Chapter 5 #2
I reply to let him know that’s fine, then look back up out of the window as we drive.
The moorland does a great job of distracting me from my disappointment.
It’s beautiful up here, vibrant and vast, and I can see occasional glimpses of the sea in the distance, which makes me feel a little giddy.
I grew up slap bang in the middle of the country, but I’ve always loved the coast here.
Nana and Grandpa brought me up here a couple of times when I was young.
My heart clenches tight when I remember they’re not here anymore, and I’m glad that Bram and I aren’t talking right now. I try to push away the feeling of grief, the weight on my chest, breathing through it like I always do. It’s a few moments before I feel like I can speak again.
‘So,’ I say after a while, turning to look at Bram as he drives, ‘you’re scared of bats.’
His mouth twitches, stopping just short of a smile. ‘Yeah,’ he says eventually. ‘Was it obvious?’
I bite my lip to hold in my laugh. ‘Only to me and my razor-sharp journalistic instincts.’
I feel him stiffen beside me at that, hear the breath he pulls in. It feels like I’ve offended him somehow, though I can’t think how. Perhaps pressing him on his fears wasn’t the way to go. I’ve got to share a space with him all weekend, after all.
‘I’m sorry,’ I start, ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘It’s the wings,’ he says, before I can finish my sentence. ‘The flappiness of the wings makes me feel unusual.’ One hand goes to his chin, and he rubs his stubble absentmindedly. ‘It makes me panic when birds are overly flappy too. Like when they’re trying to steal your chips?’
He’s so earnest that I don’t want to laugh at that image, but the shock of his sudden admission leaves me struggling to stifle it. He huffs, but I can see the start of a grin on his face.
‘Go on, laugh it up. The big, hard man is scared of small, flappy creatures.’ His smile grows, just a little.
‘Actually, no, not scared. Wary. It’s a normal response to be wary of things that can spread diseases.
’ He turns to look at me, his eyebrows pinched together behind his sunglasses.
‘Did you know that some bats in the UK carry rabies?’
But that makes me want to laugh more, and this time I don’t hold back. I just chuckle at his ranting as he makes a case against every bat in the country. Before I know it, we’re back at the cottage, and I’m a little surprised when he doesn’t turn the engine off.
‘Are you coming in?’ I ask, and I immediately cringe.
I asked out of genuine curiosity, because we’re both staying here, but the way it came out sounded like I’m trying to make a move on him.
I’d clarify what I meant, but I feel like that’d only make it worse.
Instead I say a silent prayer for the earth to crack open and suck me down into its depths.
He doesn’t seem bothered by the question, though, and just shakes his head in reply. ‘I’m going to work.’
I laugh, but it does absolutely nothing to tame the swell of mortification that’s rising through my chest. ‘Of course,’ I say, like it’s obvious, but it strikes me now that I don’t even know what it is that Bram does.
I don’t know why, but I’m a little bit surprised at him actually having a job – I’d half expected him to just exist, floating around the streets of Whitby like a sea mist or an ancient curse.
‘I own a bar up Flowergate,’ he says, adjusting his sunglasses. ‘Bitten. It’s vampire themed, you know? Kind of fits with my look, and this town.’
‘And your name,’ I say, and his grin widens, like we’re sharing a secret.
‘Yeah.’ He huffs a small laugh, and even through his dark glasses I can tell that he’s looking right at me.
A shiver bites at the base of my spine. ‘You should come,’ he says then, and it catches me off guard.
‘To the bar, I mean. If you’re not busy.
We’re doing a special on cocktails tonight to kick off the Goth Weekend, and Friday nights are always a great atmosphere.
’ He’s leaning back in his seat, one wrist propped casually on the steering wheel like he doesn’t care either way.
I don’t reply at first. It actually sounds kind of intriguing – I mean, it’s the exact opposite of my usual scene, but it would definitely help with my experience of the Goth Weekend for my article. But then I remember the text from Jon. The interview.
‘I mean, no pressure,’ Bram says, before I can tell him about that. ‘I get that it probably isn’t your kind of thing.’
He’s smiling, but even so, I feel terrible. ‘Oh no, that’s not it,’ I say, quickly. ‘I mean, it isn’t my kind of thing at all, but I’m open-minded.’ My fingers twist the strap of my bag. ‘It’s just that I have an interview to do this evening and I don’t know when I’ll be finished.’
He nods. ‘I’ll be there all night,’ he says, and from the corner of my eye I see him fidgeting with the gear stick, pulling it in and out of gear. I wonder if that’s his nervous habit, though I don’t know why he would be nervous. ‘If you can make it, great. If not, that’s fine too.’
‘Ok,’ I say. ‘Maybe I’ll see you there.’
And then I get out of his car and quickly duck through the archway in the wall before I can do any more overthinking.
In reality, there’s no reason I couldn’t go.
My interview’s at six, and I can’t see it lasting even an hour, let alone two.
I mean, there is also the small fact that I can’t imagine myself walking alone into a vampire-themed bar when I can’t even look a stone vampire in the eye, but that seems like a problem for Future Lucy.
Right Now Lucy has a story to write and then an interview to get to.