Page 38 of Breaking the Dark

“Whereabouts are you from?”

“I’m from New York.”

“Oh,” he says, scanning the code on the deodorant. “Are you anything to do with the twins?”

She flinches slightly. “Twins?”

“Yes, the twins from the big house at the end of the village? They’re from New York, I think.”

“I don’t know anyone here at all. Pure coincidence. Are they here now?”

“No. I don’t think so. They were just here for a few weeks this summer.”

“What’re their names? Maybe I know them?”

“Ha, that’s like saying that just because you’re from New York you’d know, like, the Daredevil.”

Jessica holds back a burst of facetious laughter. “Yeah…I suppose it is. But try me.”

“Randall. That’s their surname. Don’t know what their first names are. They’re not exactly friendly.”

“Nope. Don’t know any Randalls. But I do know quite a lot of unfriendly New Yorkers.” She hands him a five-pound note and waits for her change. “Thank you.”

He hands her the deodorant in a small bag and the change and smiles.

On the way out she passes the pregnancy testing kits again and sighs. Two more days, she tells herself. Two more days and if her period hasn’t come by then, she’ll take a test.

The pub is stupidly small. Way too small for normal people. The ceiling beams all have signs on them that say MIND YOUR HEAD, and the whole place is just a series of tiny rooms connected by tiny doorways. Jessica heads to the bar and waits for the woman to notice her.

When she does, she smiles widely and says, “What can I get you, lovey?”

“Oh,” she says, surprised at being referred to as a lovey. “Yes. Can I get a…erm…a Diet Coke?”

She takes the soda to an empty table in one of the rooms toward the back of the pub. Her phone vibrates with a message. It’s Amber.

Amber: How are things going?

Jessica: I’m in the pub. Looking conspicuous af. Anything happening at your end?

Amber: No. Kids still pretending to be normal

Jessica: OK. My assistant is seeing Fox tonight. Hopefully he’ll have something back for us tomorrow.

She finishes typing and looks up to find a man staring at her. He’s about her age, maybe older. He has a short beard and is clutching what looks like a glass of pond water inside a rough-knuckled hand.

“How are you?” he says.

Jessica narrows her eyes at him. All her instincts want her to tell him to back off. She did not fly halfway across the world to get hit on by men with beards and glassy eyes. If she wanted to get hit on by drunk guys in bars she could have stayed right at home. But, reminding herself that this is why Amber Randall has spent thousands of dollars to send her here, she manages a small smile and says, “I’m good, thank you.”

“American?”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“New Yorker?”

“New Yorker,” she says, the smile starting to strain a little.

“Oh. Right. I’ve never been, always wanted to. I’ve got family in Florida though, you can’t really do both in the same trip, can you?”

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