, “Follow me.”
She led us to a table near the roaring fire. Tom and I took our seats. We both ordered the roast chicken with vegetables.
“Wine?” the girl asked.
Tom glanced across the table at me. I was paying.
“Why not,” I said, looking back at the waitress.
I rarely drank alcohol, preferring a nice cup of tea, but tonight, I just wanted to relax. I needed a little something after what had happened to me at the Sacred Heart Church. The waitress went to the bar.
Once she had gone, Tom said, “As soon as I get paid, I’ll give you my share of what it cost to stay here.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said. “You can pay next time.”
“Will there be a next time?” he asked.
“Probably,” I said, looking into the fire. “We’re friends after all, so we will go to other places together, wont we?”
“I guess,” Tom said.
The waitress appeared at the table again. She placed two glasses and a bottle of white wine onto the table. As soon as she was gone, Tom poured us both a glass.
He took a sip. “Well, it beats sitting on my own in Micky-D’s.”
“And staring out of the window,” I said, thinking of my favourite chair back home.
“I thought you liked doing that?”
“I used to,” I told him.
“What’s changed?”
“Nothing,” I said, plucking up my glass and taking a sip.
There was a long silence. I looked over to my right and could see the couple I had seen earlier. They were sitting at the table and holding hands. They were married. But they had had problems in their marriage recently and they had come to this out-of-the-way place to spend time together.
“What are you staring at?” Tom asked
“The man and woman at the table behind you,” I said. “They’ve come here to sort the problems out in their marriage.”
“How do you know they’ve had marital problems?” Tom asked, without looking back at them.
“Look at how close they are sitting to each other. Look at how they are holding hands across the table,” I told him. “I don’t know of any married couple that sits and hold hands while staring into each other’s eyes for hours on end.”
“You’re so cynical,” Tom smiled, taking a mouthful of wine. “Besides, they might be newlyweds.”
“Look at their wedding rings embedded deep into the flesh of their fingers. They’ve both put on a little weight since the big day, which suggests it wasn’t recently,” I smiled back. “And I’m not cynical.”
“But how do you know they’ve recently had problems?” Tom asked.
“Why else come to such a remote place? They want to spend time together, away from others so they have time to talk without interruption,” I said, glancing over his shoulder at the couple, then back at Tom. “But he isn’t in love with her anymore, but she is still in love with him.”
“How do you know he isn’t in love with her?” Tom pushed.
“If he truly loved her, he wouldn’t have brought her to a place like this. He has money. He’s wearing a Rolex watch, wearing expensive shoes and clothes. No such fineries have been lavished on her. If he really loved her and wanted to make the marriage work, he would have taken her somewhere far more extravagant. He would have wanted to spoil her.”
“That kind of love only exists in fairy tales,” Tom said.
“Now who’s being cynical,” I said back with a half-smile.
Tom drank more of his wine. The young waitress arrived, placing two plates of steaming hot chicken and vegetables onto the table. We thanked her and she went back to the kitchen. We sat and ate in silence. It wasn’t because we had run out of things to say to each other. Tom was the sort of friend I could sit in silence with and feel comfortable with. We were just both starving hungry. Food took priority over any conversation that we might have been having.
“Better than cheeseburgers?” I eventually asked, as Tom sat back in his seat and patted his flat stomach.
“Oh yeah,” he smiled. “That was good.”
I placed my knife and fork down and pushed my empty plate to one side. Tom refilled our glasses and I took another sip. My head felt a little light, but I wasn’t anywhere close to drunk. I just felt relaxed. But it probably was due to the effects of the wine that I asked my next question.
“Tom, were you really worried about me like that guy said you were?”
He looked at me over the table, a flicker of firelight in his blue eyes. “Yes,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re my friend, remember?” he said right back. “Besides, everything else that guy said was nonsense. He was making the whole thing up.”
I lifted my glass and drained it. Looking at Tom, I said, “Did you really tell him you thought I was pretty?”
“I was just trying to describe you. Besides, I’ve told you before I think you’re pretty,” he said, shifting in his seat as if uncomfortable.
“Have you?” I asked.
“Loads of times,” he nodded.
“I don’t remember,” I pushed.
“I’m sure I have,” he said, taking up his glass and drinking the last of the wine. “What about when you thought Morris Cook was staring at you in that garage? I said he was probably looking at you because you were pretty. See, that was one time I said it.”
“I’m sure I would’ve remembered,” I said.
“Why would you, things were different back then,” Tom tried to explain.
“Different?” I frowned. “Different, how?”
“We had only just met,” Tom said.
“More reason for me to remember,” I told him, not letting him off the hook. “I’m sure I would remember a complete stranger telling me I was pretty.”
“But we weren’t like complete strangers, we were friends already…”
“We’re friends now, but you said things have changed,” I reminded him. “So what has changed?”
Tom took a deep breath as if steadying his nerves. Then, looking me straight in the eyes, he said, “What I mean is… look… when we first met… over the last few weeks my feelings…”
Before Tom had had a chance to finish what he was struggling to say, the woman at the table with the man suddenly shot to her feet.
“You bastard!” she hissed. Raising her hand, she slapped the man across the face. It sounded like a gunshot.
“Ouch!” Tom grimaced, glancing back over his shoulder. “I bet that hurt.”
The man sprang from his chair, nearly knocking the table and everything on it over. He gripped the woman’s wrist.
“Let go,” the woman screeched, her bright red lips rolling back in anger. Her lipstick was the same colour as her dress. Strands of her long blond hair covered her face as she tried to wrestle free of him.
I made to get up out of my chair. Tom placed his hand over mine.
“We’re on a break here, remember?” he whispered. “We’re not meant to be getting involved.”
“But…” I started.
“But Phillips warned us to keep apart,” Tom said. “We don’t need to go getting ourselves involved in drunken domestic disputes.”