Page 44 of Birds of a Feather

Nick listened intently as I told him about the lotto win, how I’d asked Gran if she wished she’d seen or done anything, and that I’d googled Gerry’s name.

‘I see,’ he said, rubbing his hand over his cleanly shaven chin. ‘I wondered what had made Elise search for Aunt Gerry after all these years. I thought she might have been fulfilling a dying wish or ticking off her bucket list. So what else have you got planned for your winnings, then? Are you going to use it to solve other mysteries? I think they’re still trying to work out who Jack the Ripper was. And I don’t think they’ve found the Hanging Gardens of Babylon yet. Maybe you could hunt down Tupac, if he’s still alive, and insist he make another album?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I laughed. ‘So far I’ve bought a new car and a new pair of shoes.’

I didn’t feel it was necessary to share the details of my new underwear with him.

‘They sound like good, solid investments,’ he said with mock seriousness. ‘Good for you.’

‘I’ll give some to charity, but I’m keen to do some more research when I get home to help inform who I’ll support. And I plan to give some to my family too. I just haven’t settled on the amount yet.’ I drank from my beer. ‘They don’t actually know about the win yet.’

Hearing myself say it out loud made me feel self-conscious that I was telling a near-stranger about the biggest thing to happen to me before I’d told my family, even though they’d made it impossible.

‘Really?’ he asked, his eyebrows raised.

‘It’s a bit of a long story.’ I said, hoping that would be enough to allow me to change the topic.

He raised his eyebrows further as if encouraging me to go on.

‘I wanted to make it a surprise,’ I said in a feeble attempt to provide a response that would satisfy any need for further discussion.

He nodded and smiled again. ‘But aren’t you going to spend it on something you’ve always wanted to do? It seems like you’ve done a good job fulfilling your gran’s lifelong dream of connecting with Aunt Gerry; have you given any thought to what yours might be?’

He made a gesture with his hands like a game show host presenting a cache of prizes and gave me a grin. ‘The world is your oyster, Beth.’

‘Not “oyster”,’ I said. ‘I didn’t win that much. More like a slightly less glamorous member of the mollusc family. A snail, perhaps?’

He laughed. ‘Let me guess – you’re the type of person who goes with the flow and just lets fate determine where you’re headed?’ he asked.

I tried to resist the urge to roll my eyes. But muscle memory, combined with jetlag, and the beer, meant a little roll slipped in anyway.

‘What? You don’t believe in fate?’ Nick asked with a smirk. ‘But how else do you explain your lotto win? Of all the numbers you could have had, of all the balls that could have been drawn, you picked the winners.’

‘Urgh,’ I groaned, ‘you sound like my sister, Jarrah.’

‘I take it that’s not necessarily a good thing,’ he replied.

‘She’s …’ I searched for a succinct way to describe Jarrah and all her foibles, ‘a lot. We’re very, very different. Are you close with your sister?’ I remembered that he mentioned her in the car and was keen to steer the conversation away from my own family.

‘I am,’ he replied. ‘Although I don’t see as much of her as I’d like. She’s married with a couple of kids, and they live up north.’

The pub filled and then emptied around us as we ate dinner; talked about our respective jobs; disclosed our tastes in music, books and movies; and compared our mutual dislike for karaoke.

‘Last drinks, folks.’

The bartender’s announcement was met with booing from a rowdy group of soccer fans. They were analysing a game playing on a TV mounted to the left of the dog portrait with the conviction and assumed expertise that comes with drinking several pints in quick succession.

‘What time is it?’ I thought out loud; I had completely lost track of time. A slight slur laboured my words as fatigue weighed on my entire body and, despite my best attempt to stifle it, a yawn bubbled up from deep within me.

‘Goodness. Sorry.’ Nick seemed genuinely apologetic. ‘I’ve kept you out far too late. It’s probably tomorrow’s yesterday where you’ve come from.’

I had no capacity to tell what time my body clock thought it was, or to refute his unnecessary sense of responsibility, so I resorted to bobbing my head around unintelligibly.

We stood in unison and gathered our belongings. As I fumbled with my bag and phone, my scarf slipped from my hand. Nick bent down quickly to pick it up. He placed one end of the scarf on my left shoulder and then gently circled my head with the other end before resting it on my opposite shoulder. He performed this entire motion without breaking eye contact; his blue eyes looked more grey in the low light.

‘There you are,’ he said, smiling warmly and giving my arm a gentle squeeze.

As we stepped onto the street, the crisp night air slapped my cheeks. Groups of revellers in various stages of inebriation emerged from the surrounding pubs and walked off into the night, leaving behind echoes of their chatter and laughter.

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