‘Maybe I’ve just reached the stage where I don’t give a crap.’ She laughed and the lightness returned to her tired eyes.
The strange feeling came over Meg again, a little like déjà vu. The sense that she knew this stranger, somehow. She took a sip of her Coke, which was mostly melted ice now, waiting for the unsettling sensation to dissipate.
She looked up. ‘Do you know of someone called Tina, by any chance?’
‘Tina?’ Chrissy repeated, a crease appearing between her brows. She picked up a cardboard coaster and folded it in half then shook her head, slowly. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘What about when you were growing up? She might have moved away.’
‘Tenile? There’s a woman called Tenile who works in the office at Hartwell Primary.’
‘No.’ Meg shook her head, studying Chrissy’s face as she played with the coaster, tearing it into smaller pieces. ‘It’s definitely a Tina I’m looking for.’
Chrissy shrugged and looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go.’ She drained her drink and reached for her bag.
‘Can you stay five more minutes? I just had a few more—’
‘No, sorry.’ She was looking at her phone now, as though something urgent had come up. ‘Good luck with your research.’
‘Thanks,’ Meg said, but Chrissy was already walking away.
Meg watched her disappear out the swinging doors, her mind racing. There’d been a shift in Chrissy when she asked about Tina. One minute she was relaxed, laughing, the next she was twitchy and distracted. Then she suddenly needed to leave.
‘What was that all about?’
‘Pardon?’ Meg looked up to see the barmaid. Light reflected off the fine gold ring through the septum of her tiny, perfect nose. She was beautiful in the same way a blue-ringed octopus was beautiful.
‘Looked serious,’ she said, scooping the fragments of the torn coaster into the empty beer glass.
‘Oh, it was just—’ Meg stopped, prickling with irritation. Why was she explaining herself to the barmaid? ‘It’s actually none of your business,’ she said, then instantly regretted it. Small towns and all that.
The barmaid raised her eyebrows and wiped the table, then gave her a long look. ‘Well, it sort of is my business,’ she said. ‘She’s my mum and she seemed a bit shaken when she left.’
‘Chrissy’s your mum?’ Meg thought of the gangly pre-teen girls in Chrissy’s profile photo. Was this barmaid really one of them?
The barmaid narrowed her sky-blue eyes and tilted her head to one side, chewing gum. ‘She didn’t mention that?’
Meg shook her head.
‘Well, she is. I’m Georgie.’
Meg gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I’m Meg. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘It’s cool,’ Georgie said with the couldn’t-give-a-damn nonchalance of a teenager. She turned to go.
‘Hey, Georgie?’
She turned back, waited for Meg to go on.
‘Do you happen to know those two guys who got arrested protesting at Hartwell Gaol?’
‘Oh God—’ Georgie rolled her eyes, ‘—not you, too.’
Meg frowned.
‘I’m sick of hearing about that stupid jail. I mean, who gives a crap?’ Georgie pulled a couple of fresh coasters out of her apron pocket and placed them on the next table. ‘My mum’s obsessed. It’s not healthy.’
‘Fair enough. I wonder, though, do you think it’s the jail that your mum’s fighting?’ Meg hesitated, second-guessing Georgie’s reaction. ‘Or the Ashworths?’
