Page 13 of Between the Lies
‘What’s your go-to?’ Robert asked the woman.
Sitting here amongst herds of people, her shoulders lowered slightly. Still, those eyes flitted from group to group, studying each member before moving on. Everything about her was sharp – the cut of her bob, her cheekbones, her clothes and, now that she sat in a crowd, her eyes.
‘Beer,’ she answered, not meeting his gaze.
Robert nodded. ‘Let’s make that two.’
He pulled out his phone to order, so he didn’t have to leave her or to struggle through the crush at the bar.
The Counting House straddled Glasgow’s famous George Square. The interiors – majestically decorated friezes, statues reminiscent of Grecian temples, Corinthian columns and a massive glass dome capping the main room of the pub – hinted at old money, yet the drinks were cheap and the vibe moderately casual.
Robert tapped their drinks order into the app, then ran his gaze past the giant bar in the centre, right underneath the dome. It was polished wood with golden glass holders – again very much at home with the surroundings. Satisfied, he set his phone aside and turned his attention to the woman. Her gaze had moved from evaluating people to reading the short snippets and poems about Glasgow scattered like a montage of the city’s past on the walls.
Noticing his eyes on her, she shuffled in her seat. ‘I don’t usually go for a drink with a man I’ve just met, in a side alley or otherwise.’
‘Let me guess – you look him up online?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s what the world has become now. Not to say that what you find online is always true. In fact, the last person I met here told me he was a frustrated forty-year-old. He had a social media account that looked legit, but it turned out he was a bald seventeen-year-old who could pass himself off as forty. However, his voice – which had yet to break – didn’t pass muster with the bartender here. So he wanted me to buy him drinks.’
Robert grimaced. ‘That must’ve been a strange experience, especially if it was a date you were looking forward to.’
She waited a beat before nodding. ‘Aye, something like that. What about you?’
‘I haven’t had a horrifying date, actually. But I once almost fell asleep on my feet at one.’
Her lips curved in a small smile. ‘That sounds like a story.’
He opened his mouth to share, but the waiter arrived with their order – two cans of Tennent’s. They thanked him, then clasped the cold cans and snapped them open.
She had a way of pouring – tilting the glass and emptying the amber liquid in – as if she’d done it several times before. He wondered then if she’d chosen beer for its low alcohol content.
Robert mimicked her, then they clinked their glasses before taking a sip.
She barely touched the glass to her lips. Ah, yes, she was being careful.
‘The date,’ Robert began. ‘The way we planned it should’ve been a red flag. I mean, she insisted on grabbing coffee before a walk. I don’t mind a coffee and a walk, but she wanted to meet at one of the cafés on Sauchiehall Street. I, naively, said yes. The coffee lasted fifteen minutes, then she spent the next two hours shopping.’
The woman chuckled. Her inhibited smile smoothed out those sharp edges, giving her a more playful, approachable look, and Robert’s heart stumbled. Oh sweet Lord! Why hadn’t he noticed her lips before? They were soft, nothing angular about them. Nor had he noticed that beauty spot just on the bottom left of her face, as if enticing someone to lean in and press a soft kiss to it, millimetres from those lips.
Had he also not noticed the hazel in her dark eyes? The slight upturn in her chin? Or how her fingers – almost delicate looking – were wrapped around the perspiring glass?
Oh shit! He shifted and cleared his throat. ‘It worked though because the next day, I met my wife.’
Yes, bring this conversation to safer shores.
That smile fizzled out in an instant. ‘You’re married.’
‘I was. She passed.’
Now the slight frown was back, her forehead creased, her eyes assessing. ‘You’re not a ring person, are you?’
Expecting the usual ‘I’m sorry for your loss’, Robert needed a minute to understand her.
He wiggled his fingers. ‘Rings make me feel as if someone’s choking me. Never wore one. I wish I did. At least that would’ve been a sign that I belonged to her; something I could look at, on my body, and say,I was married. It’s silly.’
The woman shook her head. ‘Grief is like water – it flows into strange crevices. I am sorry for your loss, though. I’ll take a leap and guess she was taken far too soon?’
‘She was.’
