Chapter Twelve #2
A harried-looking waitress with startlingly blue hair hurries over. “What can I get for you, loves?” she asks, tapping a blue biro against her small notepad. Her name badge reads “Bonnie” in silver stamped letters.
None of us has decided on food, but we quickly give her our drinks orders: Red Bull for Ewan, pint of IPA for Lila and I, and an orange and lemonade for Priya, who is beside herself with excitement at the prospect of that much sugar.
“There’s no way she’s going to sleep tonight,” Lila sighs, looking at her daughter fondly, as Priya bounces on the padded seat, grin spreading from ear to ear.
“Scuse me,” Ewan leans over to Bonnie, glancing around the room. “Is there something going on tonight? You seem well busy considering we’re the middle of bloody nowhere.”
Another group has wedged into a corner by the bar, all three dressed in non-hiking gear: cropped leather jackets, high-waisted black jeans, the darkest, thickest eyeliner I’ve ever seen. They’re wide-eyed, clutching their instrument cases to their chest.
Bonnie checks her watch. “What?” she replies, distracted, then re-focuses her attention on us. “Oh, yes. Tonight’s open mic night. We’ve done it once a month ever since Stavros took over. Gets more popular every time. Too popular, if you ask me.”
She side-eyes the two men entering the hotel in full Scottish regalia: bare knees exposed over high black socks and under green and blue kilts, their stiff jackets nothing compared to the tall black hats brushing the lintel of the door.
Bonnie groans. “Not the Cocky Twins again. Stavros is going to have a fit. Last month they almost emptied us out with their racket.”
“Can anyone sign up to play?” I ask, curious.
“Aye. Put your name on the Pad of Power over there before seven,” she gestures with a nod to a clipboard hanging to the right of the bar.
Even from a distance, it is clear that space is already running out.
“Then we cut up the names and put them into a hat, and you come on in the order you’re drawn. Makes it a bit more of a surprise.”
Ewan nudges Priya, who is looking at anything but the sign-up sheet, or the rest of our group. “You gonna sign up then, Miss Violin?”
Bonnie’s smile lights up with mega-watts. “Oh, I love the violin! I can fetch the sign-up sheet now, if you like?”
Priya stares at the table, tracing shapes with the tip of her finger. “I didn’t bring it in with me.”
“Is it in your tent?” I ask. “I can get it for you, if you want?”
Lila hides a cough behind her hand, staring at me intensely.
“No,” Priya replies. “It’s okay. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I’m happy to.” I’m halfway up when Lila’s coughing fit registers and I realise she’s trying to tell me something. “Unless you don’t want me to?”
Priya bites her lip.
Lila squeezes her hand. “Priya can get a bit of stage fright, that’s all,” she says. “It’s something we’ve been working on at home, but I think this environment might be a bit much for her.”
“A violinist with stage fright?” Ewan squawks. “Isn’t that sort of the whole point?”
“Ewan.” I elbow him. “Don’t be insensitive.”
But Priya is sinking further, her mouth downturned as if she is fighting off tears.
“No, but seriously, didn’t you say she has some kind of audition coming up? How’s she going to manage that if she can’t play in front of people?”
“It won’t be a hot, overcrowded room at the audition, now will it?” Lila snaps back. “Oh, Priya baby. No.”
But Priya is already slipping under the table, re-appearing on the other side and barrelling towards the door.
Lila shoots Ewan a venomous look and darts after her, forgetting her beanie on the seat.
Bonnie slipped away during the argument, quietly leaving us to it.
I hope she comes back; I’m ravenously hungry now.
Priya flings open the bar door, almost knocking the incomer over as she flees into the night, her mother sprinting after her, calling her name.
My eyes lock with the man now hovering in the doorframe.
He’s half in shadow, half bathed in flickering firelight.
His dark eyes pierce my chest. I raise a tentative hand to wave, and his mouth half-quirks as he lifted his in response.
For a second, I fear a repeat of the last time I asked him for a drink, but this time, he lets the door shut behind him and shuffles towards us through the crowd.
“Upsetting three women in one day, Ewan?” he says in his rich, deep voice, as he slides into the booth next to me. His body is large and warm next to mine. “Even I’ve not managed that many in such a short space of time.”
Ewan crosses his arms. “Why’re you assuming it is me?” he asks. “Why not her?”
“London’s a lot louder when she’s pissing people off. And I didn’t hear any raised voices from outside.”
I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, so I settle for a stern look, which bounces off Angus like he’s a tennis racket.
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Ewan protests. “It’s not my fault she’s sensitive.”
“So sayeth the man,” I quip. “Now where have I heard that before?”
“It’s true!”
“Go on then. What did you say?” Angus picks up the menu, frowning as he browses it.
