Someone Who Isn't Me Danuta Kot (best books to read .TXT) 📖

‘Why would I know, sweetheart?’

‘Don’t you?’ And don’t call me sweetheart!

His eyes narrowed as studied her. ‘You really want to know what I think?’

‘I asked you, didn’t I?’

‘Keep out of it.’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

He got slowly to his feet. Standing, he towered above her. ‘You asked what I think. I’m telling you. Keep out of it. What part of that don’t you understand? If you know what’s good for you, forget it.’

Before she could reply, he’d chucked his sleeping bag into the alcove and walked away, Champ following closely behind.

Chapter 18

Dinah was true to her word, and after her shift ended at six, she pulled on her coat and walked along Quay Road towards the seafront. There was no point in taking her car – there’d be nowhere to park.

It was one of her favourite parts of Brid – a wide road lined with old red-brick buildings, white stucco, trees and some green spaces. Bridlington was a real traditional old seaside town. Her work sometimes made her forget what an attractive place it could be.

The walk to the narrow side street where the Smokehouse stood only took her twenty minutes. She hesitated outside for a minute, trying to decide what she was going to do.

A homeless man was sitting in the alcove by the door, the inevitable dog – a huge one – sitting stoically beside him. She hesitated, and the dog’s head moved towards her, its stare blank and fixed. Neither dog nor man moved as she went past them into the pub, wondering what it was about them that had unnerved her.

As she came through the door, she went straight to the bar. Her first aim was to make contact with the woman Curwen had mentioned, but the only person behind the bar was a tall, skinny guy with ‘geek’ written all over him. He barely made eye contact as she ordered her drink.

‘Corona, please,’ she said.

‘’kay.’

He popped the cap and pushed the bottle across the bar, no lime in the neck, and no offer of a glass, not that she wanted one. ‘Nice evening,’ she tried, but he’d already turned away to serve another customer. It wasn’t a nice evening anyway; it was cold and dank. She’d really let the homeless guy spook her.

She looked round the room. It was large and low-ceilinged. The light was dim, the tables and chairs looked old and battered. The carpet just ahead of her had been repaired with what looked like gaffer tape. There was a bank of three gaming machines against the far wall with a group of people standing round one of them. The table by the machines would give her a good view of the room, and the bar.

She went across and sat down. The pub was middling busy. The group around the machine was quite rowdy. They were watching someone play, shouting advice and laughing as it whirled and jangled and paid out nothing.

A tall man with a tanned face and long, curly hair seemed to be the focus of the group. He leaned across to the player once or twice, offering advice, shaking his head when the gambit failed. He had his hand on the shoulder of a fair-haired woman and as Dinah watched, he gestured towards the back of the pub, and the group started to move away. She noticed he was using a stick and walked with a pronounced limp. His hand on the woman’s shoulder seemed more practical than proprietorial.

The player stayed at the machine. His friends continued to shout advice across the pub as they settled themselves round a table, but he ignored them. Then another player had arrived and started using one of the other machines. It was the geeky barman who had served her. Dinah glanced towards the bar and saw that his place had been taken by a woman.

This must be Becca Armitage who, according to Curwen, had a crush on Andy and had given him titbits of information. She looked very young, barely old enough to be working in a pub. In the dim light, Dinah thought she looked a bit uncertain – picking things up, putting them down, going to and fro between the beer taps as if she kept forgetting things.

There was a clanking noise as one of the games machines paid out. The group at the back of the room cheered. The winner raised a fist, pocketed his winnings and ambled back towards his friends. It wasn’t the barman who had won, Dinah noted. He gave up on his game and started wandering round the pub collecting glasses and wiping tables in a desultory sort of way.

He picked up the bottle in front of her, checked it and saw it wasn’t empty and put it back down.

‘Bad luck,’ Dinah said.

He looked at her. ‘What?’

‘I said bad luck. On the machines. You didn’t win.’

‘Oh. Right. Yeah. That one doesn’t pay out. It’s just a game.’

‘So how do you win?’

‘It’s an old Space Invaders game. You just keep shooting and if you keep your score up, you keep on playing. And you get on the high score list.’

Dinah made a face. ‘Does anyone care?’ She wasn’t into retro.

‘Yeah. Loads of people.’ He glanced at her, and she could see he was really noticing her for the first time.

She was wearing her standard work gear – smart trousers that weren’t too tight, a high-necked, long-sleeved top, dark navy, severe. Her fair hair was cut short and the only touch of frivolity was her bright-red glasses. It was a good way of avoiding the male gaze, but this young man seemed to be assessing her with some interest. Contact with him would make contact with the barmaid easier. ‘Retro games are not for me.’

‘So what do you like?’ The pub was filling up, but he seemed in no hurry to go back to work.

‘Fortnite. Far Cry.’

‘Yeah? You play online?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘OK. Hey,