‘Good.’ She smiles. ‘That’s good.’ She looks away, her hands trailing the brickwork outside. That small smile lifts the corner of her mouth. She’s once again lost in his world. I get it. She’s close to getting the answers she needs. But if I’m being honest… I just want this to all be over.
She takes a breath and smiles up at me.
‘Let’s see if we can get you your answers,’ I say.
The pub is dark. Mahogany bar. Stale beer. Fruit machine churning out some winnings. Footy on in the corner. Alice looks around as though it’s made of gold.
The bloke behind the bar is tall. If I had to guess, I’d say late fifties. Dark hair, open collar on his maroon shirt, thick forearms, the kind that would win an arm wrestle.
A regular necks the last of his pint of ale, groans and gets up from the bar-stool before saying, ‘See you later, Carl.’
Alice’s eyes widen at me, and a slow smile crosses her face.
‘Aye. I’ll be here.’ He turns as we approach. ‘What can I get you?’
But it’s like she doesn’t hear him, eyes scanning every facet of the poor bloke’s face.
‘Pint of Peroni,’ I say. No need to stay sober now we’re apparently staying over.
‘Diet Coke, please.’ Alice smiles up at him like he’s the next messiah.
‘Visitin’?’ he asks, pulling on the pump.
‘Yep,’ Alice says brightly. ‘I’m Alice,’ she says, putting out a hand. He looks at her hand like she’s about to pickpocket him. He finishes pouring then shakes her hand.
‘Carl.’
‘I…’ she starts, a blush flushing up her neck. ‘I knew your brother.’ The words rush from her mouth.
I turn to her, the wordsno, you didn’ton the tip of my tongue. But what good would saying that do?
Even now… even though she knows she wasn’t the woman he was writing to, she’s still trying to hold on to him. Or maybe… her old life.
He doesn’t answer, instead turns his back, reaching for a glass and pouring her Coke. ‘Ice?’ he asks.
Alice’s finger taps on the bar.
‘Um, yes. Please.’
She looks at me for help. Confusion. Desperation.
‘We’ve found some old letters,’ I begin. ‘And we think they’re from your brother. Michael Jones, right?’
He wipes down the bar. ‘Aye, that was his name. What kind of letters?’
Alice finds her voice. ‘They were to a girl, woman. Alice?’
He glances up then, hand tightening on the cloth in his hand.
‘My brother died in eighty-five.’
‘We know,’ Alice adds, and jumps into a garbled explanation about everything that has happened since she got the letters.
‘So what do you want with me? Seems like Kate’s filled you in.’
‘Well, we were hoping that you might be able to help us? Find her?’ She swallows. ‘Alice?’
Another customer comes to the bar. ‘Usual, mate,’ he says. Carl nods towards the back of the pub, a small alcove next to the fruit machine. We take the hint and make our way over.