There’s more room in the booth, but he doesn’t shift from next to me. His legs are spread wide, his thigh resting less than an inch from mine. One move and we’ll be touching. A thrum runs through me at the thought.
I glance at him sidelong, admiring his profile in the soft bar light, and wonder if any part of him is thinking the same.
“Nothing. I pointed out that it’s hard to be professional violinist if you can’t perform in front of a crowd, is all.”
Angus makes a choking noise deep in this throat, then closes the menu, leans over and thwacks Ewan on the nose with it, as if he’s a dog who’s climbed on the table to steal a piece of food.
Ewan jerks back. “What the fuck? What did I do to deserve that?”
“Acted like a prick to a wee lass who didn’t deserve it, that’s what.” Angus returns to the menu as if nothing has happened and shrugs a shoulder. “She’s ten. So what if she has stage fright? Your yapping isn’t going to help, is it?”
“It might.” Ewan sinks into his seat with a sullen expression.
“Personally, I find it really helpful when people point out how my fears are going to ruin my biggest dreams,” I chip in.
“Really?” He perks up, pointing a finger at Angus. “See! What did I—”
“No, Ewan.” I almost bury my head in my hands. “I was being sarcastic.”
“Oh.”
“Pie.” Angus set the menu down.
“What?” Ewan asks.
“That’s what I want.” He nods at the menu. “Steak and ale pie and a Guinness. That’ll set me right.”
“The brown mush didn’t fill you up?” I tease with a small smile.
Angus fixes me with a stern glance. “How’s that stove, eh, London? Got it working yet?”
I open my mouth, ready to throw back, but then I remember the last time I’d tried to claim more hiking skill than I really have, and shut it slowly, miming zipping my lips.
Angus nods. “That’s what I thought. Know what you want?”
“Oh, ah, I’ll take a pie too.”
“And you?” Angus asks Ewan, shuffling out of the booth. I try to suppress my disappointment at the feel of his body heat leaving mine.
“No toasties here, the heathens. So… pie for me, as well, I guess.”
“Three pies coming right up.”
Angus slips through the crowd, surprisingly dextrously for such a big man, leaving Ewan and I alone at the table. In the corner, a small, makeshift stage has been set up and three men carrying cellos are tuning their instruments.
Ewan frowns. “Was I really a prick to Priya?”
“Yeah, actually. You were a bit.”
“Shit.” He scrubs at his face. “I’m going to have to apologise, aren’t I?”
“You don’t have to do anything, Ewan. No one’s going to make you do the right thing. That’s entirely up to you.”
“You really know how to guilt a bloke, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I smile at him.
“Look, I’m sorry about earlier.”
He isn’t looking at me, but down at the table, arms folded around himself.
His hat sits crooked on his head, half over one ear, cutting his forehead unevenly in half.
His hiking jacket is a size too big, and I wonder if it’s even his at all: or if it came from another, sadder, source.
After his revelation earlier, it’s hard to feel anything but sorry for him.
He isn’t the kind of person I’d meet in my normal life, but I’m glad that I have.
Bad temper and all.
“Don’t worry about it.” Angus is heading back, a pint clasped in one hand. “It’s already forgotten.”
We share a smile as Angus plonks himself down, revealing Bonnie hidden behind him, her tray laden with the rest of our drinks. She hands me my IPA and Ewan his Red Bull, earning him a confused, and deeply disapproving, look from Angus, and then hovers indecisively with the other two drinks.
“Do you still want these, or shall I take them back to the bar?”
“We’ll keep them,” I say, with a glance at the door. “They’ll be back.”
“How do you know?” Ewan asks.
“A hunch.”
“No problem, love.” Bonnie set the drinks down, leaning over Angus as she does, and delivering him a faceful of her impressive cleavage.
A shudder of jealousy runs through me, shocking in its strength. I fight to keep my hands in my lap.
What is wrong with me? I admonish myself. I have no claim to this man. We’ve barely even touched.
“Need anything else?” Bonnie asks, resting a hand on Angus’ shoulder.
I stare at it. Hard.
“Just my shoulder back,” Angus says, edging away – and closer to me – and sipping his pint, his face beetroot red.
Ewan barks a laugh, dribbling Red Bull down his front. “Fucking hell,” he sputters, as Bonnie spins on her heel and storms away with a face like thunder. “That is impressive.”
“Fuck off.”
“No, seriously. Teach me your ways, oh master. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman go from interested to repulsed that quickly. Incredible.”
Luckily for Angus, a bald man with a pinched face and wild unruly eyebrows jumps on the stage, interrupting Ewan’s glee. He croons into the microphone, eyes closed, holding a single note for longer than I thought the human body capable.
When he opens his eyes again, the entire room is silent, staring at him in awe.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! To open mic night!”